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Late 130AC Blackwater Bay

Daeron felt the bitter chill of Blackwater Bay upon his face, his pale silver-gold hair a tempest in the wind. His grip on Tessarion's reins tightened as the cobalt and copper dragon let out a low growl, mirroring Daeron's unease. The young prince's thoughts were plagued with doubt. "Will he listen? What if they’re dead? What if he’s dead?" The mists cleared, and Dragonstone, the ancient seat of House Targaryen, came into view.

The great black stone towers of the castle twisted skyward like frozen fire, with the towering Dragonmont belching smoke into the clouds behind. Below lay the winding, labyrinthine of caves lined with dragonglass, where dragons had once roosted on the island. Daeron's thoughts drifted to a time when he was a boy, visiting the island. He remembered getting lost in the tunnels, until his nephew Jacaerys, more familiar with the caves, had led him out. "Jace... I regret the path our families have taken. I shall do all in my power to plead for them."

Daeron signaled for Tessarion to descend, and as they made landfall, he caught sight of a small delegation of men advancing down the serpentine walkway toward the main gate. The dragon touched down before the imposing iron gate, watched over by two massive black dragon statues, their ruby eyes alight with an eerie gleam. Daeron dismounted, his hand lingering on the deep cobalt and copper scales of The Blue Queen. The dragon rumbled low, and Daeron sought to calm her with soft strokes, his own fears hidden behind a reassuring smile. "All shall be well," he whispered.

As he soothed the dragon, Daeron was drawn by the clang of the iron gate opening. A delegation of men, bearing the golden banner of his brother and led by a man in the distinctive silver-white armor of the Kingsguard, emerged from beyond the gateway. But the prince did not recognize the face of the Kingsguard. As they approached, Daeron could feel Tessarion tensing beside him, ready to take flight. The man in silver spoke, his voice ringing out. "Prince Daeron Targaryen, by the command of His Grace King Aegon II, the one true king of the Seven Kingdoms, you are to accompany us to the great hall of Dragonstone."

Daeron took a cautious step back, closer to Tessarion, who was clearly agitated. The Blue Queen sensed the prince's unease and bared her teeth, making it clear she would defend him if necessary. The unknown Kingsguard tried to take a step forward, but Tessarion's growl of warning stopped him in his tracks. Daeron spoke up, his voice firm. "Forgive me, Ser, but my dragon does not trust you. You wear the white cloak, yet I do not recognize you."

The knight removed his helm, revealing his face, and lowered himself to one knee before Daeron. "Forgive me, my prince," he spoke with a humble tone. "I should have introduced myself sooner. I am but a lowly man." Daeron looked down upon him, his eyes cautious. "All is forgiven," he said. "Now, state your name and tell me to whom you pledge your loyalty."

The Unknown Knight raised his head, a glint of pride in his eyes. "I am Ser Marston Waters, hailing from  Spicetown. I aided His Grace King Aegon II in his flight from King's Landing, and in return, he bestowed upon me the honor of the white cloak, for saving the life of Lady Baela Targaryen from the very turncloak who allowed us access to this very castle."

Daeron studied the knight with a speculative gaze, considering his words. The knight, seemed honest and forthright, but the prince knew well that appearances could be deceiving. "Rise, Ser Marston," he said firmly. "I will take your word at face value, for now. Lead on to the great hall, I would hear the king's words for myself." And with that, the prince followed the retinue, Tessarion flying overhead, wary eyes never leaving the knight who claimed to serve the true king.

The prince and his retinue made their way back up the winding serpentine walkway, leading to the main entrance of the ancient fortress. Daeron turned to Ser Marston as they entered the castle gates. "Ser Marston," the prince spoke, "earlier you mentioned saving the life of my cousin, Baela." The silver-clad knight nodded in affirmation. "Aye, my prince. When the castle was taken from the forces of the Black Queen, Lady Baela was confined to her chambers. But she, being the bold girl she is, escaped and tried to flee on her dragon." Ser Marston paused, taking a moment to catch his breath before continuing.

"However, by the time Lady Baela had mounted her dragon, His Grace had arrived at the castle with Sunfyre. The two beasts clashed in a fierce battle, with Sunfyre emerging as the victor, killing and devouring Baela's Moondancer." Daeron was taken aback by the news. "I see, so Sunfyre still lives... and Baela?" The memory seemed to darken the knight's expression.

 "She lived but was badly hurt. As was King Aegon, who nearly shattered his legs after falling from Sunfyre. Yet, when the battle was over, His Grace marked Lady Baela for death. But when the time came, he could not bring himself to do it. It was then that the spineless turncloak, Ser Alfred Broome, drew his sword to slay her where she lay. I could not stand by and watch such a dishonorable act, so I slew the turncloak myself. His Grace named me to the Kingsguard soon after."

Daeron could see the anger in the knight's eyes as he recounted out the actions of the turncloak. "Where is she now?" the prince asked. "She has been reconfined to her chambers in Sea Dragon Tower," the knight replied. Daeron was relieved that Baela still lived, it gave him hope that perhaps Aegon would listen to his pleas. Finally, the prince and his retinue reached the entrance of the great hall. Daeron headed towards the large doors, but noticed that none of the men who had led him there were following. "You aren't to join me?" he asked, confused and slightly suspicious. "His Grace wishes to speak with you alone," Ser Marston said, his expression solemn, almost concerned.

Daeron gave the men one final nod before entering the great hall. As he pushed open the doors, he was greeted by the grandeur of Dragonstone's great hall - a massive room lined with dragons and other ancient Valyrian imagery. The walls were adorned with the proud golden dragon banners of his brother, while below lay the charred remains of his sister's quartered banners. At the far end of the room, Daeron's gaze was drawn to the throne. Carved from the same black stone as the rest of the castle, it was fused with the same pale stone of the Eyrie but with deep veins of dragonglass. And upon it sat his brother, King Aegon II.

The two brothers locked eyes, and Daeron was struck with shock at the sight of the man before him. Was this truly his brother Aegon? His body was burnt and scarred, his once charming face now bloated from the clear abuse of milk of the poppy, and worst of all, his left arm was mangled and twisted beyond repair. At last, the silence was broken by the burnt and battered king. "Do the gods deceive my eyes with more cruelty...Daeron, is that truly you?" he rasped, a hint of a cough in his voice. "Aegon...gods be good, what has become of you?" Daeron replied, horrified by the state of his brother.

"This war was rent both my body and soul asunder," the broken king rasped, his voice like the scrape of steel upon stone. He coughed a racking sound that echoed in the great hall. "I am burnt, I am broken, but by the gods, I am still king." Daeron watched, aghast, as his brother rose from the obsidian throne, fingers closing around the ornate cane that had once belonged to their father. "Brother, do not push yourself," the prince implored, his voice etched with worry. But the broken king would have none of it. Pah!" the king spat, determination etched upon his face. "I have lain abed for nigh on a year and a half, doing nothing but mimicking our father's final days. The least I can do is greet my own brother with the dignity he deserves."

The broken king, hobbled towards his brother, their embrace as warm as his  wounds would allow. "Daeron, it is good to see your face, it gives me hope in these bleak times," said Aegon, his voice strained. "Tell me, what news do you bring?"

Daeron sighed, the weight of all that had happened since Aegon's flight from King’s Landing, bearing heavily upon him. "Maelor is safe in Oldtown, I saw to that myself. But unfortunately, Ser Rickard was lost at Bitterbridge." The thought of the valiant knight's fate still echoed in Daeron's mind, the horrors of Bitterbridge still fresh. "As for Jaehaera, I have heard rumors that she is safe somewhere in the Stormlands, but I cannot be certain." But even as Daeron spoke, he saw a fire light in Aegon's eyes, where before they had been dark and sunken.

 A newfound energy coursed through his broken body, the king spoke in a trembling voice, "My children, they live!" A solitary tear trickled down his face, tracing a path through the burns and scars that marred his features.

But Daeron felt a pain in his chest, knowing that while Maelor and Jaehaera were safe, Jaehaerys still lay dead. "Perhaps had I been there," he wondered. But his thoughts soon turned to the rest of the war. "That is not all," he said. "Our forces were ready to march on King's Landing by the time I left for Dragonstone, but it appears the city has rioted against Rhaen..." Aegon interrupted, slamming his cane with an anger Daeron had never seen in his brother. "Do not say her name to me !" the king said, his voice filled with rage. He sighed heavily, "I'm sorry. It's just..." Daeron looked at him mournfully. "I know," he said. "I wish I had been there for him”

Aegon struggled to contain his emotions, but Daeron saw right through him. "I share your prayers, brother," he said, his voice filled with hope. "Helaena... I should have shown her more kindness. Perhaps that is why the gods have broken me." Placing a hand on Aegon's shoulder, Daeron tried to offer comfort. "There is still hope. King's Landing will be ours again and you will return to your rightful seat." Aegon let out a cold chuckle. "We never would have lost it in the first place if I had listened to grandfather and mother," he said, his voice filled with regret. "Aemond will have much to answer for. His negligence cost us almost everything." Daeron's gaze dropped to the ground. "He's dead," he said quietly. "Vhagar too."

Once again, Aegon was consumed by a fiery anger. "Fool!" he spat. "So preoccupied with chasing that monster who called himself our uncle, he let the city fall into her hands. And after all that, he gets himself and the greatest of our dragons killed !" Daeron could see his brother's grip tighten around his cane as he struggled to contain his emotions. Aegon let out a sigh, but it was quickly overtaken by a painful cough. "At least I have you, Daeron," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. "Of all my kin, you have served me loyally and shown such dedication and valor. No words can express my gratitude." As the king stumbled, Daeron had to step in to steady him. Rummaging through his pockets, Aegon finally produced a golden and silver brooch in the shape of a firm hand pointing downward.

"Aegon... I cannot," Daeron said, recoiling from the offer. "You must," the king replied firmly. "Your king commands it." Daeron looked down at the brooch, which symbolized the office of Hand of the King, a position once held by great men throughout the ages. His grandfathers, Ser Otto Hightower and Prince Baelon the Brave, as well as his former mentor, Ser Criston Cole, had all served as Hand before him. "Why me?" Daeron asked, desperation creeping into his voice. "Surely there are better choices..." But the king was having none of it. "No words can express my gratitude," he declared. "Let me show it to you with actions. I cannot think of a finer choice for my Hand. In these trying times, I need men I can trust by my side, and such men are hard to come by."

Daeron took the brooch from his brother's outstretched hand, his own fingers slightly trembling. He fastened the symbol of his new office to his chest and turned to face Aegon. "It suits you well," Aegon said, his scarred face twisting into a smile."I shall serve you and the realm with faith, honor, and diligence," Daeron declared, his voice filled with pride. The king's expression grew serious, but still held a hint of warmth. "I'm sure you will. I expect sound counsel, and if I should become incapable of ruling, I entrust you to rule in my stead."

Daeron nodded, yet deep down he hoped it would never come to that. But as he pondered, Aegon regained his attention. "Now that you are my Hand, Daeron, what counsel do you give me on this cursed war? What should be our next move?" The king's voice was firm, but Daeron couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. "Is this some sort of test?" Daeron wondered, "Has he been doing this the whole time, trying to see if I'll keep information from him?" With these thoughts heavy on his mind, Daeron took a deep breath and began to think. He twirled a small curl of his silver hair, a habit he'd picked up from his mother when he saw her deep in thought, He chose his words carefully taking a deep breath before he spoke.

"With our forces on the brink of retaking the capital, now would be an ideal time for you to return," Daeron said, carefully considering his words. "Moreover, with our sister having fled, who's to say where she has gone. My guess would be the Vale, under Lady Arryn's protection, or perhaps to the North to assemble an army." Aegon gave him a skeptical look. "I agree with you for the most part, but my dear brother, we have no ships. The triarchy is bickering with each other, and the Velaryons, while weakened, still have a chokehold over Blackwater Bay."

"That's just it, brother," Daeron said, his voice steady and confident. "The Velaryons no longer declare for the blacks." Aegon's posture stiffened at the mention of the house that had brought them so much misfortune. "You are certain of this? What evidence do you have?" Daeron clenched his fist slightly as he spoke. "I have the word of Ser Addam Velaryon, the grandson and heir to Lord Corlys. After the fall of King's Landing, it seems our sister, in her paranoia, sentenced Ser Addam and his brother to death. Out of desperation, Lord Corlys has decided to change his allegiance."

The prince observed as his brother's countenance darkened, furrowing into a frown. "Desperation, indeed," the king bellowed, his voice resounding through the chamber like the roar of a tempest. "Do you expect me to place faith in the promises of a bastard born of the Seasnake's loins?" But Daeron would not be deterred. "Ser Addam is a man of honor," he declared steadfastly. "I have stood beside him in battle and I attest to his character. The Seasnake may be untrustworthy, but his grandson is not defined by his grandfather. I vouch for Ser Addam's words." The prince hoped that his words would be enough to sway his brother, for he had grown fond of Ser Addam since their meeting at Tumbleton. He had done all that he could to defend his friend.

"I shall give your proposal due thought," The King said, his voice tinged with shattered pride. "We do require the ships, and with Ser Addam in our camp, we would have Seasmoke at our command." But as the words left his mouth, Daeron saw a malevolent gleam flash in his brother's eyes. The twisted smile that curved his lips sent shivers down Daeron's spine. "Perhaps, brother," Aegon hissed, "we should send Lord Corlys a token of our gratitude. Something to remind him of our power and to secure his loyalty. An eye, perhaps, or an ear... Baela has many parts to spare.” Daeron felt a wave of nausea wash over him as he regarded his brother. Was this truly the same Aegon he had grown up with? "Brother," Daeron spoke, his voice tight with unease. "I do not believe such actions are necessary. What gain would we see from such needless cruelty? It would only turn Lord Corlys against us, not win his loyalty."

Aegon scowled, his eyes narrowing in anger. "After all that his house has done, Lord Corlys should be grateful that I let her live. And next, you'll be asking me to spare the lives of our black-hearted sister and her remaining brood." Daeron felt his blood boil, and his own scowl matched his brother's. "Too much blood has been spilled, Aegon. Not just any blood, but that of our own kin. A sin that the gods clearly haven't overlooked." The King's eyes, deep and purple, flashed with the fury of a blazing fire. "You would have me show mercy to those who have caused such pain and suffering? She was the cause of all that could have been avoided." The King pounded his cane against the stone floor, the sound echoing through the chamber. "My son is dead because of her! Look at me, Daeron. Look at me and see what her mercy has done to me. And yet, you have the gall to ask I show her mercy.”

In the depths of his mind, Daeron considered striking out at his brother, but he knew it would be nothing short of foolish. In his own twisted way, Aegon was right. Rhaenyra had indeed been the root of much strife, but so too had they all. The prince struggled to rein in his anger, his fists clenching at his sides. "She has lost all of her children, save one," Daeron spoke, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Brother, I am truly sorry for your loss. But like Jaehaerys, young Aegon is just a boy. What evil has he done to warrant such cruelty?" Daeron sighed, his voice low and pleading. "As your hand, I beg of you, let them live. Let Aegon take the black or a Maester's chain, and let Rhaenyra join the Silent Sisters. Let her mourn her sons in peace, away from the capital."

Aegon's fury began to subside, but the tension still hung heavy in the air. He let out a sigh, which turned into a painful-sounding cough. "You always had a way with words, Daeron. What was it grandfather used to say? A good king listens to his Hand." Aegon chuckled slightly, his mind wandering back to the memories of their grandfather's stern words and advice. "Perhaps you are right. No more blood need be spilled. Yet I worry, what would stop Rhaenyra from scheming under our noses, or have the boy rise up against Maelor?" Daeron placed his hand over his chest, his voice strong and steady. "Then I shall stop them. I am your Hand, I will do my duty for the realm and the king, whether it be you, Maelor, or if I still live by then, his own sons. I will take responsibility for them. Leave them in my care and I promise you, they will never pose a threat."

Aegon placed his hand on Daeron's shoulder, "Then it is decided. I trust Young Aegon into your care. I pray we never regret the decision made today." Daeron's brow furrowed with concern at his brother's words. Perhaps it was the raspiness caused by his injuries, but Daeron couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. "And Rhaenyra?" he asked, making sure Aegon had truly listened to him. "I will let her mourn her bastards in peace," Aegon replied, his tone sounding sincere. But Daeron still couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He couldn't quite place it, but he felt a sense of unease in the air.

It was Aegon who broke the silence "Ser Marston!" He called his voice was weak, broken by another hacking cough. The doors of the great hall boomed open and the Silver Knight appeared. "Your grace, Lord Hand," he said, bowing low. "What is it that you require of me?" Aegon shuffled forward, leaning heavily on the knight's support. Daeron's heart ached at the sight of his brother's decline, so reminiscent of their father's final days. "Ser Marston, take me to my chambers," Aegon whispered. "I wish to retire for the day. Daeron, I recommend you rest as well. I need my hand to be strong." Daeron gave a quiet nod, but as Ser Marston led his brother out of the room, Daeron called out one final request.

Brother, wait!" The King spun around to face the Prince, his eyes alight with a flicker of curiosity. "What is it, Daeron?" The Prince drew in a deep breath, steadying himself before he spoke. "If you’ll allow it, brother, I would like to speak with Baela." Aegon frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. "Very well," he said after a moment, giving a slight nod of approval. "She’s being held in Queen Visenya's old apartments, within Sea Dragon Tower. But be cautious, Daeron. You remember what she’s like.” And with those words, Daeron took his leave, bowing respectfully to his brother as he made his way from the hall. He watched as Ser Marston led Aegon out, doing his best to walk straight and tall, despite his injuries. 

Despite the trials and tribulations that had come to pass, Daeron held onto hope that Aegon had heeded his plea. Though some of the words exchanged between them had left a bitter taste in the Prince's mouth, he clung to the belief that the brother he had known in his childhood still lingered within Aegon's heart.

Thus, he made his way toward Sea Dragon Tower, his steps firm and resolute. As he walked, he paused to request a flagon of Arbor Gold from a castle servant, remembering a time he and Baela had bonded over their shared love of the drink, and the hours she had spent relaying tall tales of the Free Cities. Daeron knew that this meeting with Baela would be a test of his wits, a battle of words and will.

The Prince ascended the spiraling steps of Sea Dragon Tower, his steps echoing through the stone halls. At last, he came to the scarlet door leading to Baela's chambers, and with a deep breath, he placed his hand upon the cold metal handle. For a moment, he hesitated, his thoughts awhirl. But then, with a push, the door creaked open, and Daeron stepped into the chamber beyond. It was a spacious room, filled with all manner of trinkets and treasures from the Free Cities. A desk sat at one end, littered with books and other curiosities, while a massive bed stood against the far wall, its frame shaped like the dragons that adorned so much of the castle. Daeron approached the desk, placing the flagon of Arbor Gold upon it, before turning his gaze to the figure curled up by the window.

"Baela," Daeron called, his voice tinged with caution as he approached the figure by the window. At the sound of his voice, she shot upright, a glint of steel flashing in her hand as she lunged towards him. In an instant, the sharp point of a blade was pressed against Daeron's neck, and he felt a thrill of fear run down his spine. "Give me one reason why I should let you live," Baela growled, her voice filled with anger and grief.

"Because you know what he'll do if he finds me dead," Daeron said, his voice tight with urgency. "Look, I haven’t come as your enemy, I just want to talk." He tried his best to sound sincere, though it was difficult to keep his composure with a blade pressed to his neck. Suddenly, the blade left his skin, and he heard the sound of metal striking stone as Baela let out a frustrated grunt. He lowered his head, finally able to get a good look at her. She was lean and pretty, with a slight build that was slightly shorter than his own. Her hair was now cut shorter than he remembered, giving her a boyish appearance. Her face was slim and soft, her eyes a deep purple, but Daeron's gaze was drawn to the burn scar on her cheek, similar to that of his brother's, though far less severe.

 Baela caught sight of Daeron's piercing stare, and, as if scorched by the sun, she turned away from his gaze. Daeron realized his rudeness and reached for the flagon of Arbor gold and filled two goblets to the brim, offering one to her with a raised brow and a polite inquiry. "Drink?"

But Baela was not so easily swayed. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she took in the scene before her. "Do you truly believe I would drink from your hand?" she sneered, her distrust palpable in the air. Daeron sighed, a sound heavy with disappointment. "Do you truly think I would seek to poison you?" he asked, his tone wounded. "Not you, perhaps," she spat. "But your brother... I would not put it past him to seek my end."

Baela's words cut deep into Daeron's heart, for he understood her mistrust all too well. In these days of deceit and darkness, it was a wise man who trusted no one, especially one of his own blood. But Daeron was not one to be daunted by such things. With a bold gesture, he took a fair sip of the wine, then reached for the second goblet, drinking deeply from it as well. "I understand your suspicion," he said, his voice heavy with sadness. "But I swear to you, in the name of the Seven and upon my honor as a prince and a knight, no harm shall come to you."

despite all her mistrust, Daeron saw the flicker of hope in Baela's eyes. They stood there, two wary mistrustful souls, until at last, Baela took a sip of the wine. "Honor," she said, her words as sharp as Valyrian steel. "It is a funny thing, something that men always love to prattle on about." Daeron took another sip, his eyes meeting hers. "I am sorry for them all," he said, his voice somber. "Jace, Luke, Joff, Viserys, your grandmother, and as much as it pains me, even your father." Baela did her best to keep her composure, but Daeron could see the pain in her eyes. "Words can only do so much," she said. "But I must also say to you, Aemond may have drawn first blood, but he was still your brother. And your nephew, little Jaehaerys, how old was he?"

Daeron lifted his hand to his face, wiping away the tears that had started to silently roll down his cheeks. "He was only a boy of six," he said, his words heavy with grief. Baela sighed, her tone just as somber as his own. "I am sorry," she said. "This war has taken so much from us." She paused briefly, collecting her thoughts. "Daeron, I know you mean well when you speak of honor and my safety, but what of Aegon? As long as he lives, he will be a threat to his power. And Rhaenyra, I cannot say I ever truly liked your sister, but she is still Aegon's mother. When this war is over, what do you expect your brother to do?"

Daeron's heart was heavy as he recalled his recent argument with Aegon over the fate of their sister and nephew. "I have discussed their fates with Aegon at length," he said. "Too much blood has been spilled. I convinced him to spare them. Rhaenyra can join the Silent Sisters, where she can mourn her children in peace, far from the vultures of court. And Egg can take the black or the maester's chain."

It was a less than ideal outcome, but for Daeron, it was the only way to preserve their lives amidst the cruelty of war. In his mind, he hoped that peace would eventually return to the Seven Kingdoms, and that the wounds inflicted by the war would one day heal. He pictured Rhaenyra finding solace and being eventually released from her vows, free to live the rest of her days in peace. Young Aegon could rise to prominence, becoming the Lord Commander, defending the Seven Kingdoms from the dangers of the North, from the wildlings and giants and the mythical White Walkers. Or perhaps he would find comfort in the halls of the Citadel, becoming an Archmaester, serving as a Grand Maester for Maelor.

Daeron clung to these visions, for they gave him hope for a brighter future, a future where honor and kindness could once again flourish in the Seven Kingdoms. As Daeron's thoughts returned to the present, he couldn't help but sense that Baela was not in agreement with him. Her face was a complex tapestry of emotions, gratitude and sadness intertwined with anger, grief, and worry. "Do you truly believe that Aegon will heed your words?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper in the stillness. Daeron pondered her question, seeking a solution that would bring peace to his troubled mind. Aegon was his brother, after all, and as Hand of the King, he held great power and influence.

With a sudden flourish, Daeron removed the Hand's Brooch from his pocket and held it forth for Baela to behold. "This," Daeron said, "was given to me by my brother when he appointed me as his Hand. It symbolizes the trust and authority he has placed in me. I may not be able to control his every decision, but I promise you, Baela, I will use this power and influence to ensure that the fates of Rhaenyra and Young Aegon are protected."

Baela's gaze fell upon the Hand's Brooch, the weight of its significance palpable in the air. She smiled softly at Daeron's words, a hint of hope returning to her face for the first time since their conversation began. Daeron felt his cheeks flush as their eyes met, and he wondered if perhaps he had indulged in too much wine. Baela let out a soft chuckle at his discomfort. "Well, Lord Hand," she said with a hint of amusement. "I pray that your honor is as good as you say, for the sake of my brother. I can only hope that you prove to be more honorable than the other men in my life." Her words were a mixture of hope and skepticism, a reflection of the trials she had faced and the scars they had left upon her.

"If you will permit it, my lady," Daeron asked, his words cautiously chosen so as not to offend. "What actions have these men taken that have left you so skeptical of my promises?" Baela sighed, her tone heavy with melancholy. "My grandfather and father are easy enough to explain," she began. "The latter placed his own pride above his family, while the former never truly cared for me or my sister. We existed, but we were never worth his time. My egg hatched too late, and poor Rhaena's never did."

Daeron listened, his heart heavy with sympathy for Baela's hardships, he too could relate for the lack of a fathers love. “ I understand the feeling some what, my own father never truly cared for me or my brothers or Helaena.” He said as he finished his cup of arbor gold. “ My strong nephews where more sons to him than we where I was merely the third born son, against Likes of Jace I was nothing to him even my mother pushed me away to Oldtown instead of raising me.” Baela looked at Daeron with a mixture of understanding and compassion, and he felt a sudden warmth in his heart, he tried to ignore it. 

"I miss him, you know," Baela said, her voice heavy with a sense of longing. "He might have been a great king." Daeron spoke up, his voice tinged with regret. "I understand. Despite our differences, I must admit, he was a good man. Perhaps, had the world been kinder, or the truth been accepted, he would have made a fine Hand, certainly a better one than I."

Baela smiled at him softly, her hair falling in gentle waves as she brushed it away from her face. "I agree with you to an extent, but I don't think he ever truly knew how much I cared for him," she said, her voice tinged with sadness and a hint of anger. "He threw me aside for some northern bastard girl in a heartbeat." The stone in her voice was heavy with emotion, reflecting the pain and betrayal she felt at the memory. "And then there was Alyn, the most recent betrayal of all," Daeron pondered the name, trying to remember where he had heard it before. "Alyn? Ser Addam's brother," he finally said, with a touch of recognition.

Baela scoffed. "The very same. Jace never returned what I gave him, and in my own weakness, I found comfort in Alyn. But he turned me over to your brother's men. He is, as Ser Vaemond would have said, a true Velaryon. More accurately, a true heir to grandfather, a snake among the seas." Her words were bitter, reflecting the anger and hurt she felt at Alyn's treachery.

Daeron felt a pang of sympathy for Baela, and he spoke softly. "My apologies. I didn't mean to dig up old wounds." She took one last sip of the wine and then looked up at him with a warm smile. "No, it's okay. It's actually nice to talk to someone about this." As she stood up, Daeron found himself standing as well, and he walked towards her. The two of them stood in front of each other, both blushing slightly. "You know, it's funny," Baela said quietly, as she leaned in closer to Daeron's face. He could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheeks. "That both Jace and Alyn had something in common."

"What was it?" Daeron asked slowly, as he placed his arms around her. They stood there, in each other's embrace, feeling a sense of comfort and closeness that had been missing for so long. "Well, they were both bastards," Baela said, her voice a soft whisper. "And both betrayed me in their own ways. But you're not a bastard, are you?" The two stood there, lost in the moment, until finally they closed the gap between them and their lips met in a passionate kiss.

The prince felt confused. Was it him or was it her? He could still taste the sweet wine on her lips, and he wondered if that was the reason why they had kissed. He was embarrassed and didn't know what to say, but Baela put her finger on his lips to silence him. "Shh… it's okay. I'm pretty sure it was my doing," she said, her purple eyes gleaming in the dim light of the room. "It was kind of nice actually." She looked up at him, and then asked, "Was it your first?" Daeron thought back to when he was younger and the kissing games he used to play with Lord Ormund Hightower's daughter, Bethany. "No," he said. "But it's been a long time since I've done anything like this."

Baela smiled at him, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something else, something unspoken, something deeper. "Well, then," she said, her voice like honey and wine, as she took his hand in hers, her skin soft as silk. "Perhaps we could try something else..." He looked into her eyes, his hand gently caressing her cheek. "We cannot," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "I would not dishonor you." He knew that the hunger burned within them both, but he could not surrender to it. Honor was a thing of great import to Daeron, ingrained in him by the teachings of Lord Ormund and the examples set by Ser Criston Cole. He could not shake the whispers of Ser Criston's rumored dalliances with Rhaenyra, and he wondered, as he sat in contemplation, "Is this how you felt, Ser Criston?"

While Daeron pondered Baela pouted, her lips like plump cherries. "Honor," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "In these times, no one cares about honor. So let us at least enjoy ourselves, for a little while, just a small moment of pleasure in this harsh world." And with that, she pulled him closer, and he knew that he could not resist her. The winds of fate had brought them together, and he would follow wherever they led. Daeron felt his heart race as Baela took his hand, leading him towards the bed. The room was filled with the soft glow of candlelight, casting long shadows on the walls. Baela's breath was hot against his neck as she whispered, "We are two lost souls, trying to find solace in each other. Let us forget about the world for just a moment."

Daeron's thoughts were a jumbled mess, as he struggled to reconcile his duty with his desire. He knew that what they were about to do was foolish, that it could have consequences. But as Baela's lips met his, he felt all of his reservations melting away. They kissed deeply, their bodies entwined as they explored each other's bodies. It was as if time stood still, and they were lost in a world of their own making. They moved together in a slow rhythm, each touch igniting a spark of passion within them.

As they reached the peak of their pleasure, they both cried out, their bodies exploding in a shower of ecstasy. They lay there in each other's arms, their bodies entwined as they caught their breath. For a moment, they were at peace, lost in the embrace of their shared pleasure. But as reality began to creep back in, they both knew that their tryst could have consequences that would haunt them for the rest of their lives. But for now, they would enjoy each other's company, and let the future take care of itself.

Chapter Text

Daeron felt the weight of exhaustion settle upon him, his body and mind weary from the trials of the day. He closed his eyes, and as he surrendered to the darkness, he felt himself slipping into the inky void of slumber. The world around him faded away, and he was consumed by the all-encompassing embrace of the night.

For a moment, there was only blackness, a void filled with nothingness. And then, as if a veil were lifted, the darkness dissipated and new shapes emerged. A great dragon, massive and powerful, slumbered before him. Within its serpentine coils, a sleeping infant cradled a crown, vulnerable to the world. But above, a blade ablaze with golden flame hung suspended, pointed straight at the heart of the young prince.

"Maelor," Daeron mused, but his thoughts soon turned to the crown. "So he will be king... but that means Aegon..." The very thought filled him with unease. He attempted to take a step back, but his foot caught on something unseen, and he tumbled to the ground. The earth beneath him was slick and wet, as if covered by a thin sheet of water. But it was also pitch black, and Daeron could feel something stirring beneath him, threatening to drag him into the abyss."

 without warning, something breached the surface of the dark waters. Large tentacles, blood-red and pulsing with malevolent energy, emerged and latched onto the slumbering dragon. They began to strangle the beast, choking the life from it. One of the tentacles reached down, seeking to steal the crown from the infant within. 

"No," Daeron screamed, fear and anger warring within him. "I won't let it. I will keep him safe." He tried to run towards the vision of his nephew, but another tentacle caught him, dragging him beneath the inky waters. He struggled, fighting against the grip of the monster, determined to protect the young prince, no matter the cost.

With all his might, the prince battled against the tentacles, his determination unbroken. Finally, he broke free and breached the surface, gasping for air. But the world around him had changed. Maelor was nowhere to be seen, and the dragon was gone. Instead, he found himself in the midst of a tumultuous sea, with great waves crashing about him and a tempest raging overhead. In the distance, he spied the figure of another dragon, but this one small and weak, clinging to a piece of driftwood.

As the prince drew closer to the dragon, he failed to notice the massive wave building behind him. It crashed down upon him with great violence, threatening to sweep him away. He closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, he would awaken from this nightmare. For a moment, there was silence.

Daeron opened his eyes, and found himself in the throne room of the Red Keep. The twisted, mangled abomination that was the Iron Throne sat before him, and upon it lay a man. The man's appearance was unfamiliar to Daeron, but he could not shake the feeling that he resembled his father.

As he drew near, the man's visage became clearer, bearing a resemblance to his father in his final days. His countenance was marked by rotting flesh of a pallid hue, his regal garb frayed and tattered, yet it was the crown that seized Daeron's attention, for it was not the one his father had borne. "Aegon...is..." he halted before the words could escape him, for now he comprehended with certainty that this was his brother. Aegon's grip on the throne tightened, blood trickling from his fingers, and he let loose a horrid cackle suffused with malice and loathing, with blood slowly oozing from his mouth.

Daeron's terror surged as he beheld the grotesque imitation of his brother, rising from the throne. The stench of decay clung to it, and when it placed its rotting hand upon the prince's shoulder, its grip was vice-like, its fingers digging into his flesh. Daeron stared into the creature's vacant eyes, seeing a glimmer of something come alight in them, and then the thing opened its mouth, unleashing a torrent of golden flames upon him.

With a jolt, Daeron sprang upright, his body drenched in sweat as he let out a piercing scream. Gasping for air, he surveyed his surroundings and only then did he realise that Baela was lying asleep beside him, undisturbed. It dawned on him that he had been dreaming all along, and he exhaled a long breath, his heart still racing.

Daeron took a deep breath, running his hand through his silver-streaked hair in an attempt to calm himself. As he did, Baela began to stir from her slumber, slowly sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Good morning," Daeron said shyly, doing his best to avoid looking down. "Yeah, morning," Baela said, her tone slightly annoyed. She tilted her head in confusion. "What's with you?" Daeron blushed slightly, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. "Oh nothing but uh...Baela," he said, gesturing downward.

"Baela looked down, her face turning bright red as she realized her state of undress. "Uh...shit," she muttered, quickly scrambling to cover herself. Daeron felt his own embarrassment at the situation and cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood.

"So...do you want to talk about last night?" he asked shyly, his heart pounding in his chest. Baela's expression softened and she replied, "Yeah...yeah, I guess we should." Her tone was pleasant, but Daeron couldn't help but detect a hint of regret beneath it.

Daeron sighed deeply, the weight of his actions heavy upon his heart. He turned to Baela, his eyes filled with remorse. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice filled with regret. "I've dishonored you."

But Baela would have none of his apologies. She scowled at him, her eyes flashing with anger. "Oh, will you shut up about honor," she said, her voice sharp and cutting. "Daeron, it's okay. It was good….But it didn't come from a good place. I was upset about Jace and Alyn, about everything that's happened. And I know you feel it too."

She grabbed his hand, her touch warm and comforting. "It was good, Daeron," she said, her voice softer now. "But we both know that it was a moment of weakness, a moment when we let our emotions get the better of us. But we can't let that happen again.”

Daeron let out another deep sigh, his confusion and uncertainty still weighing heavily on his mind. Baela's words were comforting, but he couldn't help feeling lost and adrift in a sea of doubt. "It's all so confusing," he said, his voice heavy with emotion.

Baela leaned in, her lips brushing against his cheek in a gentle kiss. "It's okay," she whispered. "You're a good man, Daeron. I just need some time to figure things out before I make any decisions."

Daeron nodded, understanding the need for space and time to sort through one's feelings. "I understand," he said. Baela's grip on his hands tightened, her eyes fierce with determination. "But whatever happens," she said, "I want you to promise me one thing."

Daeron looked at her, sensing the gravity of her request. "What is it?" he asked. "Promise me," she said, her voice unwavering, "that you'll save egg and Rhaenyra, that you'll protect them no matter what."

Daeron's heart swelled with a fierce sense of loyalty and duty. "I promise you," he said, his voice steady and resolute, "I will do all in my power to protect them, to keep them safe from harm. I swear it on my honor and to the seven above."

Baela let out a quiet laugh, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You and your honor," she teased, shaking her head. Daeron rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smile at her. "What can I say, it's important to me," he replied, chuckling.

He stood up, stretching his arms as he looked around for his clothes. "We'll be heading back to King's Landing today, I presume," he said, beginning to dress himself. "The Velaryon fleet will likely be escorting us back."

Baela's expression soured at the mention of the Velaryon’s. "Grandfather will probably send Alyn to pick us up," she said, her tone laced with venom. Daeron nodded, understanding the tense dynamic between her and Alyn. "It's likely," he agreed. Baela's next question was a serious one, and Daeron could see the worry etched on her face. "So, where do you think Rhaenyra will go?" she asked.

Daeron considered the question carefully, knowing that his sister would do whatever it took to keep their nephew Aegon safe. "Knowing her, Aegon's safety will be her top priority," he said, his brow furrowed in thought. "I'd say she might go to the Vale, under the protection of Lady Arryn, or perhaps White Harbor for the sake of distance."

Baela nodded, her mind no doubt racing with the implications of Rhaenyra's next move. "I prey that your right," Baela said solemnly, her eyes full of worry. Daeron tried to think of something to lift the mood, but he found himself at a loss. "If you want," he finally said, "I can ask Aegon if I can send a letter to Rhaena."

Baela gave him a warm smile, grateful for his attempt to comfort her. "That's very sweet of you," she said, her voice softening. "I hope he doesn't give you any trouble for it." Daeron chuckled. "My brother is many things, but..." He trailed off suddenly, his gaze fixated on the window.

"Daeron?" Baela's voice was laced with concern. "What's wrong?" The prince walked closer to the window, his eyes scanning the horizon. "No no no no... she wouldn't, she can't," he muttered to himself.

Baela watched in confusion as Daeron rushed to the door, only to find it locked. He fumbled around frantically, trying to open it. "No no no, Aegon, why..." he muttered, his fists pounding against the door. "Fuck!”

He turned back to her, and he could see the look of fear in her eyes. "What's happening?" she asked, her voice trembling with anxiety. Daeron ran his hands through his hair, grasping it tightly. "I saw a ship, just one. It was baring Rhaenyra's banners. Baela, she's here alone," he said, the gravity of the situation setting in.

He tried to open the door again, this time ramming his body into it, trying to break the hinges. "Come on, come on," he muttered, his eyes scanning the room frantically. Suddenly, he remembered something. "Baela, your knife, the one you tried to kill me with, where is it?" His voice was laced with panic.

Baela frantically got out of bed, making no effort to cover herself. "Here," she said, handing him the knife. Using all his strength, Daeron used the knife to finally wrench the door open. He turned to Baela one last time, his eyes filled with determination. "Stay here," he commanded, and with that, he left, rushing down the serpentine steps.

He made his way through the castle frantically, his heart pounding in his chest. The sound of his own footsteps echoed through the halls, as he searched a way out Finally, he made his way through the castle halls and spotted an open door leading out into the castle courtyard. However, as he got closer, he could see the distinctive shine of golden scales and a woman standing proudly, while a small child clung to her legs.

Daeron's heart leapt into his throat as he realized who it was. "Rhaenyra!" he cried out, hoping she'd hear him. He ran as fast as his legs would allow, his heart pounding in his chest.

As he burst into the courtyard, he could see young Aegon screaming for his mother, as he was dragged from her. Rhaenyra just stood there, glaring with such hatred at their brother. The golden dragon Daeron now recognized as a scarred but healing Sunfyre, his brother's dragon. The beast slowly began to raise its burnt and scarred face that so resembled its rider.

"Aegon, please don't!" Daeron cried out as he watched in horror. Rhaenyra then noticed Daeron standing there. For the first time in his life, he didn't see hatred in her eyes. She smiled at him, but before the prince could respond, a torrent of golden flame enveloped her. 

Daeron stumbled back, his mind reeling in shock and disbelief. He had never imagined such a horrific end for his sister, not like this. He could feel his stomach churning as he fought to hold back the bile rising in his throat.

Daeron got a hold of himself and rushed with great speed towards young Aegon. He could see the boy's face was twisted in fear and confusion, and his heart ached at the sight.

Without a second thought, Daeron drew out Baela's knife and lunged at the guardsman holding the young prince down. The blade plunged into the man's chest, and he fell to the ground with a gasp.

Tossing the knife aside, Daeron then pulled Aegon close, hugging him tightly to conceal his vision and placing his hands over the boy's ears to mask Rhaenyra's charred screams of agony. For what felt like an eternity, they stood there, locked in each other's embrace, as the world around them burned and crumbled.

As Rhaenyra's screams finally subsided, Daeron felt a cold shiver run down his spine at the sight before him. Sunfyre had devoured his sister, leaving only a charred and bloody stump where her lower leg had been. The once-great dragon now lay panting heavily, its golden scales streaked with blood.

Daeron stood up slowly, never once letting go of young Aegon, who remained tightly clutched in his embrace. As he rose to his full height, his eyes locked onto his brother's form.

His face contorted with rage, Daeron glared at Aegon with an intensity that could have set the whole castle ablaze. His hands trembled with fury, and for a moment, he thought he might strike out at his brother in blind anger.

"Why did you do it?" he said, tears streaming down his face. "You lied... you swore you'd show mercy." Aegon scowled at him, his burns reflecting the cruelty he had just displayed. "I said I'd let the boy live," he replied coldly. "I promised no such gift to our whore sister."

Daeron's knuckles turned white as his fists clenched in anger. "You said she could mourn her sons in peace," he growled through gritted teeth. The king merely looked down at his younger brother with a callous sneer.

"She can mourn them in the seven hells for all I care," Aegon spat, his tone as cold as steel. Daeron could feel his body tensing in response to his brother's callous words.

"Is this kind of example you wish to set for your son, is this the kind of man you wish Maelor to become" Daeron shot back, his voice sharp and cutting. "Cruelty is not a trait any man should have, let alone display. No man should have to strike down his own kin, especially by choice. It is an act that never goes unpunished."

Aegon's glare deepened, a scowl forming on his face. "Do not lecture me on cruelty," he snarled, his anger boiling over. "My son is dead because of her. A boy of six, and yet she demanded blood for a kill I didn't make, or commanded."

Daeron shook his head, trying his best to restrain the anger that coursed through his veins. "Cruelty begets cruelty," he repeated, his voice tinged with bitterness. "And one day, you will reap what you sow. Perhaps you'll never live to see it, but Maelor will be forced to deal with the consequences."

Aegon's face twisted in a mixture of rage and sadness at the mention of his son's name. Daeron could see the faintest glimmer of tears in his brother's eyes, but it did little to soften his resolve.

"Do you really think that after all that's happened, she would have shown us mercy?" Aegon's voice was harsh and unforgiving. "If we had sent her away, she wouldn't have hesitated to have my children murdered. We had no choice, Daeron. Hate me for it if you will, but for Maelor and Jaehaera for their sake, you must understand."

Daeron's jaw clenched as he listened to his brother's words. He knew that Aegon was right, that there had been no other option. But the thought made him sick to his stomach. "I don't hate you, Aegon," he said, his voice quiet and measured. "But I cannot condone this. The price we have paid for our actions is far too high. We have lost so much, and for what? A pointless feud that has cost us nearly everything."

Aegon's expression softened slightly at his brother's words. "I know it's hard to understand," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "But I did what I had to do to protect my family. And I would do it again, if I had to."

Daeron let out a deep sigh, knowing that his brother was right. The world was a cruel and unforgiving place, and sometimes the only choice was to do what must be done. But even so, he couldn't shake the feeling that there could have been a better way.

"What happens now?" Daeron asked, his voice heavy with sorrow. "The remainder of the Velaryon fleet will escort us back to King's Landing," Aegon replied, his voice cold and steely. "From there, we will let the world know that Rhaenyra is dead, and that the rightful king will be returning to his throne."

Daeron looked up at his brother, his expression tense. "And young Aegon?" he asked. "I said I'd let him live, for your sake," Aegon said, his gaze unwavering. "I'll leave him under your care." Daeron nodded, taking his nephew in his arms as he prepared to leave. But before he could go, Aegon placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning in close to whisper in his ear.

"I know what you did," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't let such temptations lead you astray as they did me. I need my hand clear of mind." Daeron stiffened, knowing that his brother was referring to his actions with Baela the previous night.

With that the elder prince and his young nephew set foot towards Sea Dragon Tower, the weight of their shared grief hung heavy in the air. They traversed the stone paths in silence, the only sound the echo of their footsteps bouncing off the cold walls.

Daeron, with a heavy heart, held the boy's hand tightly, his mind wandering back to the events that had brought them to this moment. He had failed to save the boy's mother, and the guilt weighed heavily on him.

Finally, as they approached the serpentine stairs, Daeron could no longer bear the silence. He turned to the young boy with a sorrowful expression, and uttered the words that had been gnawing at his conscience.

"I'm sorry... I couldn't save her," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The boy looked up at him, his dark purple eyes shining with unshed tears. They seemed almost black in the dim lighting of the castle, a stark contrast to his pale skin and shock of white hair.

"Uncle Darry, what's going to happen to me?" the boy asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Daeron drew the boy close, feeling a swell of paternal protectiveness well up within him. He placed a gentle hand on the boy's head, stroking his hair as he spoke."You'll be under my care," he said, his voice firm and reassuring. "I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. we are family , and I will not let any harm come to you."

The boy's face remained unchanged, yet the prince discerned a glimmer of thankfulness in his gaze. Finally they arrived at the entrance of Visenya's chambers, where Baela had been held. The doors were still in disarray from Daeron's frenzied escape from earlier. "Aegon," he heard Baela cry out, rushing towards her brother with tears streaming down her cheeks, She enveloped him in a tight embrace.

"Oh, Egg, it's alright now. I'm here for you," Baela whispered softly, as the boy broke down into tears. "Baela, I've missed you so much. I'm sorry, so sorry. It's all my fault," he stammered through his tears. Baela gently stroked his pallid hair. "Why would you say such things? You've done nothing wrong."

The little prince wiped away the tears from his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. "Viserys is gone because of me. I left him, and if I hadn't, Jace wouldn't have chased after them. He'd still be here. And mother...she..." Before he could finish, Daeron knelt down and embraced them both.

"No, it's my fault," Daeron responded, his voice heavy with regret. "I failed to save your mother, my sister, and the rest. Perhaps if I had gone to Storm's End instead of Aemond, or if I hadn't been in Oldtown... Baela, I failed."

He could feel Baela's muscles tense up, her face twisted in anger. With her scars, she resembled Aegon, bearing the same look of smoldering vengeance in her eyes. "How did he do it?" she demanded, her voice raw with emotion.

Daeron hesitated for a moment before whispering the details of Rhaenyra's death, hoping that young Aegon hadn't heard. Baela slammed her fist into the ground, the sound echoing throughout the room. "Sick fuck..." she muttered under her breath, her eyes gleaming with a fierce determination.

"I'll make him pay for this...I...I'll," Baela seethed, her eyes burning with rage. Daeron gazed into her eyes, his voice pleading. "Please, don't...you'll only make things worse. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I promise you, no harm will come to Egg."

But before he could say another word, Daeron felt a sharp pain across his face. The realization dawned on him that Baela had struck him. Her voice was laced with pain as she spoke. "How can you promise that? Your brother burned Rhaenyra to death and fed her to his dragon. And you expect me to trust the words of such a man?"

Daeron let out a heavy sigh. "Would she have shown us the same mercy...?" he murmured to himself, lost in thought. Baela looked at him, confused and annoyed. "Do you not remember what she did to Ser Vaemond? What mercy did she show him for simply speaking the truth? My brother's actions were beyond cruel, but you cannot tell me she wouldn't have done the same."

Daeron leaned in close to Baela. "While this war still rages, no harm will come to him," he promised, his voice low and urgent. "And when it ends, he'll be under my protection. I swear it on my life and to the seven above.”

Baela studied him for a long moment before finally nodding her agreement. "Fine," she said. "But if anything happens to him, Don’t think just because we shared a bed means I’ll let you off.” Daeron swallowed hard, knowing that the weight of her words carried a deeper threat than he cared to consider. 

In the blink of an eye, his hopes for a swift reconciliation had been snatched away like a bird from the sky, consumed by the same golden flames that had claimed his sister. Daeron stood frozen in place, His thoughts turned to Baela, his heart heavy with worry. Had their relationship also gone up in flames, destroyed by the same fire that threatened to tear his family apart?

Finally, young Aegon found his voice amidst the tense silence, his eyes betraying the anguish he felt inside. A crimson tint crept into his gaze, a testament to the tears he had shed. "Baela," he spoke, his tone heavy with emotion, "don't blame uncle Darry. He saved me. Please, don't be angry with him."

Baela, turned to the boy and stroked his hair, her expression softening despite the anger that had been bubbling inside her. "Hush now, Aegon," she replied, her voice gentle yet resolute. "Perhaps you are right. I should not be furious with your uncle. But know that there is more to this than meets the eye. One day, when you are older, you shall understand."

Her words hung heavy in the air, their weight felt by Daeron as he struggled to find a suitable response. He wanted to say something, anything to ease the tension that had settled between them, but the words were lost to him.Before he could gather his thoughts, a knock sounded at the door, interrupting their silent conversation. "Enter," he said, his tone subdued as the battered doors creaked open.

The figure that entered was one he now recognized, Ser Marston Waters, clad in shining silver armor that gleamed in the dim light of the chamber.

"My Prince," Ser Marston said, bowing low before them.

"I take it you bring word from my brother," Daeron said, his tone laced with sarcasm. He knew what the knight was going to say, but he wanted to hear it from the man's own lips.

"Aye," the knight replied, his voice steady despite the Prince's biting words. “ His grace requested , that I escort yourself, Princess Baela, and Prince Aegon to the docks. We are to leave for King's Landing."

The Prince nodded, and then turned to Baela and Aegon. The two of them got up, tightly holding the young prince's hand, and followed Ser Marston through the castle. No one spoke a word, except for the sound of their footsteps and the occasional breeze. Finally, they arrived at the docks. As Daeron breathed in the salty sea air mixed with the brimstone of Dragonstone, he heard a distinctive roar. He looked up to see Tessarion swooping overhead, followed by a scared yet determined Sunfyre. As they flew past once more, young Aegon recoiled in fright.

"It's alright, egg. They shan't harm you," spoke Baela, her voice laced with a gentle reassurance. Daeron leaned in, running his fingers through the pale streaks in his nephew's hair, offering him comfort in his time of need.

As he turned his gaze towards the docks, he spotted his brother, hunched over and leaning heavily upon his cane. His silver locks, cascading in unruly tangles. He was speaking to someone unfamiliar. 

Baela shifted uncomfortably, her gaze wandering off to the side, a clear sign that something was amiss. Daeron knew that it wasn't just because of his brother's presence, but because of the stranger with whom he conversed. From his vantage point, he could tell who it was, and the implications of his presence.

He was of a similar age to the prince, but with a slightly shorter stature and a lean build that spoke of grace and agility. He bore the distinctive silver hair of Old Valyria. However, it was his eyes that caught Daeron's attention, for they were not the piercing violet hue of his own bloodline, but a more muted blush shade, hinting at a subtler heritage.

Without a doubt, this was none other than Ser Alyn Velaryon, younger brother to Daeron's newfound friend Ser Addam Velaryon, and former lover of Baela. Daeron came to a halt and knelt down upon the ground, fixing his gaze upon Aegon with a stern expression. "Aegon," he said in a hushed tone, "stay close to your sister, and remain here. Can you do that?" The boy offered a meek nod in response.

Daeron then shifted his attention to Baela, and though not a single word passed between them, their silent exchange conveyed more than any words could ever hope to articulate.

Daeron rose from his position and strode towards the pair, Ser Alyn was the first to take notice of the prince's approach and signaled for him to interject in their conversation. "Prince Daeron The Daring," he boomed, his voice oozing with brazen confidence. "It appears you've finally joined us. His grace and I were just discussing our upcoming voyage to the capital."

"Ser Alyn, it's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," Daeron acknowledged him with a perfunctory nod. "I've come to know your brother, Ser Addam quite well. How is he faring?"

The knight scoffed, visibly irritated that the prince had shifted the topic of discussion away from him. "Ah, yes. Addam is doing quite well, and he speaks very highly of you and your many accomplishments," he said with a hint of disdain. "As I was saying to his grace, thanks to my brother and Seasmoke, King's Landing is now fully prepared for the return of the king."

Aegon gave a nod of approval. "Indeed, and I trust that the Velaryon fleet will ensure our safe passage back to the capital," he remarked, although his tone was laced with a hint of skepticism. Daeron could sense that the events of the previous days had taken a toll on him, even if he refused to admit it.

The king let out a painful cough that cut through the air like a knife, Daeron had grown accustomed to it, but it still pained him to see his brother suffer so.

"I shall take my leave now, Daeron," Aegon said, his voice weak but resolute. "Come sup with me later, will you?" Daeron gave him a respectful nod, his eyes never leaving the king's face. Aegon stepped forward, gesturing for two guardsmen to come forward and assist the king onto the ship. 

This left the prince alone with Ser Alyn, and the two stood in silence for a moment as Daeron took in the impressive sight of the Ship they were to take back to King’s Landing. It was both grand and formidable, with a sleek design that exuded a sense of deadly elegance.

"Aye, she's a beauty, isn't she? The Seasnake, the pride of my house," Ser Alyn remarked, a sense of pride evident in his voice. Daeron was surprised by the choice of ship; he had expected Lord Corlys to make a grand show of devotion to his brother, but to have him return to King's Landing aboard the same vessel he had taken on his famous nine voyages was a clear indication of the Seasnake’s cunning.

"My grandfather thought it only proper that his grace makes a proper return to the capital," Ser Alyn said, his head held high with pride. It was clear that he was pleased to have been chosen as the captain of the Seasnake, over both his brother Addam and even Lord Corlys himself. "Rest assured, I will ensure that we reach King's Landing in due time," he added with a sense of confidence.

"I shall make sure to thank Lord Corlys for his generosity when we return," Daeron replied, his tone tinged with a slight hint of admiration. While the symbolism of the ship's use was less than noble, the prince couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. The Seasnake had sailed to places he couldn't even imagine - from the treacherous pirate dens of the Basilisk Isles to the near-mythical city of Asshai. It was a vessel with a history that spanned generations, and its prestige was not lost on Daeron.

It was designed to be both fast and powerful, with a narrow, streamlined hull that sliced through the water with ease. The ship was made of pale wood, with a distinctive sea green paint scheme with a silvery tint, That shone in the light.

The Seasnake could crew over a hundred men, Its sails were a deep sea green color, emblazoned with the silver seahorse sigil of House Velaryon. The ship's deck was wide and flat, with a raised platform at the front where Lord Corlys would have stood and directed his crew during battle.

Alyn once more sensing the prince’s admiration, guided his attention to his favourite part of the ship, The prow as it was adorned with a fearsome-looking figurehead, depicting a sea dragon with sharp teeth and claws. It was said that the figurehead was carved from an actual sea dragon's skull, and that it brought good luck to the ship and its crew.

“Surely you jest Ser” Daeron said “No it is what they say, and besides the ship as survived this long.” Daeron gave a light chuckle, however it was then he remembered Baela and Aegon He gestured for them to come aboard, He helped Egg up, the boy was still cautious of the dragons circling overhead. Alyn extended out an arm to help Baela but she only scoffed at him.

Ser Alyn led the group towards their quarters. Baela and Aegon were to stay in the same room, while Daeron's was to be adjacent, with a door in between the two. Alyn didn't seem pleased at the prospect, but Daeron could see he was trying his best to hide his discontent.

As they walked through the winding corridors of the ship, Daeron couldn't help but admire the intricate carvings and decorations that adorned the walls. The Velaryon's were certainly a wealthy house, and they spared no expense in showcasing their wealth.

Eventually, they arrived at their quarters, and Alyn showed them to their respective rooms. Daeron thanked him and bid him goodnight, before entering his own room and closing the door. He was exhausted from the day's events, but he knew sleep wouldn't come easily.

Daeron found himself lost in his thoughts, his mind drifting back to the dream he had the night before. His thoughts turned to his family, and he couldn't help but worry for them. He worried for Maelor and Jaehaera, so far from home and surrounded by danger. He worried for his mother and Helaena, still in the capital and vulnerable to the machinations of their enemies.

As he lay in bed, his thoughts turned to Aemond, his brother who lay deep under the God's Eye, and to Rhaenyra, his sister whom he had failed to save. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt and regret at the thought of her. He had promised to protect her, but he had failed.

Chapter Text

Daeron lay still, his mind wandering through the halls of memory. He was lost in thought, replaying past conversations as well as battles fought and won. The rhythm of his breathing was the only sound in the room until a knock on the door broke the silence.

He rose from the bed, the weight of his thoughts still, heavy on his shoulders. With a heavy sigh, he made his way to the door, the wood creaking with each step. As he opened the door, he was met with the young face of one of his brother's men.

Though he was more boy than man, he bowed his head in respect, “My Prince, apologies for disturbing you. But his grace has requested you to join him for supper.”

Daeron's shoulders slumped, weary from the weight of his thoughts, “Tell my brother I shall join him shortly.”

The boy nodded and scurried away, leaving Daeron alone once again with his thoughts. He wondered if his brother had summoned him for a specific purpose, or if it was merely a routine meal. Either way, Daeron knew that he would need to brace himself for whatever was to come.

With measured steps, he made his way across the room towards the second door that led to Baela and Egg's chambers. He rapped his knuckles gently against the wood, hoping not to disturb their slumber. When he received no response, he decided to take a peek inside, gingerly pushing the door open.

Through the crack, he could see the faint outline of Baela's form, slumped over in sleep. Aegon was curled up beside her, his head resting on her lap as he breathed softly in his slumber, They had been through a lot that day.

Daeron hesitated, unsure whether he should disturb them or leave them be. He knew they were tired and needed their rest, but he also wanted to check on them, to make sure they were safe and sound.

In the end, he decided to err on the side of caution and leave them be. He closed the door as quietly as he could and made his way back to his own chambers, only to exit his own to find his brother.

The ship was eerily quiet, the only sounds to be heard were the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull. He paused in his steps, taking a moment to gaze up at the moon. It hung in the sky like a pale, luminescent orb, surrounded by a sea of twinkling stars.

As he watched, he noticed the glistening silhouettes of Sunfyre and Tessarion gliding gracefully through the night sky. They were a sight to behold, their wingspan stretching out wide as they soared through the air. Daeron couldn't help but marvel at their beauty, even in the midst of such trying times.

For a moment, he forgot about the perils that lay ahead and simply allowed himself to be awed by the majesty of the creatures before him. But he knew he couldn’t keep his brother waiting for too long.

As he turned to leave the deck, his eyes caught sight of Ser Alyn muttering something to a group of sailors. The knight's smug expression was still firmly in place, just as it had been when he had first arrived on Dragonstone. There was something about it that seemed familiar to Daeron, but he couldn't quite place what it was.

For a moment, he paused and observed the knight, his curiosity piqued. But he quickly shook his head and pushed the thought aside. There were more pressing matters to attend to, and he could not afford to be distracted.

As Daeron approached his brother's quarters, he could see the glint of Ser Marston's pale armor in the dim light, standing sentinel outside the door. Giving the knight a curt nod, Daeron stepped into the expansive chamber. The room was illuminated by a gentle, yet subdued light, casting long shadows across the space.

The window at the back of the room overlooked the Blackwater, its dark waters reflecting the faint light of the moon. A small table had been set up near the window, adorned with an array of delectable dishes, the fragrant aroma wafting through the air and enveloping the room in a tantalizing scent.

Seated at the far end of the chamber was Aegon, hunched over a large tome, bound in black leather and adorned with golden clasps and rubies. His eyes were transfixed on the book's pages, lost in a world of ancient lore and forgotten knowledge.

Daeron approached his brother, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpets that covered the floor. As he drew closer, Aegon looked up, his eyes meeting his own.

"Brother," Daeron said, his voice laced with an attempt at cordiality. Their last meeting had been one of deceit, anger, and betrayal. Daeron had witnessed firsthand the changes that had overtaken his once-beloved brother, and he held onto the hope that the boy he had grown up with was still hidden beneath the layers of mistrust and deception.

Aegon's tone was one of remorse as he spoke, his eyes betraying a hint of vulnerability. "Daeron...I wasn't certain you would honor me with your presence," he said, his voice laced with a hint of resignation. But Daeron knew better than to take his brother's words at face value.

The Prince let out a deep, heavy sigh, his gaze fixed on Aegon. "I still need time to fully contemplate your actions," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "But know this, Aegon, you are still my brother, and I will still serve you till my dying breath."

Aegon's face lit up with a crooked smile, but it was short-lived. His expression soon turned mournful, and Daeron could sense the weight of regret and sorrow that hung over him like a dark cloud.

"I do not like the man I was, or the one I have become," Aegon said, his voice low and pained. "I wish I didn't have to lie to you, but you must know why."

Daeron's heart sank at the sound of his brother's words. He could sense the pain and anguish that lay beneath them, the weight of guilt and regret that threatened to crush him.

"I understand, brother," Daeron said softly. "I may not agree with all that you've done, but I know that you've done what you thought was necessary to protect our family and the realm. And I will stand by you, no matter what."

Aegon looked up, his eyes meeting Daeron's. For a moment, there was a glimmer of hope, a flicker of the brotherly bond that had once united them But it was fleeting.

Daeron's gaze shifted towards the book still clutched in his brothers hands, the golden lettering of its title catching his eye. "Shadows and Secrets by Maester Monford," he read aloud, his tone laced with curiosity. "You never struck me as a heavy reader, Aegon."

The King let out a slight chuckle, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Ah yes...well, I need some way to pass the time on this fucking boat," he said, gesturing towards the small window that looked out onto the sea. "And besides, a good read never hurt anyone."

Daeron raised an eyebrow but said nothing, knowing better than to push his brother too far. He watched as Aegon hobbled towards the table, It was a humbling sight, and one that filled Daeron with a strange mix of pity and guilt.

"Come, brother, let us eat," Aegon said, gesturing towards the small table laid out with food. Daeron nodded, taking his seat opposite his brother.

The warm, enticing aroma of the food filled Daeron's nostrils, and he could feel his stomach rumbling with hunger. He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of the baked salmon, which had been dosed in lemon juice, salt, and pepper, as well as the assortment of fresh vegetables that had been prepared with care. There was even bacon and lamprey pie, a delicacy that was favored by many in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Aye, this is certainly a fine meal, Aegon," Daeron said, his mouth watering as he reached for a slice of the salmon.

His brother nodded, his expression guarded. "Yes...courtesy of Ser Alyn," he said sarcastically, pouring some wine into their cups. "None for me...I've lost my taste for wine," Daeron said, declining his brother's offer and instead reaching for a glass of water.

Aegon frowned, his eyes narrowing. "You can't expect me to drink this Dornish piss by myself. Drink, your king commands it," he said, thrusting the cup toward Daeron.

Sighing, Daeron took the cup, inspecting the dark liquid with a critical eye. He had never been fond of Dornish wine, finding it too bitter and strong for his liking. But as his brother had commanded, he took a sip, feeling the fiery liquid burning a trail down his throat. "Gods, that's strong," he said, coughing slightly and setting the cup down. He could feel his brother's eyes on him, studying him closely, and he wondered what thoughts were lurking behind that inscrutable gaze.

"So, brother, tell me, of all the books on this ship, why Shadows and Secrets? Isn't that one infamous among the men of the Citadel?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Aegon looked up from his plate, a sly smile playing across his lips. "I'll be honest with you, Daeron, when I picked it up, I thought it was a book on, well... more sensual matters," he said, letting out a wheezy laugh. 

"But no, it's a first-hand account of its author's journey and stay in Asshai and the Shadow Lands," Aegon replied, taking another sip of wine as he did so. "Maester Monford, the author, wasn't he a kinsman to the Seasnake?" Daeron asked curiously, his interest piqued.

"Aye, that he was," Aegon confirmed. "Maester Monford was a cousin of Lord Corlys, He was always something of an oddity, with a fascination for the dark arts and forbidden knowledge." Daeron listened carefully; he’d once heard some Maesters complaining about the man during his time in Oldtown.

" The fool believed he could curry favor with the Archmaesters and ascend their ranks by penning tales of his cousin’s voyages to the far east. Alas, he accompanied him on only two of these journeys.”

"Only two," Daeron asked, his confusion evident. "Aye, only two," Aegon confirmed, his voice turning grave. "He sailed with the Seasnake on his first two voyages, from the opulence of Yi Ti to the shadows of Asshai. There, amidst the dark alleys and blackened temples, he immersed himself in the lore of bloodmages and Shadowbinders, chronicling all that he could."

Daeron's curiosity piqued. "And what of him?" he asked, eager to know more. Aegon's expression darkened further.

“The fool chose to remain in the city of shadows, while the Seasnake returned to Westeros. By the time Lord Corlys returned on his forth voyage the man had gone half insane.”

 Daeron tired take another sip of the wine but still couldn’t get over the bitterness, “ And I take the book and whatever copies of it thst exist are all that remains of his legacy.”

"Aye," Aegon confirmed with a grave nod. "He spoke of a grand empire, one that ruled long before our ancestors took root, and of Dragonlords who wielded both shadow and flame. He sang of forgotten songs that spoke of the true origins of dragons, and whispered of that they still linger in the darkest corners of the world.”

Daeron listened intently, his mind racing with the implications of such knowledge. "And you believe him?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of doubt.

His brother shrugged. "Who can say?" he replied. "But one thing is certain - the man knew more about the world than any other living soul, And now that he is gone,laying beneath the waves with the rest of his kin.” 

As Aegon concluded his tale, Daeron watched as his brother reached into his pocket and retrieved something, his demeanor turning somber. "But there was another reason that I called you here besides mere pleasantries " Aegon said, his voice low and intense. He held up two pieces of parchment, each bound by colored wax and bearing distinct sigils - a Firefly on one, and a tower with a blazing flame atop it on the other.

Daeron's eyes widened as he recognized the sigils, and he felt a lump form in his throat. "One bears the sigil of The Clubfoot," Aegon said, his voice low and grave. "But this one is from our mother."

Daeron felt his heart skip a beat at the mention of their mother. It had been so long since he had seen or heard from her, and he had begun to fear the worst. But now, seeing her words before him, he felt a glimmer of hope.

"Brother, please," he said, his voice urgent. "What do the letters say?"

Aegon's voice was heavy with emotion as he spoke. "Our mother lives, and she is relatively unharmed, as is Helaena," he said, his words causing Daeron to breathe a sigh of relief. But then Aegon paused, and Daeron could see the hint of tears forming in his purple eyes.

"However," Aegon continued, his voice strained, "her mind is still broken. It seems that during the Whore's occupation, she tried to end her own life. Thank the gods that mother managed to stop her."

Daeron's heart sank at the news. He knew how close his mother had been to Helaena, and the thought of her being broken in such a way filled him with sorrow and rage. But then Aegon spoke again, and Daeron's world turned upside down once more.

"She doesn't know," Aegon said, his voice barely above a whisper. "None of them know - Maelor and Jaehaera are alive." Daeron felt his blood turn to ice at the words.

Aegon's expression darkened further as he continued. "That is not all," he said, his voice low and bitter. "It seems false information was spread among the smallfolk - they believe all three to be dead. This led them to revolt against our sister's usurpation."

Daeron listened in shock as Aegon continued. "The masses drove her out, forcing her to flee. But in doing so, they caused untold damage. Unfortunately, it seems that Uncle Gwayne was killed in the onslaught," Aegon said, his words dripping with sorrow and regret.

Daeron's heart sank at the news of his uncle’s death. Gwayne had always been a good influence in his life, and his passing reminded Daeron of the day he had received word of his grandfather's execution. The world seemed to be falling apart around him, and he could only watch helplessly.

"What of the city then?" Daeron asked, trying to focus on the practicalities of the situation. "If Rhaenyra's forces have been overrun and she has fled, who governs the city now? Before I left for Dragonstone, I could see masses of smoke rising from every part of the city."

Aegon's expression turned even grimmer as he replied to Daeron's question. "The smallfolk - ever the ravenous lot - have taken control, rallying behind various charlatans grasping at any semblance of power," he said, his voice heavy with disgust. Daeron could see his brother's fists tighten, his anger at the situation clear on his face.

"The worst of them have rallied behind that turbulent preacher whom father tried to deal with some years ago," Aegon continued. "This is where the information disturbs me. The preacher claims that he had received a vision from the gods themselves, that he was the chosen one to lead the people of Westeros to a new era of prosperity and peace."

"Aye, I remember him now. The so-called Shepherd of the Faithful," Daeron added with a scowl. "He called us and our dragons abominations, and tried to rally the people against us. He always eluded the gold cloaks, no matter how hard they tried."

Aegon nodded in agreement, but it was what he said next that truly disturbed Him. "With thousands at his back, they marched to the Dragonpit and destroyed it, killing the dragons that lay within."

Daeron stood frozen, unsure how to respond to the Dragonpit and the beasts it was built to contain were the very symbol of Targaryen pride and strength. He knew that dragons still lived, but the news still shook him to his very core.

"What would we be without our dragons?" Daeron wondered, his voice barely above a whisper. “ Could we still reign so high?”

The thought sent shivers down his spine. He couldn't help but ask the question that haunted him "How many... how many are left? And how many died in the pit?"

"Three Tyraxes, Syrax, and Shrykos," he muttered, his voice heavy with grief. "Gone, all of them gone. And yet, even though only one of them was ours, a dragon is still a dragon."

Daeron nodded in agreement, his face etched with concern. "What of Dreamfyre and Morghul?" he asked, his voice grim and quiet. "What news of them?"

Aegon sighed deeply, his eyes fixed on the ground. "Dreamfyre was last seen fleeing from battle, and it is said she now roosts in the cliffs near the capital," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "As for Morghul, there is no trace of him. presumably buried beneath whatever remains of the pit.”

Daeron's heart was pounding as he listened to his brother speak. The news of the dragons' losses had hit them hard, and the thought of more bad news was almost too much to bear.

"When do you get these letters?" he asked, his voice thick with tension.

Aegon looked up at him, his eyes filled with the glint of hope. "They came with Ser Alyn," he said, before shifting into one of his painful coughs "However, I must say that he did confirm one piece of good news - our forces have reclaimed the city."

Daeron let out a sigh of relief, his tense shoulders easing slightly. It was good to know that they had finally struck a victory, after so many long and difficult battles. For a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the glow of that small victory, to revel in the hope that it brought.

"That aside," Aegon began with a furrowed brow, his voice heavy with concern. "The news of the dragons still bothers me so. When this accused dance began, our world knew twenty dragons. Now, more than half lay dead."

Daeron silently counted the remaining dragons in his head, his expression somber. "If we count the riderless dragons, then the number has gone down to eight," he confirmed, his voice low. "And of those, only five still have living riders. Even then, only three are in ideal condition."

Aegon's expression darkened as he shook his head in dismay. "It is a dire situation indeed," he muttered, his voice heavy with concern. "Sheepstealer is the most concerning of them all, almost as large as Vermithor and under the command of a rider with no allegiance to anyone."

Daeron nodded in agreement, his expression grave. "From what I know, they just vanished," he added, his voice equally troubled. "No one knows where they went or what they're planning. It's a dangerous unknown that we can't afford to ignore."

Aegon nodded gravely as he finished the last of the wine, his eyes fixed on Daeron. "But despite all this," he said quietly, "I thank the gods for you and Tessarion. Only they know what would have happened, or where we’d would be without you both."

Daeron's face softened into a smile. "Indeed," he agreed, his voice tinged with relief. "And for all its worth, perhaps we can learn from this and not make the same mistakes as our predecessors. We must be careful, wise, and above all, united in our efforts to protect the dragons our family and the realm.”

Aegon leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant as he pondered their situation. "You are right, my dear brother" he said at last, his voice firm. "We must learn from the past if we are to have any hope of a future.”

"I am your Hand, I am at your service," Daeron said with a bow, his tone respectful and formal.

Aegon chuckled, shaking his head. "Always the formalities with you," he teased gently. "But yes, I do need wise counsel. Depending on who's left, we'll need a new small council to help us govern the realm."

Daeron nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "Indeed," he said slowly. "We must also make sure to reward our allies and placate our enemies. It's a delicate balance we must strike, but it's necessary if we're to maintain our power."

Aegon's brow furrowed with irritation. "I agree, but I swear if the Seasnake expects me to name him master of ships...gods, he'll have another thing coming.”

Daeron chuckled softly, "I doubt even the Seasnake is that arrogant," he said with a grin. "Besides, he's too old for the post anyway. He'd likely just push for you to name one of his grandsons in his stead."

Aegon nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "Yes, you're right," he said slowly. "You've spoken highly of Ser Addam. As heir to Driftmark and rider of Seasmoke, he'd do much to curry favour with the Velaryons."

Daeron nodded in agreement, "Ser Addam is an excellent choice," he said with a grin. "Despite His youth he’s a skilled sailor and warrior, and a man of honor far cry from his grandfather he'd be a valuable addition to our small council."

Aegon nodded slowly, "I'll certainly consider him for the position," he said at last, his voice measured. "But such matters are more befitting once we return to King's Landing."

Daeron felt a flicker of caution at his brother's words. Aegon had made many promises in the past, only to break them when it suited him. But there was something in his tone that felt more sincere this time, and Daeron couldn't help but wonder if his brother was trying to make amends for his past lies.

Aegon turned to look out the window the moonlight shining upon his scared face, 

“ I am sorry, you know about our last conversation. I was blinded by anger, hatred and grief.” Daeron was unsure what to say, he took a deep breath before he found his words.

“ And mayhaps I was blinded by an idealized future, neither of us is truly innocent of any crimes.” Daeron was reminded of his actions at Bitterbridge the faces of the people still haunted him.

"There is much that still troubles me, brother," Daeron said, his brow furrowed with concern. "But I pray that the worst is behind us."

Aegon nodded solemnly, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "I'll agree to that," he said, his voice low and measured. "But the hour grows late. We can talk more in depth when we return to King's Landing."

Daeron let out a light yawn, feeling the weariness of the long journey settling into his bones. Aegon was right - the hour was indeed late, and they both needed rest.

"I'm glad we had this talk, Aegon," he said, his voice tinged with relief. "I'm glad that despite the scars, the brother I grew up with is still within you."

Aegon smiled faintly, his eyes flickering with a hint of warmth. But as Daeron turned to leave, he called out to him, his voice taking on a more urgent tone.

"Wait, Daeron," he said, rising to his feet. "What is it, Aegon?" he asked, his voice steady but guarded.

"Your actions with Baela," Aegon began, his voice low and measured. "Promise me you'll refrain from repeating them. I don't want the Seasnake to gain a reason to betray us. And more importantly, do not fall for the same lusts I once did."

Daeron felt a cold knot form in his stomach at his brother's words. He knew that Aegon was speaking from experience, from the bitter lessons he had learned in his own life.

"I will... try," Daeron said, his tone uncertain. He knew that his promise would be a difficult one to keep, but he would make the effort.

Aegon gave him a single nod, his face inscrutable. "Rest well, brother," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Soon we'll be home."

With that, Daeron gave him a light bow, as a gesture of respect and bid farewell. He turned and left his brother to his own privacy, his thoughts swirling with a hundred different worries and doubts.

As Daeron made his way back across the deck of the ship, he could hear the distinctive sound of people arguing in the distance. He paid it little heed, accustomed as he was to the petty squabbles of those around him.

However, as he drew closer to his room, he saw Ser Alyn brush past him, his hair and clothes disheveled and his expression one of extreme frustration. Daeron couldn't help but feel a sense of unease.

Finally making it back to his room, Daeron was surprised to find Young Aegon sitting in the corner, attempting to read something while covering his ears with his hands. The boy's expression was one of frustration and exhaustion, and it was clear that the long journey was taking its toll on him.

Daeron approached him with a sense of concern etched on his face. "What's wrong, Aegon?" he asked, crouching down beside the boy.

Aegon lowered his hands, revealing a look of distress. “ Ser Alyn came by earlier he wanted to talk with Baela about something, so she said I should wait here but then they started shouting.”

Daeron realised they must have been the cause of the commotion he’d heard earlier, it would also explain Ser Alyn’s expression when he passed by him. 

"Is Baela going to be all right?" Aegon asked, quietly.

Daeron placed a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. "She will be, Aegon. She is a strong and capable young woman, and she has weathered many a storm before. But she needs time to process her thoughts and feelings, to find peace of mind.”

Daeron could see his young mind struggling to comprehend the complexity of the situation. He was too inexperienced, too innocent, to fully grasp the extent of the turmoil. 

Daeron thought to change the subject, but before he could Aegon spoke up. “Uncle” Aegon said, looking up at him, “Thank you..for everything….” Daeron felt a lump form in his throat, and he struggled to keep his composure, He reached out and ruffled Aegon's pale white hair.

"I made a promise I'd protect you, Aegon," Daeron said, his voice low and firm. "And I intend to keep it until the end."

The boy gave him what seemed like a smile, but it was too faint to tell. Daeron felt a pang of sadness in his heart, knowing that he could not shield Aegon from all the harsh realities of life.

But he would do his best. He would fight tooth and nail to keep the boy safe, to ensure that he lived to see another day.

Daeron looked down at the open book on the floor, a sudden idea popping into his head. "What have you been reading then?" he asked, changing the subject as to maybe cheer up the boy.

Daeron watched as a faint spark of curiosity lit up in the boy's dark eyes. He picked up the book and settled down next to Daeron, his small frame barely filling the space between them.

"It's about our ancestors and the dragons," Aegon said, his voice hushed with reverence. "Baela said if I read more about them, I'd find them less scary."

Daeron raised an eyebrow cautiously, wondering what kind of influence she had been exerting on the boy. Baela had always been a wild one, with a fierce love of adventure and danger. It was not hard to imagine her filling Aegon's head with tales of dragons and daring exploits.

"And are you afraid of dragons?" Daeron asked, his voice gentle but probing.Aegon hesitated for a moment, as if unsure how to answer.

Aegon's face fell as he spoke, his voice low and tremulous. "Sunfyre scares me...the book says he's supposed to be the most beautiful dragon in the world, but he looked horrible. He was all scratched and burned...and he...k..kill-"

Daeron cut the boy off before he could finish, sensing the terror in his voice. "I know," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. "And I understand your fear, and even your hatred if you have any."

Aegon looked up at him, his eyes wide with surprise. "Sunfyre was beautiful once," Daeron said, his voice tinged with sadness. "And my brother was a better man. Both have been burned by this war, it changed them from who they once were."

Aegon looked on, his face still, absorbing the weight of Daeron's words. The young prince had seen too much of the devastation of war, too much loss and pain.

"Egg was more like your grandfather than He’d ever like to admit," Daeron said, his voice lowering to a whisper. "But I know he's still in there somewhere."

Aegon nodded, his eyes reflecting the same sense of loss and longing that Daeron felt. They were both searching for something, some glimmer of hope or redemption amidst the ruins of the past.

"Do not hold your fear against all dragons," Daeron said, his voice firm. "One dragon has caused you pain, but that doesn't mean that all dragons are like that. You had one too Remember what would Stormcloud think."

Aegon's face softened at the mention of Stormcloud, the dragon that had been gifted to him by his mother. Daeron knew the bond between dragon and rider all too well and to have it severed he could only imagine.

"I miss Stormcloud," Aegon said, his voice low barely audible. Daeron placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, feeling the weight of his grief.

"For Stormcloud," Daeron said, his voice growing stronger. "I know you can overcome this. You bear the Conqueror's name, after all. He overcame six kingdoms, just as you will overcome your fears."

Aegon looked up at him, his eyes brightening at the mention of his ancestor. Daeron knew that the Targaryen history was a source of fascination and pride for the boy, a way to connect with his family's legacy and find strength in difficult times.

Daeron flipped to a page in the book, where a large drawing of Aegon the Conqueror stood proudly, looking out to sea with Balerion by his side.

"He was brave, wasn't he?" Aegon said, his voice filled with admiration.

Daeron nodded. "One of the bravest. He faced his fears and conquered them. Just like you will."

Aegon smiled, and for a moment, Daeron could see the boy's worries melting away. "Mother always made us read about our ancestors and dragonlore before bed," Aegon said.

"I will leave you to your reading then," Daeron said, his hand lingering on the edge of the book as he turned to go. "I'll go check on Baela."

As he stepped away, he glanced back at his nephew, the boy's pale hair falling softly across his forehead. "Uncle," the boy said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you... for everything."

Daeron's heart swelled with a mixture of pride and sadness. He had done all he could to protect young Aegon, but the weight of the kingdom rested heavily on his shoulders, and he knew that he could not always be there for him.

He turned back to Rhaenyra's son, placing a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "You are my blood, my sister’s son," he said, his voice low and serious. "I will always be here for you, no matter what."

With one last reassuring smile, Daeron turned and walked out of the room, leaving his nephew to his books and his thoughts.

Daeron knocked on Baela's door quietly, his hand lingering on the heavy wooden door. "Baela?" he called out. He heard a muffled response that sounded like a " come in ." With a deep breath, he pushed the door open slowly, careful not to disturb his cousin's solitude.

He stepped inside to see Baela curled up on the bed, her eyes fixed on the window at the endless sea that surrounded them. From her expression, it was obvious that she was annoyed, and Daeron couldn't help but feel a pang of concern.

He approached the bed cautiously, not wanting to startle her.

She turned to face him, her expression softening slightly as she took in his reassuring presence. "Is Aegon alright?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Daeron nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "He was slightly distressed earlier, but he's doing better now," he said, his voice calm and steady. "He's busy reading tales of the conqueror, lost in the stories of our ancestors."

Baela let out a small sigh of relief, her hand unconsciously moving to touch the pendant around her neck. "Thank the gods for that," she murmured, her eyes flickering with emotion.

"I was worried he heard everything... I should have restrained myself... for his sake," Baela admitted, her voice low and filled with regret.

Daeron moved closer, taking her hands in his, his grip strong and reassuring. "If you will, what even happened anyway?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle.

Baela looked down, her expression pained. "Alyn came by earlier he claimed he wanted to reconcile," she said, her tone seemed conflicted.

"At first, I told him where he could put his reconciliation, but well, you've seen his charm," Baela said, rolling her eyes at the last bit. "I do believe he was genuine in his words. I'll admit we shared some moments."

Daeron felt his face flush with embarrassment at her words, reminded of his own experiences with Baela. He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. "Well, I'll admit he has your grandfather's pride and arrogance, but he seems a decent enough fellow," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

Baela let out a loud scoff. "Pah, a mummer's farce," she said sarcastically. "I do still believe his words, but he believed we could continue as we had before. Win me back with his charm he wasn't thinking with his brain. I would have gone alone, but the look in his eyes..."

Daeron cut her off before she could finish. "It reminded you of my brother, didn't it," he said regretfully.

Baela's expression darkened, her eyes flashing with anger. "Yes," she spat out, her voice filled with bitterness. "How did you know?" she questioned.

"I passed by him twice earlier," Daeron replied. "The look he had was one of lust and desire. It reminded me of Aegon and how he used to be." Daeron looked down, memories of the old Aegon washing over him.

The two sat quietly for a moment, the tension between them palpable. Finally, Baela broke the silence. "He knows, by the way, what we did." she said, her voice once again sounding conflicted.

Daeron's eyes widened in shock. "What? How could he know?" he asked, his voice rising with concern.

Baela shrugged again, her expression still resigned. "When I turned him away, he started to rant and questioned me about you. From there, it was a quick guess."

Daeron felt his face go red with embarrassment and frustration. He sighed heavily. "Well, I knew the gods would punish me in some form. Maybe if I talk with Addam when we get to King's Landing, we can sort this out."

Baela nodded, a faint glimmer of hope in her eyes. "Yes, maybe," she said.

“But I’m worried he’ll say something to grandfather.” Daeron nodded in agreement, “ Those two are cut from the same cloth I’m worried they’ll do something to annoy my brother.” Baela let out a sarcastic chuckle “I’m sure Grandfather will do something to step out of line, he did it to the old king, your father and your sister what’s one more to him.”

Daeron frowned at the mention of his family's troubled past. "Let's not speak of my father or sister," he said, his voice darkening. "We have enough to worry about without dwelling on the past."

Daeron squeezed Baela's hand reassuringly. "We'll figure it out, Baela. Together," he said, his voice firm and confident. She gave him a soft smile, but Daeron could sense that something was off. He chose to ignore it for now, knowing that she would talk to him when she was ready.

" When we get back to the capital, I'll have my work cut out for me," Daeron thought to himself. "I hope Mother and Helaena are okay. And Maelor and Jaehaera, too. It's been too long since we've seen them."

 As Daeron thought of his niece and nephew, his mind drifted to the dream he had the other night. So far, he had kept it to himself, not even telling Aegon. He had never been one for prophecy; he accepted the world had Higher Mysteries, but such things still unnerved him. Even Sweet Helaena was said to be a dreamer, but even then they were still unreliable.

"Maybe I should tell her?" he pondered, gazing deeply into Baela’s eyes. She regarded him with a look of bewilderment, “ Daeron is something wrong.” She asked her tone one of confusion as well as concern. 

"Baela...," he began but then hesitated. "No, I shouldn’t burden her with such things,” he thought to himself. Yet, as he sifted through his thoughts, his attention was suddenly seized by Baela's voice, jolting him back to the present moment. "Hey!" she exclaimed, snapping him back to reality.

“What’s with you all of a sudden”, Daeron let out a nervous laugh “It’s nothing take no heed of it.” she seemed to accept the response but she still gave him a look of suspicion.

Daeron let out a nervous laugh, trying to brush off the sudden tension that had overtaken him. "It's nothing," he said, hoping to deflect her attention. "Take no heed of it."

But Baela remained suspicious, her eyes narrowing as she regarded him with a shrewd gaze.

"Well, we all have our secrets," she said with a wry smile, seeking to put him at ease. "Thanks for listening to my plight. You know you can tell me stuff too, right?"

Daeron returned her smile, though his heart was heavy with the weight of the secrets he carried. "That may be," he said, his tone careful and measured. "But perhaps another time. It's rather late now, anyway. Aegon should be asleep by now."

Baela nodded in agreement and Daeron made his way back to his own chambers. But as he entered the room, he was greeted by the sight of Aegon, fast asleep with his head resting on the book he’d been reading earlier.

Daeron stifled a quiet chuckle at the sight before him. Carefully, he scooped up the slumbering Prince and made his way back to Baela's chamber. 

"I don't think he's been asleep for long," Daeron murmured, his voice hushed so as to not wake young Aegon. "I'll take it from here,” Baela said, also trying her best to remain quiet. 

As Daeron handed over her brother  Baela stepped forward and embraced them both tightly for a moment before planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for keeping him safe," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“ I swore I'd keep you both safe, and I'll do so till the end.” 

With a final smile, he broke away from her embrace and turned back to his own chambers.  Closing the door behind him with a soft click. And with that, Daeron was left alone in his own quarters once more, his mind racing with the events of the day.

"Mayhaps," Daeron muttered to himself, his voice heavy with fatigue as he struggled to keep his eyes open. “I can finally get some rest.” With a deep sigh, he surrendered himself to the embrace of slumber, his body sinking into the soft cushions of his bed. The events of the day played over and over in his mind like a never-ending loop, but at last, the exhaustion overtook him, and he drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep.