Chapter Text
One day. Not even twenty-four hours since his return from the Stepstones and he was already being kicked out of King’s Landing.
Again.
It had to be a record at this point.
Now (mostly) sobered up and repacked, he had suddenly been summoned to the Small Council chambers. He considered leaving his brother hanging for a while but decided against it. Viserys was already angry enough and he didn’t want their last interaction for gods know how long to just be more arguing.
But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be annoying. What else were younger siblings for, after all?
“Have you summoned me here to un-banish me, brother?” he asked with all of the cockiness he could muster as he swaggered into the room. His mood immediately soured when he saw Otto Hightower sitting next to Viserys.
“I take no joy in banishing you, Daemon,” Viserys sighed. “But I am prepared to offer you a deal, of sorts.”
He motions to Daemon’s usual council seat, and the prince plops down with as much audacity as he can muster. Viserys ignores it, but Otto glares, so he counts that a win anyway.
“I have not yet rewarded you for your victory in the Stepstones,” his brother continues. “While I will not grant your request to marry Rhaeyra, I am prepared to ask the High Septon to annul your marriage to Rhea Royce.”
Daemon narrows his eyes. His brother was a much better politician than most would give him credit for. “What’s the catch?”
Viserys starts to explain, but Otto decides to cut in (an attempt to ‘smooth things over’ no doubt). “There is no catch, Daemon. This is an opportunity. I know of a young woman who is in need of a husband—”
“So you’re releasing me from one forced marriage so you can force me into another. No, thank you.” He stands to leave, but the King raises a hand to stop him. Daemon really, really, wants to ignore it and leave anyway but there is a pleading look in his brother’s eye. So he doesn’t leave, but he doesn’t sit back down, either.
Viserys realizes that a compromise must be made. He orders his Hand to leave the small council chambers. Otto gives little resistance other than one of his many variations of ‘Your Grace.’ Once the two brothers are alone in the room, Daemon sits back down. Viserys slumps back in his chair, looking relieved that he doesn’t have to act kingly anymore.
“I know you, Daemon,” he starts. “And I would like to think that I know you more than our grandmother. I understand the political advantage of your marriage, but I always knew you and Rhea were incompatible. You are too much alike—stubborn and proud.”
If there were other people around, Daemon would loudly protest such a statement. But it’s just the two of them and there is no reputation to uphold. His brother is right, after all, he and his wife are far too much alike in all the wrong ways.
“I also know that you are a man who needs to be needed. You need a wife who depends on you—”
“I do not need a leech.”
“—for protection. This young woman is two and twenty. She must be married to preserve her family’s reputation.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
Viserys sighs. “Nothing is wrong with her. She was… ill around the time her parents started looking for a suitable match.”
The way he says the word ‘ill’ gives Daemon pause. What kind of illness would require such discretion?
“What kind of illness?” he asks.
His brother deflects by saying, “I think it’s best for the family to explain that.”
If Viserys is presenting an illness as the issue, then there must be another catch. He can feel it. If her age and supposed illness are presented as potential deal-breakers, then the only other thing is…
“What House?” he asks.
“Mullendore.”
And there it is.
“So you intend to give me an old, sickly bride,” he growls, “from a minor House?”
And a House that is a bannerman of the Hightowers. Just when he thought his brother was making a decent political compromise, it turns out that Otto fucking Hightower has convinced Viserys to insult him thrice over.
“It is a good match,” Viserys protests.
“For Otto Hightower!”
“Otto Hightower does not wish to marry her.”
Daemon rolls his eyes. Of all the times for his brother to remember sarcasm, it’s now.
“I have already invited the family to the Red Keep.”
“Of course you have.”
“Give this a chance, Daemon. That’s all I ask. Give this an actual chance.”
And suddenly, they are boys again. There is no politics, no Iron Throne in the way. It’s just the two of them, the older brother asking a favor of the younger. And, out of respect for those bygone days, Daemon can do nothing but agree. But his pride will not let him capitulate entirely. He offers a compromise instead.
“One meeting brother. One chance and that is all.”
— — — — — —
The family arrived in a little over a fortnight. Daemon found this quite interesting, considering how far away their manse was. Either they had particularly swift horses or Hightower’s plan had been in motion since before his homecoming.
To further annoy him, Daemon had only briefly seen his potential bride for a brief moment before being whisked away to the Small Council chamber to discuss the dowry and bride price with his brother and the Hand. All he saw was honey-blonde hair and a pale blue dress. At least she isn’t fat, he thought to himself.
He hoped the girl was nothing like her parents, or she was likely to be insufferable. Lady Mullendore didn’t speak throughout the whole meeting, instead staring quite pointedly at the table. Her husband was doing an impressive job of kissing ass while demanding far more than he deserved. Daemon would be impressed if it wasn’t so pitiful.
He didn’t really pay attention to the negotiations. The crown would be the one paying any bride price, after all. Lord Mullendore certainly wanted more out of the deal than he was willing to give himself.
“Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?” he asked after several minutes of pointless haggling. “I have yet to meet this girl, let alone decide if I will marry her.”
“A very good point, my prince,” Lady Mullendore surprised all of them, speaking up for the first time since their arrival in King’s Landing.
Otto reluctantly agreed, though he looked like he’d bitten into something sour. Lord Mullendore, however, looked quite aggravated at being interrupted. At least Viserys had the decency to look a little chagrined.
“Forgive me - I was so confident in this match that I got ahead of myself,” the King replied jovially. He acknowledged Daemon for the first time since this farce began. “Why don’t you spend the afternoon getting to know Lady Adelayde? We shall convene after supper to discuss further.”
With that dismissal, Viserys stood, followed quickly by Otto and Lord Mullendore. Lady Mullendore stood as well, but lingered behind her husband. She leveled Daemon with a look that only a mother could accomplish. A look that said she wanted to speak with him and expected him to listen.
No one, much less a woman, had dared level such a look at him since the late Queen Aemma. He admired her confidence, and so decided to listen to what she had to say. She straightened her spine as he approached, looking more assured now that her husband wasn’t around.
“I wish to speak to you, Prince Daemon - not as a noble lady to a prince, but as a mother to the man who might marry her only daughter.” Daemon indicated for her to continue. “I am well aware that this is not a match you would willingly choose, but I do ask that you give Adelayde a chance. Not just one meeting, but an actual chance.”
“And what would you consider an actual change?’
“A courtship,” she replied confidently. “Court her for three months and she may win over even you.”
— — — — — —
Adelayde waited in the palace gardens. She was nervous despite previously promising herself that she would remain indifferent to everything. There was no one else around; whether it was by happenstance or design, she didn’t really care. She occupied herself by watching a little bluejay hop along a low-hanging branch of a nearby willow.
When her father first reached out to Hobert Hightower requesting help finding her a match, no one expected it to go all the way to the Red Keep.
She would have been perfectly happy living out her days as the resident “mad spinster.” Her older brother, Kean, had already promised her a place in his home should she not marry. It would certainly cause an uproar; a bastard caring for his mad half-sister. Just the kind of chaos the two of them liked to cause.
Unfortunately, now that Prince Daemon was set forward as a potential husband, that was unlikely to happen. Her father was determined to make the match work. Still, she couldn’t complain. The Prince was rumored to be quite handsome and apparently rarely visited his first wife, and then only under duress. A disinterested husband who she rarely saw was the best-case scenario for a woman like her.
Her inner musings were interrupted by said Prince entering the garden. He certainly was handsome. He’d cut a striking figure even if he were a member of the smallfolk with different colored hair or eyes. Not that she’d ever say anything so rude out loud.
She watched the Prince approach with veiled amusement. He was trying to seem casual and disinterested, walking just fast enough to convey that he wanted their interaction over quickly, but not so fast that it seemed like he was eager to meet her. The bluejay flew from the branch as he got closer. Even though it swept quite close to his head, the Prince didn’t react. She must be more stressed than she originally thought.
“Lady Adelayde,” he greeted with the smallest nod of his head.
“Please—call me Addie. It’s what my friends call me.”
“We are not friends,” was his curt reply. She managed to suppress rolling her eyes, though her irritation must have shown on her face. A smug look passed over his.
“Shall we walk?” he asked before setting off without her.
She didn’t bother suppressing her eye roll now that his back was turned to her. So this was going to be his game, then? Be as annoying as possible until she wanted nothing to do with him? Unfortunately for him, she had three older brothers, all very close in age. Two could play at this game.
They walked in silence for a while. Just as it started to seem mildly uncomfortable, she spoke up.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asked with the most innocent tone she could muster
The prince’s head whipped around so fast, a piece of hair came loose from its quaff and flopped forward onto his forehead. “What the fuck kind of question is that?”
Addie cocked her head and gave him an inquisitive look. “A perfectly valid one. You can tell a lot about a person by their favorite color.”
Daemon stared at her for a moment longer, probably trying to tell if she was serious or just daft. She kept her head cocked and blinked a couple of times for emphasis. Her brothers hated that. The Prince seemed to actually give it a thought for a moment before answering.
“Red and black, I suppose,” he finally said. How predictable.
“Those are your House colors.” She didn’t even have to fake her sigh of disappointment. “They don’t count.”
“What do you mean they don’t count?”
“It’s just so… uninteresting.”
“Red also happens to be the color of Caraxes. My dragon,” he adds, as if the entire Realm didn’t know that already.
“Well. I suppose that’s alright, then.”
He scoffs as if to say ‘of course it is’.
“Can I meet him?”
“Meet who? Caraxes?”
“Unless you have another dragon no one knows about.”
– – – – – – –
Daemon wasn’t quite sure what to make of the woman next to him. She wasn’t bad to look at. Slim with honey-blonde hair and storm-grey eyes which were far more intelligent than she wanted him to believe. She was quick-witted and seemed to be having fun poking his buttons. At the very least, they might be good friends.
He refrained from pointing out that Targaryens can only have one dragon at a time. She probably knew that already anyway. Instead, he decided to continue with their original conversation.
“So, what does my favorite color say about me? Besides being uninteresting?”
“Well, most children like the color red . . .”
She was comparing him to a child? Never mind. They could never be friends. He was feeding her to Caraxes.
“It says that you’re passionate. You’ll defend the people you love to the death. You’re also probably quick to anger, headstrong, and violent.”
“You could have easily discovered that through court gossip.”
“But passion, anger, and violence are also commonly associated with the color red.”
“Does that bother you? That I’m passionate, angry, and violent?”
Addie took a moment to reply. It was clear that it did bother her to some extent.
“As long as you don’t harm me or any children we might have, then I will not complain.”
Interesting. A far more diplomatic answer than he might expect from a court lady.
“No lecture about how anger is sinful?” he pushed. “Or the virtues of nonviolence?”
Her lips pursed. “I have found that life is rarely so straightforward.”
An interesting answer; and not one he was entirely comfortable with. Daemon had originally intended to spend the majority of the months exchanging letters once Adelayde returned to the Uplands, but he was starting to think that this courtship might be better served in person. Besides, Adelayde was a fascinating character and it would be a shame to deprive himself of her company.