Chapter Text
Trying to keep an eye on his father, brothers, and Ser Duncan all at once was impossible. Egg couldn’t hear, couldn’t think, over the roaring of the crowd around him. He glanced past the Fossaways and Lord Baratheon as he scanned the action. His father and uncle were in the center of a group of kingsguard. Daeron was headed towards them. It wasn't the plan, but he trusted his brother and kept looking. He finally found Ser Duncan beating Aerion in the center. Aerion’s face was a portrait of shock and fear. Aerion’s voice cut through the din as he recanted his accusation. Egg cheered.
He rushed to Ser Duncan. “You did it! You defeated him!”
Dunk smiled up at him tiredly. “Help me with this armor.”
Egg did as he was told, tugging on the knight’s gauntlets.
“The gods chose to favor us on this day,” His uncle spoke. “We were their champions in the cause of justice.”
“Who was killed? Injured?” Ser Duncan asked.
Any answer was cut off by a scream and then nothing as a hush fell over the crowd. Egg frowned as he surveyed the scene. He found his father kneeling over someone. He recognized Daeron’s silver armor. His uncle took off towards them. Egg followed. His uncle shoved past the people in their way and knelt beside his father. Egg stood behind him. Someone had taken Daeron’s helm off. It laid off to the side, forgotten and covered in red. Daeron laid there with his head in their father’s lap. His father’s shaking hand brushed Daeron’s hair away from his face. For a moment a ghastly injury to Daeron’s right eye was plain to see. Maesters began to descend upon the group, pressing fabric to Daeron’s injuries and covering them again.
“Uncle,” Daeron’s unfocused eyes found them. “You are unharmed.”
“Of course I am,” Prince Baelor replied as he took Daeron’s hand. “Did you expect otherwise?”
“I saw..” Daeron mumbled, “a big red dragon.”
“Save your strength,” His father’s voice would have been harsh if it hadn’t wavered.
“I saw it.” Daeron insisted.
“What of it?” Prince Baelor asked.
“It was dead.” Daeron chuckled before lost his breath and coughed. “I changed it.”
“That was a dream.” Father said severely. “Nothing more.”
Daeron ignored him. “Ser Duncan lives?”
“Yes,” He finally spoke. “He does.”
Daeron closed his eyes. A wry smile crept onto his face. He almost looked relaxed.
“Daeron?” His father pleaded. “Daeron, open your eyes.”
“Maekar…” His uncle started, voice gentle.
“Shut the fuck up.” Father growled.
Aerion stood some distance away, gaping at the scene with his helm tucked under his arm and blood trailing down his face from a cut at his hairline. The look of shock and fear had solidified into horror. Egg wanted to shove Aerion’s face in it, to say something like “Look at what your cruelty did,” or “It should have been you who was wounded in Daeron’s stead,” It was not the time for it, so Egg sneered and turned back to Daeron.
“Your highnesses, we must make haste and get him indoors to be treated properly,” Maester Yormwell said.
“Come brother, let them work.” Prince Baelor said, pulling his father’s hands away.
Egg trailed behind them as they carried Daeron away. They reached a room. The maester’s took Daeron inside, requested everyone else stay outside, and closed the door behind them. He watched his father take a seat on the ground with his knees pulled tight to his chest and his head in his hands. Prince Baelor sat next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close to murmur comforting words into his ears.