Chapter Text
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“Ormund and i, we had a game. We started at the base at the Hightower before dawn, and we would race, aim to be the first to see the sun rising from the beacon of the Hightower. That moment, you can see the sun lights over the seven kingdoms.”
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The Yellow stained glass around the starry sept allows the sun shines through the pathway he walked in. The warm light pass through the glass, touching his too cold and exposed skin. He lets out a pained sigh before he knelt upon the side of table, allowing himself to look closely at the melting candles. Ignoring his bruised knees and battered legs from the accident two weeks ago.
The soft flickering light of the burning candle on the table reflects upon his blue eyes, somewhere behind his hazy mind, he could hear how much both of his uncle often alludes him to the tought of his misty blue eyes. Daeron, Daeron Targaryen with his misty blue eyes. As blue as the sky that it was so bright, too bright for everyone liking in Oldtown that it was almost the color of the cloud on the top of the Hightower.
Blue, in certain lights, it will tinted with hue of violets and lilac, a giveaway of his another identity, which is the blood of Valyria that runs deep on his veins.
He closes his eyes, lower his heads and feel the aches pierching through his mind, that he almost can hear a sound of his own blood whirring on the back of his skull.
Minds afloat. He felt that his body drift away for a second. And he forgets everything.
He tried to regain his senses back. Imagining a murky and blurry imagination of a family, somewhere far away from Oldtown, miles away, that it would take several months journey, maybe in the sept of Kings Landing. Her mother bright hazel eyes that reminds him of the flicker of candles and her soft auburn hair that he could recall easily. Same colors as his, something that he forever cherish. Is also kneeling in the sept for repent.
Daeron, you speak kindly, and you said your prayers. But there is a taint in your blood.
A taint.
A sin.
”Father..” He whispers. It hurts to opens his mouth, and his body is still weak from the bruise and broken bones that it puts him in agonizing pain to speak. So he quieted himself and prays quietly.
He asked the father for the prosperity and health of his family. Thanked the mother for the live that she has given. And asked the warrior for the protection of his dearest sister Helaena which her lullaby often Daeron heard in his dreams, and both of his brother, Aegon and Aemond.
Fire.
Daeron opened his eyes abruptly. He heard voices in his mind often. But some days, the voices are too loud that it almost imposibble to ignore.
Fire. Your blood is tainted by fire.
Is that so?
And out of curiousity. Allowing the commands he heard on the back of his mind to take over, he stretches his palm onto the burning candles. The warmth erupted in his palms make the cold goes away, his stiff and weak fingers melt away, and strangely all the weight in his chest heaved away with the familiar sense of warm and burning sensation.
The burn reminds him of being near Tessarion. His one and only connection left to his home. Which was also Lord Ormund forbides for him to see. The burning sensation consuming him, Daeron felt comfort upon the harm that he conflicted towards himself. It was more satisfying than picking his nails and skin until it bleeds.
Lord Ormund and Uncle Gwayne would not mind of him spending the time at the sept. He closed his eyes.
“Daeron.”
He jumped at the voice. Noticing Gwayne standing behind with his outdoor attire, there is a speck of rain in his shoulder. He came with the maester that Daeron recognize. Not the one who always forced porridge to Daeron’s mouth, buth the kind one. Both of them cast a worried look. Exchanging a glance between the burning candles and himself. Daeron then hides his palm and let his stoic face remains before walking towards Gwayne.
When he heard that Ormund leaves for Honeywine, he sneaks himself out to the sept after two week being confined in his chamber. He knows his uncle too well that he will not punish him for something simple as leaving his chamber. And he knows that Gwayne will arrive today after his journey to Highgarden, thats why Lord Ormund leaves him. Because he knows Daeron would be on Gwayne’s care.
“The boy is fine. Alive and well.” Gwayne taking a closer look to the haughty form of Daeron. His dress shirt looked too big and his outer look dishvelled. Without maiden caring for it, Daeron certainly put the attire carelessly with such rush and fear. Gwayne knows Daeron, his boy will never leave the house without making sure that everything is neatly put. A trait that certanly inherited from his Oldtowner side.
Gwayne trying to reach Daeron shoulder before the boy flinched. And both of them exchanging a concerned look. A look of realization then washed upon his nephew face. A spark of blush that casted on his nephew cheek are now gone. His big bright blue eyes that is the same shape as his sister grew wide at the realisation.
“The boy..?” Daeron whispers, almost inaudible to Gwayne. His eyes welled up with tears. And in that moment, Daeron realises what of his purpose, sneaking to the sept.
He wanted to pray, to asks for forgiveness, he wanted to ask the Father, to forgive him, to sought repentance for his sins. For the sins that he inflicted upon the innocent boy that his destiny remains unknown.
“Daeron? My boy, my boy. Did you hear me?,”
Daeron heard Gwayne worried voice. But it seems far away that it almost feels like he is somewhere deep in the water. And his knees buckling suddenly. All of the strength that left on his body are now gone.
“The prince has been showing signs of hysteria and shock, my lord. Thats why Lord Ormund asked all the Maesters and Maiden to confine him to his bed.”
“Has something like this happened before?,” The Maester nodded, and Daeron feel like his mind afloat. Far away.
“The Prince has been trying to hurt himself three days ago. Lord Ormund said his hysterical behaviour came from the dragon blood, My Lord. We have been trying to dose poppy seed into his broth to calm him a little. But since Lord Ormund leave, he refused to eat. I suppose, that leads to The Prince lost his mind again today, My Lord.”
Gwayne cast a worried glance at Daeron unseeing eyes. His nephew seems far off from his mind that his eyes wanders far empty look towards the yellow stained glass on top of the sept. The light glinted, reflections dancing upon daeron blue and unseeing eyes. Making it eerily familiar with something Gwayne see long times ago. When he saw his mother dead eyes on the deathbed.
Gwayne pull Daeron onto a tight and warm embrace. Whispering reassurance and comforts for the boy who lost in his own mind.
“I have sinned.” Gwayne heard the whispers. Pulling out from the hug and held Daeron now limp body on the floor of the sept. Making sure that his nephew’s face obscured. The maester and guard sushing remaining person standing before the lit table who cast a curious look at Gwayne and Daeron.
Daeron minds floats back to two weeks ago, when the boys, the smith son which comes to Oldtown kindly accompanies him to play around The Hightower.
No one dares to come near The Dragon Prince, sent from Kings Landing, son of the Dragon King Viserys Targaryen. The idea of Dragon, such monstrous creature could bond with men, a descendant to someone who conquer the kingdoms with brute force of creature with blood shed in Westeros soil. Born as pure as the morning air, Daeron existence in Oldtown will always seen as dark clouds looming on top of the hightower. His Brother claimed an ancient Dragon that almost as old as the Conqueror. His Father younger brother was notoriously known as The Rogue Prince. Its Fire and Blood tainted to his name.
Daeron remembers the loud thump from his fall off the hightower stairs. He smiled reassuringly, telling the boy that he was fine. Just scraped bruise on his knee. Before the smith boy scared and panic self running away from Daeron. And Daeron, longing from connection, pull the boy hands to keep him close. Maybe this is what it feels like playing with Aegon and Aemond.
The boy shakes his hands off, not knowing that it would shakes Daeron balance off the stairs. They both rolled together, Daeron laughs, not knowing the terror that waiting upon. It was the best day of his life. Having friends that could accompany him racing in the hightower stairs, just like a story that both of his uncle often shares. He laughs, laughs, and laughs until hes out of breath.
His mind jumped to the memories of Ormund wrathful expression, the smith boy scared look, and the maester worried glance. And after that, all he could remember is the agonizing pain that ran through his legs. The soft lavender smell and the warm candles that lit on his bedside changed into a memories of dim dungeon and the scream of a boy, with youthful voice as Daeron asking for help and forgiveness.
Blood.
Blood.
Daeron saw Fire and Blood.
He whispered to Gwayne.
“I have sinned.”
“I do not wish to heard any of it.” Gwayne bites his lower lip and trying to steady himself to put Daeron in a more comfortable position.
”Sin.. Uncle.. I have not prayed, to the seven..”
Gwayne stretches out his hand to the Maester, a glass vial of liquid meet his palm.
And he tried to pour it slowly to his nephew lips.
Daeron felt strong hands in his cheek, opening his mouth forcefully, he felt that his jaw almost break from the force that he opens his mouth, finally he felt the thick and bitter concoction in his mouth. The cold and slimy feeling making it ways to his throat keep his mind anchored to the present. He tried to speak when his uncle slowly pull his head to the embrace.
“Ssh.. my boy.. my boy.. calm down.”
“Its the Dragon blood, my Lord.”
“Ssh…”
”We need the septon to cast a prayer for The Dragon Prince, my Lord.”
Daeron heard the maester whispers before everything went black and he was once again afloat, the candles were gone, and he was alone in the darkness of the sept, somewhere far, he heard Tessarion’s roar and wails. And he finally let himself go.
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