Welcome to chapter two! First and foremost I owe a big thank you to AlexFalTon, TheStormHunter, StarkNG, AZW330, drakonpie250, and guest NightRain for the characters they submitted. I also with to thank those who have left reviews for doing so, each one helps me keep going.

My beta for this chapter was my wonderful friend Posher10, who is now responsible for teaching me how to use em dashes. I think they have helped lighten up the writing, if you understand me. I don't expect my writing, even with a beta's help, to be perfect, but I do hope it has improved somewhat. Please let me know about any errors you come across, constructive criticism is always welcome.

Thank you for putting up with yet another of my rambling story notes, ;) -SerKayofArda

Chapter Two: Daeron I

Prince Daeron Targaryen checked his reflection in the mirror above his dressing table with a critical eye. Everything had to be in place, especially the dark cloth he wore under his hood to ensure no loose strands of hair escaped. If he was caught alone out in the city at night, he would be laying brutalized—if not dead—in a gutter before morning.

The nobility might not take much notice of him anymore—not since his father had made it plain both at court and elsewhere—that he favoured his daughters over his sons. Daeron balled his fists as a wave of old anger rose within him; his brothers had done nothing to warrant their father's wrath. Yet like him—who had, at least, done something to upset the man—they had been cast aside.

Reminding himself that he could not rewrite the past only start writing the future, Daeron reached for his long black cloak. Ordinarily, he would have kept the garment hidden under his other clothes, unseen. But with his plans for the night, he had removed it and set it upon the bed.

It was at that moment, someone knocked on the door.

"Yes?" Daeron called; the word made strangely high-pitched by his fear of being caught.

"Crown Prince Aerion, your brother, wants to see you," the polite voice on the other side of the door belonging to a servant.

Daeron nearly fell over as a wave of relief swept through him. For a handful of fear-filled heartbeats, he had feared the message would be a summons from his father or of his thrice-cursed sisters, come to try and seduce him yet again. He did still wonder what his older brother Aerion—who was still formally titled as crown prince—wanted.

"Thank you." Daeron called; his heart becoming steady by the second, "You may inform my brother that I will be with him shortly."

"Of course, your highness," the servant replied before leaving.

With still shaking hands, Daeron pulled the cover from his hair and carefully placed it and the cloak in their hiding spot. He could risk neither of them being found. Not when the punishment—should they be discovered—be a beating it would take him weeks to recover from. He would also lose the garments themselves, and they were the most irreplaceable things he owned.

Taking a few deep breaths to finish calming himself, for his heart still raced. Daeron left his rooms and set out for his brother's study, three flours below. It was a long and rather dark walk as lamps had been lit only every ten feet. But it gave Daeron time to clear his head and think. His mind was always a mess of fear, hope, and nerves on nights when he planned to sneak out into the city.

He found the door he was looking for at last, mostly because of the Kingsguard standing outside—a privilege his older brother got only because he was Crown Prince in name. Daeron again wondered what it was Aerion wanted with him so late in the evening. Nodding to the knight who guarded the door he approached and knocked.

"Aerion," he called as he did so, "it's Daeron. You called for me."

The reply was a moment in coming.

"You can come in, Daeron," the voice from the other side was level and calm, yet had a hint of danger woven into it.

Daeron pushed the heavy door inwards and entered the large square room beyond. Unlike their father's study—which Daeron had seen the inside of far too many times for his likely—there was no clutter in the room. A fire burned brightly in the hearth, sending up sparks and filling the room with the sweet scent of burning pine wood. A thick and colourful silk carpet from Myr covered the stone floor. Several bookcases, stuffed to bursting, filled up the wall space not taken up by maps and a single window. Yet even with all, that there was more than enough room for a large desk of dark wood and the chair behind it, in which Daeron's older brother and King Aenar's firstborn child and son sat working.

Crown Prince Aerion Targaryen was good-looking enough. The most handsome of the King's sons, all who might be asked would agree. He was slender without the muscle tone of a warrior. Daeron knew his older brother was underweight but kept that fact to himself. Aerion's skin was so fair it seemed to glow silver in any but the strongest light. For those who could see it, he was undoubtedly handsome, with long dark lashes and sharp elegant features. His eyes, set under arched silver brows, where a dark obsidian violet, and the light in them was like a thousand stars.

"You," Daeron said awkwardly, unsure of how else to break the silence, "uh, wanted to see me?"

"Yes. My apologies for being so distracted," his older brother said, looking up from his work, "I have something to give you."

"Oh. What is it?" Daeron asked tentatively.

"A key," his brother replied, glancing around the dimly lit room as if looking for the object in question.

How his older brother could work in such poor light was a mystery to Daeron. Aerion looked almost normal as he sat at his desk, lost in a world of papers and court games, a world where old injuries mattered little. It was sharpness of mind, not strength of body, that mattered in the game. Yet the crutches leaning against the desk could not be ignored, nor could Daeron hide a wince when he saw them.

"Here," Aerion said, at last, producing a key attached to a chain from a desk drawer, "take good care of it, having a copy made was near about impossible."

Daeron reached out and took the key. He attempted to figure out what it was for, holding it up to the light. When he did, he nearly dropped it in shock—the key was that of the royal treasury. Only four others, as far as Daeron knew, had ever been made. Giving him such a gift, trusting him with it...

"But why?" Daeron asked, shocked and pleased by the gift, "I mean, thank you."

Aerion's smile was warm, none could have missed the flicker of sadness that passed over his face followed by a flash of deep pain, old and new.

"I have my ears, Daeron," his older brother said quietly, dark violet eyes tuning serious, "as your older brother, your safety, and the safety of those you love is my responsibility. I know where you go and what you do both inside and outside of this castle." He held up a hand to keep Daeron quite, "Don't worry, Father's Master of Whispers has no idea who you are seeing on the Street of Silk; if he knows you go there at all."

"You..." Daeron asked, heart sinking and panic rising, "you know about..."

"I do," Aerion replied, "and you need not worry, I have a guard on him, just in case anything ever happens."

A guard... that both scared and comforted Daeron. The latter because it meant his lover, his heart, was as protected as he could be, and the former because a guard could just as easily become an assassin.

"Thank you," Daeron whispered though the words did not begin to show just how grateful he was, "what favour do I owe you for all this, Aerion?"

His older brother's lips twitched in a smile.

"If I was truly being your older brother, I would say you owe me nothing," he replied, voice taking on an almost joking quietly, "but as Crown Prince and a worthwhile Targaryen, I can't do that."

Daeron winced. That was how court games worked; there was always some give and take.

"In other words," he said after a moment, thinking aloud, "you wish you could do this out of the kindness of your heart, but you would not being doing your duty as a Prince and a Targaryen if you did not ask me for something in return?"

"Yes. Very good," Aerion said nodding. His older brother's mind, Daeron could tell, was back on his work.

His work... that made Daeron wondered what might have happened if Aerion not almost lost the ability to walk all those years before. What would his older have been doing now? Wed, a father, and a knight, Daeron suspected.

"So what must I do to pay you off?" he asked after a moment, remembering what they had just been discussing.

Aerion studied him for a long moment, as if thinking, before saying,

"Finding a way to kill Ser Roland Westerling and making it look like an accident would put me in your debt, little brother."

Oh... Daeron thought, This makes sense.

Unable to properly walk and with little marshal training Aerion could not get rid of the knight. But Daeron, a warrior if nothing else, had the skill set and ability to do so. The prince even guessed as to why his older brother wanted the knight in question dead.

"So what people are saying about you and Joanna Lannister are true?" Daeron asked, not a bit startled.

"Watch it, Daeron," Aerion said, eyes flashing a fiery warning, "I'm the one currently paying for your lover, the least you can do is not talk so openly about mine."

He's a fool for love, but then an again, so am I, was the thought that crossed the Daeron's mind.

"Sorry," Daeron said, looking down to hide his true feeling.

"Thank you. Now go have a nice night with your lover and let me finish working so I can go see my own. I'll be useless in the morning in I don't get to spend the night with the Light of the West."

Daeron wondered if he should point out his older brother would be useless in the morning anyway, as it was likely to rain during the night. The temperature drop that would come with the rain would undoubtedly trigger the pain and cramping in the badly healed muscles, ligaments, and bones of Aerion's legs. After a moment, however, he decided against saying anything and left instead.

"Good night, Aerion," Daeron said as he closed the door.

His brother said nothing in return. Nodding once again to the Kingsguard standing outside the door, Daeron hurried back to his rooms. He still had more than enough time; the meeting having taken far less time then he had thought it would. He still had plenty left to make it down to the Street of Silk for a good night in his lover's arms.

Thank you for reading! As weird as it may sound it means the world to me that people actually bother to read the stuff I write. :)

As a note on SYOC, you may submit up to seven characters as long as they are form at least three different houses. All the major houses are the same in this story, only the Greyjoys and Iron Islands don't exist anymore. I think the Targaryen's finally got tired of them and burned them to the ground. Among the characters needed, including Heads of Houses, Knights, Ladies, and others, especially Knights of the Kingsgaurd. There is also a Targaryen princesses still open, and I need her place filled before all else.

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