A/N: Hi, all. How you doing? For my American friends, not surprised that the Buccaneers stream-rolled through the Kansas City Chiefs at Super Bowl.
Daeron stood with his hands behind his back, the air in the great hall at Highgarden tense from Aemond, Alicent, Ser Tyland Lannister, his grandfather Otto Hightower, and his cousin Ormund Hightower looking hard at him. He was dressed in his armor, sword tied to his waist, but the only battle to be fought was type with words. However, he was not stupid to not know that he was already at a disadvantage. But where's Ser Criston?
After major parts of Oldtown were burned from his efforts to save his nephew Maelor, who he accorded burial rites by Tessarion's flames, he spent the next few days in a slump at the Hightower, crying his eyes out in mourning for his dead nephew. He was afraid of facing Helaena, as he had failed to protect the only son she had left after little Jaehaerys was murdered. Praying for Jaehaera's survival, Daeron shut himself off in his chambers, unwilling to show his sadness over his family's death.
Too much was lost, and I couldn't save Maelor, who was like a son to me. I failed as a prince, I failed as an uncle, and I failed as a dragon, Daeron told himself. After no more tears could be shed, he just lay there in his bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking of nothing.
Mostly nothing, since the only thoughts that comforted him were the ones from his last time with Baela. She's doing well, isn't she? She must be, considering that she's more like Daemon than Rhaena.
But at the thought of Daemon, Daeron's first instinct was to imagine socking him in the face and pummeling it until it was so swollen to wipe away the good looks he was known for even at his age. He held no bad feelings towards the Rogue Prince because otherwise, he wouldn't have fell for Baela in the first place. However, once that butcher told all that Mysaria and Daemon were behind it, Daeron began to really struggle between seeking retribution and continuing his longing for Baela. He couldn't bring himself to think about killing Daemon, as that would hurt Baela, but he couldn't just let little Jaehaerys' death go without a cost. If I ever see him again, I'll have more than a few words to say to him.
One day, the door of his chambers knocked incessantly at his refusal to answer. Annoyed, Daeron opened it. To his surprise, it was Ser Victor Risley, head of House Risley and Knight of the Risley Glade. "What is it, Ser Victor?"
"Your Grace, I've come on behalf of the Prince Regent, the Queen Mother, and Lady Tyrell to inform that you have been summoned to Highgarden to answer for your conduct in this city."
"Why did they send you, Ser Victor? Don't you have men in the field that require your presence?" Daeron knew that Ser Victor was more than just a simple hedge knight, so for him to deliver messages was very unexpected.
"Your Grace, the situation in this city and this war has required a presence of someone that they could trust. Besides collecting you, I've also been tasked by their Graces to collect the body of the late Prince Maelor."
"You're too late for that, Ser Victor. He's naught but ashes," Daeron then closed the door.
Washing his face and dressing up in his armor, he was not in the mood to see Aemond. I would think that him being married would have made him stay at Storm's End longer, but I should've known that even a woman's touch was not enough to make him feel anything other than rage.
Saying his goodbyes to Ser Myles and Seneschal Ryam, Daeron rowed to the empty docks where Tessarion was waiting for him.
Are you all right? he heard her ask.
What do you think? Daeron didn't mean to brush her off, but there was so many other things that were on his mind that he didn't want to talk about anything. Thankfully, Tessarion understood and said nothing more before they both flew into the air and towards Highgarden.
Daeron spared one last look to the city of Oldtown, with a few of the parts still burning and smoke rising from it. The household at the Hightower certainly didn't look at him well after what he did, but they shut their mouths when they saw him holding the lifeless body of his nephew.
Flying through the clouds, Daeron finally saw Highgarden, and the unmistakable shape of Vhagar flying above. Tessarion and Vhagar roared to each other in greeting, as the Blue Queen flew down and landed near the ramparts of the seat of the Tyrells. Sliding off, Daeron scratched Tessarion's snout before allowing her to fly back up. He was then greeted by Ser Marq Ambrose, who took him to the hall. Not even mother is greeting me. This must be serious, Daeron sighed.
"Prince Daeron," Tyland began. "You do realize the object that has brought you here today, yes?"
"I'm afraid I don't, Ser Tyland." Daeron had an idea, but he wanted to spite Tyland.
"You burned my home, Prince Daeron!" Ormund Hightower suddenly shouted and stood up, only for Otto Hightower to pull him back down. "Don't you dare touch me!"
"Cousin, if you are not going to be calm during these proceedings, I will have you removed from this hall and you will not be invited to others. Understood?" Aemond chastised him. Ormund Hightower scoffed, but he calmed down.
"Daeron, sweetie," Alicent joined in. "Why did you burn Oldtown?"
"Do you not know, mother?" Daeron looked at her. "Maelor and I were attacked, by someone from the Faith."
That certainly shocked those in attendance. "What do you mean by that, Prince Daeron?" Otto Hightower asked.
"I'm saying that someone from the Faith started to preach against the dragons in Oldtown's undercity, which continued unabated and eventually led to a crowd attacking us while we were showing Maelor to the city," Daeron answered.
"Why did you show Maelor to the city folk?" Aemond kept his face blank.
"Ser Myles Hightower and Seneschal Ryam of the Citadel recommended showing the future king of the Seven Kingdoms to the people to reassure them that they didn't have to worry about the war. Of course, I had my doubts because the Oldtown City Watch were not doing anything against the threat from the undercity. When we were attacked, Ser Rickard Thorne gave his life so that we could escape," Daeron explained.
"Our condolences to Ser Rickard. He died with honor," Ser Tyland noted, but Daeron had to suppress a scowl.
"Continue," Aemond kept looking at him.
"Eventually, the crowd caught us on a bridge, and we were about to be overwhelmed. With no options left, I had Tessarion burn the parts closest to us, but the bridge collapsed and Maelor drowned," Daeron had a hard time trying not to cry.
"So, in this case, the burning of Oldtown and the death of Prince Maelor were your fault," Ormund Hightower sneered.
"My lord, that is too far," Otto Hightower warned, but Ormund was not deterred.
"Looks like the only thing that you're good at is flying your dragon. I guess I was mistaken in deeming you 'the Daring,' for you've proven yourself a failure," Ormund continued.
"Ormund!" Alicent barked.
Daeron's first instinct was to punch his cousin for saying those words to him, especially since he clearly had no idea what he was talking about. But he willed himself to be calm and thus found another way to strike.
"If there is anyone to blame in this disaster, then I would point out that Ser Myles and Seneschal Ryam recommended that Maelor be shown to the city. More blame must be placed on Ser Myles, since he failed his duties as Commander of the Oldtown City Watch," Daeron shot back.
"That's a serious accusation, Daeron. Do you have proof?" Alicent asked.
"The proof of either his incompetence or willful negligence can be found from how easily he was able to access the vaults of the Hightower, which contain the portion of the treasury we entrusted to Oldtown, even though he is not from the main line of Hightowers," Daeron stated.
"How is that? Main line or not, he is a Hightower and therefore has a right to be there," Ormund dismissed.
Daeron was getting very annoyed at Ormund speaking to him so familiarly, even though they might have had history going back years. "That's not the point. His duties as commander of the City Watch should make him focused only on the affairs of the city, not the Hightower itself. Also, he found time to have the man most responsible for safeguarding the gold there sent somewhere else, when in fact, he couldn't do that since he's not the lord. Do you mind explaining that to me?"
Ormund was at a loss for words, not expecting Daeron to know that. That only made him more suspicious of what was really happening. What in the Seven Hells is going on here?
"Your concerns about the conduct of Ser Myles and Seneschal Ryam are well-founded, dear brother, and I shall investigate the matter at a later time. But the conduct that we've come to discuss today is yours only," Aemond said. "Despite the context that you have provided, it is also clear that you are responsible for the deaths of hundreds, possibly thousands, of citizens while causing much burdens on the city and House Hightower."
As if that stopped you before, hypocrite, Daeron thought.
"Your exploits at the Honeywine must've been misleading, as it showed that you do not have the other qualities needed of a leader in wartime," Ser Tyland added.
"Therefore, it is the decision of this council to relieve you of all your commands in the army," Otto spoke coldly. "You are to remain in Highgarden until further notice."
Daeron was stoic. "Are you sure that's a good idea? It won't be smart to leave one of your most potent dragons out of combat."
"You are forbidden from riding Tessarion anywhere unless we give you instructions. Should you try to do so without our clearance, you will be forcibly detained. Is that clear?" Aemond warned him.
Oh, so it is like that now?
"You're dismissed, brother," Aemond waved him of. With that, Daeron turned around and went to his quarters in the castle.
Setting his sword down, he looked up at the ceiling, frankly reassured that he didn't have to be in more fighting at the moment. No more giving commands, no more having to jump into the fray. All he could do was rest, as he was doing in the Hightower.
That night, he ate dinner in his chambers, glad that he didn't have to see Aemond. He was probably busy elsewhere, acting as a king would but not actually being the king.
The doors to his chambers opened, with Alicent coming in. "How are you, sweetie?"
"How do you think?" Daeron asked rhetorically.
Alicent exhaled. "I know that things must be difficult, with you not being a leader of men."
"You really think that's on my mind at the moment?"
"I know," Alicent sat near him and clasped his hand, a tear escaping her eye. "Baby Maelor."
Daeron and Alicent embraced each other, letting the tears flow. For a brief fleeting moment, mother and son mourned the loss of the one. For once, Daeron was allowed to be an uncle and Alicent could be a grandmother, both in mourning.
However, their one chance of being tender with each other, without being concerned with the war and politics, was interrupted by someone rushing into his chambers.
"Your Graces, Prince Daeron is needed at the hall," the Tyrell household knight was frantic.
Glancing at each other, Daeron wiped his eyes and ran to the hall, where Aemond was waiting for him.
"Learned your lesson, brother?" Aemond asked.
"What do you want?"
"This day might either be filled with good fortune or disaster," Aemond said cryptically.
"What are you talking about?"
"You know Ulf and Hugh, the bastard riders of Vermithor and Silverwing?"
Daeron had heard about the riders recruited by Jacaerys Velaryon. "Yes."
"Well, they've betrayed our traitorous sister and have burned Tumbleton."
Daeron pursed his lips. "Shouldn't that be good news? Lood Footly is a traitor."
"But the enemy captured Ser Criston and he should be in King's Landing by now. Most importantly, the bastard riders had been spotted in the Dornish Marches, the parts that are within the realm, burning as they go. It's clear that they're on nobody's side and are fighting everyone, like bastards would."
So, that's why Criston wasn't here. Daeron didn't actually enjoy the Cole knight's presence, even though he saw him as able knight and a skilled commander. But not skilled enough. "Why did you call me, brother?" he wanted to get to the point.
"Ride out to them. They might have Vermithor and Silverwing, but you have the most experience with riding. Engage them and kill them, but spare the dragons if you can," Aemond commanded.
"Even with my experience and Tessarion, I'll be hard pressed with two dragons instead of one," Daeron pointed out. "Maybe… you should come with me. With Vhagar, we'll easily overwhelm them."
"No," Aemond shook his head. "I am needed here in case our wicked Uncle Daemon tries to strike us."
I see… Daeron was not offered his command back and was now just an asset.
"You have a problem with this task, brother?"
Daeron exhaled before shaking his head. "No. I will see it done."
"Good. Report back here when the bastards are but corpses on the ground. Good luck."
Daeron turned around, brushing off how cold his older brother was. Calling Tessarion to him, he got on and grabbed her spines. He looked at his mother once more, remembering that for once, she was being a mother and not trying to rationalize what had just happened.
Then, Tessarion flew back in the air at his command, their direction being the Dornish Marches, wherever the dragonseeds were.
Oh, gods. Please protect me. May I not rely on my skill alone and help me prevail, Daeron prayed.
Daemon saw his rival and enemy on his knees, in the yard of the Red Keep for all to see. After spending a day in the Black Cells, he was brought out to be executed. All of the small council and most of the commanders in her armies, from the riverlords, the Vale lords, and the northern lords, were present to see the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard meet his end.
Rhaenyra was not going to extend mercy to one of the enemy's senior commanders and the declared Hand to her traitorous brother. This was met with much approval from the northern lords, as they wanted Lord Dustin to be avenged. The Vale lords and riverlords saw him as someone who violated his kingsguard oaths by siding with an illegal claimant and so also wished for his death. To express their hatred towards the Cole knight, Rhaenyra had Corwyn Corbray melt down Criston's sword while Ser Lorent burned his white cloak in front of him before proclaiming that his name will be struck off the pages of the White Book. In essence, he would be nothing.
But he had to die, as everyone knew. After assembling a trial without Criston's presence, Rhaenyra declared him guilty of high treason and sentenced him to death. Lord Bolton offered to do the deed, but she declined, saying that there was a more fitting end for the turncoat kingsguard. To that end, she had Syrax besides her, staring straight at the Cole knight.
Also in attendance were his daughters Baela, Rhaena, Shiera, and baby Visenya in Baela's arms, his son Aegon, and his niece Jaehaera. Standing beside her daughter was Helaena, with Cregan Stark very close to her. Daemon noted how they glanced at each other and recognized the same tension that he and Rhaenyra had all those years ago. He was skeptical of Helaena and the head of House Stark begin together, but he was in no position to be judgmental. Helaena is all right. If she and Lord Stark end up happy with each other, who's to object? After all, Cregan would be a better husband than my pig nephew, he thought.
It was important for his daughters to be here, as they needed to fully understand what it meant to be a true dragon. To be a rider meant facing the consequences whenever the flames left the dragon's mouth and accepting it as a natural part of their inheritance, whether good or bad.
It was especially important for Baela, since Moondancer had grown large enough for her to ride and she would soon enter her first battle. Like Rhaena, Baela took after her mother Laena very well, from her cheeks, her eyes, and ears. But on a deeper level, he knew that she took after himself more than Rhaena, since Baela was always a fighter. Even though Laena wasn't the love of his life, he loved her all the same and the gods must've been pleased since they were blessed with two beautiful girls. And he also owed it to Laena to keep their children safe, as it was her that made him see the errors in his ways and make him be more responsible for his actions and as a father. If I had it any other way, she would have more years until her first taste of combat comes to her.
It was important for Jaehaera to also bear witness, as there was talk among a few of the courtiers in the Red Keep that she would marry his son Aegon. From a logical standpoint, it made sense because as the last of the main contender for the Iron Throne, having his son marry Jaehaera would be instrumental in bringing peace to the realm. But whether she would be a good wife to Aegon was another matter entirely, which was why Daemon had Jaehaera be present. If she behaves as a true dragon would and not turn away, then I would seriously consider the matter of betrothal.
Most important for Daemon was Aegon being there. As the oldest surviving male heir coming from Rhaenyra's womb, he needed to prove to all that he was worthy of succeeding to the throne after his parents passed on. And how he acted during Criston's demise would show all whether he was a true dragon. Maybe experiencing what a dragon can do to its enemy up close might also make him less fearful, since riding a dragon is the most powerful thing that can happen to anyone.
Rhaenyra stood next to Syrax, wearing Myrish gown that was richly ordained with pearls and jewels while wearing golden bracelets and necklace. But if one looked very closely, they could see her belly just slightly protruding through the fabric and her bosoms larger, both of them signs of pregnancy. The children were delighted at the prospect of another sibling joining them, with Baela and Rhaena especially vocal in their hopes for another sister like Visenya. As for Aegon, he finally smiled and kissed his mother's stomach, but was still quiet.
To Daemon, Rhaenyra never looked more beautiful than when she was with child. She bore them three healthy babes and was now on the way to welcoming a fourth. He then looked forward to pleasuring his niece-wife, the thoughts of squeezing her juicy breasts and inserting his length in her entrance momentarily taking him away from the occasion that now befell them.
But Daemon shook his head and turned his attention back to Criston. I can always think about coupling with Nyra later, he told himself.
Rhaenyra nodded to Corlys, who stood next to Rhaenys, prompting him to read out the declaration of attainder that condemned Criston. "Ser Criston Cole," the small council intentionally left out his previous titles but could not remove his knighthood. "You have been found guilty of the crimes of high treason, murder, and rebellion against Her Grace Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. For the crimes of rebellion and murder, you are hereby denounced and attainted. Anyone with the name Cole shall be stripped of all ranks and titles, of all lands and holdings, and be barred from all privileges of lordship and knighthood. You are also officially removed from the White Book and be subjected to the rank of a simple hedge knight."
All of those in attendance nodded their heads at the just punishment.
"For the crime of high treason," Corlys continued. "You are to be sentenced to death, to be carried out by the Queen's Justice. This verdict would normally call for you to be drawn on a hurdle through the streets of King's Landing, be hanged until you be half dead, cut down alive and your bowels to be taken out
of your body and burned before you, your privy parts cut off, your head cut off, and your body to be divided in four parts."
Daemon saw Criston flinch at that punishment, which was only reserved for those guilty of high treason. So, he's afraid of death after all. He was not surprised, but he found himself still disappointed.
"But Her Grace has deemed a more suitable punishment. You are to be burned in this place by dragonfire, and your ashes scattered amongst the dung and wastes of this city," Corlys finished.
"Thank you, Lord Hand," Rhaenyra had never looked more satisfied than she was at that moment. "Ser Criston, you supported my usurper brother in the hopes of rising above your station as the son of a steward. It's only fair that you meet your end at the flames of a dragon. Never has this keep seen a knight more bent, more villainous, and more scheming than yourself. Your death shall be an example to those who wish to dishonor the white cloak and let their ambitions dictate their actions."
Criston gave her a defiant look. Daemon recognized that before the Cole knight hated Rhaenyra, he was obsessed with her. The secret of the Velaryon boys' parentage would be forever a secret, as Criston's influence in the grand scheme of things would be forgotten and deemed insignificant.
"I have some things to say," Criston said, but Lord Bolton push him to the ground with his leg.
"That's 'Your Grace' to you, wretch," Belthasar Bolton sneered. "Show your respect."
Rhaenyra crossed her arms. "All right. Ser Criston. It is a tradition for prisoners soon to be executed to say a few words. If you want to say them, say them now."
Criston straightened his back and looked around him. "Good people of Westeros, all of you may see me a traitor and a knight who dishonored the white cloak. However, such a term is used when the one who tries to do the right thing is about to be eliminated by those who commit evil."
Daemon blinked but scoffed at Criston's pathetic sentences. You're one to talk.
"Before the dragons came via Aegon the Conqueror, the history of Westeros was littered with the tragedies of those who tried to pass on their crowns to their daughters. Even Argella Durrandon had to marry Orys Baratheon if she wanted to stay at Storm's End," Criston continued.
Daemon rolled his eyes. If that was the case, why did Argella have three boys with Orys when one was enough? He's only saying this to try to appeal to them.
"Look what has happened now. A woman has now placed herself on the throne and has this war ended? No. In fact, it's became worse, as the people of this city rose up against her and engaged in wanton violence."
Daemon groaned. Because of Orwyle and Lord Strong, not because they hate Nyra.
"Westeros is not ready for a woman to take the reins of power, something that your rightful king, Aegon the Second of His Name, has seen. And this great land will never thrive under that woman, especially since she invites unwelcome presences in her bed," Criston shot venomously.
No one missed the implication the Cole knight was giving, as it was aimed against Daemon and against the Strong knight, the latter of whom everyone believed was the father. Only a few know the truth, and it shall never see the light of day.
"It's funny, Nyra," Criston laughed while calling her by her nickname. "You claim to be a good mother, but you never did a good job at it. Little Aegon is damaged, and little Viserys is a captive. You lost three children and your youngest might as well be good as dead! All the bastards that you carried in your womb, all the ones that I had put there, have died!"
Something snapped in Daemon, as he strode towards Criston and punched him hard in the cheek. But before he hit the ground, he didn't stop throwing his fists on Criston's face. He went for his nose, his other cheek, his jaws, and his eyes. Before it got swollen, he felt someone pull him off of Criston. Turning around, he saw that it was Cregan, who whispered, "He's going to die soon. Please be patient."
Daemon shook off Cregan's arms before moving back to Rhaenyra. She then moved forward to Criston while speaking with a lowered voice, but he could still make out her words.
"Those bastards that you so slander about, I can happily say that one of them was a dragon after all. Joffrey died in the dragonpit, but not before killing over a dozen rioters. Only one with dragonblood could do that, meaning that my blood was the strongest over the other's blood," Rhaenyra told him. Criston's eyes widened. "So, you see, all of your attempts to get to me have failed. It was not your fault that you were born into nothing, but you dying with nothing is on your own hands. And you'll die knowing that all of your attempts to climb upwards, all of the times that you tried to win my heart, no one will remember it. No one will hear of it. You'll depart this world… alone."
Criston's face became pale. Equally damaging to the Cole knight was the fact that all of his deeds will end up for naught, and that everything that he had done will die with him. That's the fear of any ambitious man, since they fear disappearing into the nothingness after all of their efforts.
Rhaenyra stepped back and readied herself. "Let justice be served!" She turned to Syrax. "Dracarys."
Syrax opened her mouth and let loose her flames, with Criston's screams being heard across the yard. A few more seconds passed before Syrax ceased her flames, after which where once a disgraced kingsguard knelt was now a pile of ashes.
Daemon looked to his children and Jaehaera. Baela, Rhaena, Shiera, and Jaehaera all had that expression on their faces, the one he had when he first saw Caraxes unleash his flames. It was a look of satisfaction, of acceptance, and of others when one can feel the strength flowing through them. Jaehaera will fit in nicely with us, Daemon thought.
As for Aegon, Daemon was worried when he saw his son blink rapidly and his lips tremble. The memories of the Gullet were still there, and his fear of the dragons had now fully manifested. That's when Daemon realized that his son's future looked bleak, as how could one have dragonblood without being able to embrace a dragon's nature? What more could I do? There has to be something, Daemon contemplated.
Disturbing him more was how Aegon was looking at his mother. He was afraid of her, especially since she ordered Syrax to burn a man alive in public. It must've brought back memories of when Jacaerys died and Viserys was captured, but this time, he was seeing his own mother be responsible for dragonfire being released. This was markedly different from Jaehaera, who looked at her aunt with awe as she allowed the strength of the dragons to enter her and had seen a prime example of it at that moment in Rhaenyra.
I have to remind Aegon that Nyra is still his mother. But Daemon knew that children had great memories and whatever trauma he had would not go away, which would only get worse since he was looking at his own mother with fear.
Looking to Rhaenyra, he heard her whisper, "Shall we celebrate in our chambers, over a good meal and then under our sheets?"
Daemon didn't need to be asked twice. He would prepare Baela for battle starting tomorrow and attempt to deal with Aegon's anxieties himself, but he would enjoy his wife's embrace and their mutual glee over Criston's demise.
"Yes, let your uncle pleasure you," Daemon smiled back.
A/N: My god, is Daeron in a dicey position, receiving the displeasure from Aemond but also trying to take down the dragonseeds. Things will not look good.
But yes, I loved writing Criston's death. Although him not keeping his mouth shut will cause a few doubts.
Hope you enjoyed it!