Chapter 3: Meeting the Family
"If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance."
It took only two weeks for Daeron to arrive at King's Landing and have himself crowned. Marq avoided the coronation ceremony, it would have been a waste of time, and he chose to spend more time training instead.
In all honesty, he did his best to ignore the regime change entirely. Simply kept to his strict training regime. Something which only became increasingly harsh after King Daeron refused Ser Quentyn a white cloak, spurning him for Ser Willem Wylde instead.
However, tonight as he walks toward what will likely be the longest night of his life. He finds it impossible to do that, as King Daeron has requested he and Daemon sup with his family. It was phrased as a request, but one would be foolish to deny a 'request' from the King.
So there he was, in his least worn out clothing, a leather jerkin over an old brown doublet and simple pants, knife on his belt, ready to do something anyone would be fearful of. Meeting his family for dinner.
Marq hesitates, standing at the door to the dining room, before working up the courage to knock on the door. He is greeted by a tall, well-groomed man, who he can only assume is a servant of some sort, who opens the door for him. "Welcome, milord. Please take a seat, his grace and his family are already seated, and food is to be served shortly." The man then steps to the side, holding the door open for Marq.
Upon entering the room, he can immediately spot King Daeron, a thin man with a kind face and a slight smile that seems permanently etched on it, sitting at the head of the table. To his right sits Prince Baelor, looking more like a Prince of Dorne than a Targaryen Prince, directly by him being the much scrawnier but more Targaryen-looking Prince Aerys.
Marq bows slightly as he sees Daeron turn his attention to him. "Your grace, thank you for having me."
Daeron waves him off. "No need for formalities. We are family here, after all. Please take a seat."
Marq does so, moving and sitting in the middle of the table, a respectful distance from King Daeron, but not directly across from him. The King speaks again the moment he sits down. "I'm afraid I haven't been able to meet with you before now. Regardless of your mother, we share the same father, making you my brother. So tell me, what is it you often do?"
Marq shrugs. If Daeron expects a fantastical tale, he is to be sorely disappointed. "Not much. I mostly just train. Ser Quentyn is a harsh taskmaster. I like to ride when I can, and Daemon has been speaking of wanting to get me into falconry with him."
Daeron nods as if he more or less expected those answers. "I was an accomplished falconer before I moved to Dragonstone. Unfortunately, there isn't much to hunt on that island."
It looks as if Daeron is about to say something else when Daemon opens the door and walks in, ignoring the servant who tries to hurry to welcome him. Marq can see him tensed as if he were expecting trouble or even a fight but relaxes when he sees Marq simply sitting and talking with Daeron.
"Your Grace, forgive my tardiness." Daemon gives the shallowest bow he can manage before moving over and taking a seat directly across from Daeron.
"Nonsense, and none of this Your Grace stuff in private. We are family here, and don't worry about tardiness. Food is only just about to be served." Daeron keeps the slight smile on his face, friendly and in control.
King Daeron's reassuring face doesn't seem to impress Daemon, who fights to keep down a scowl. "I trust you haven't been bombarding my younger brother with questions?"
"Of course not, merely polite conversation while waiting for your arrival, and now that you are here, we may begin." A veritable army of servants begins to lay out food when he finishes speaking. Beef cooked up with dornish peppers, apple cakes, lemon tarts, and lemon-cooked chicken soup. Everyone waited for Daeron to begin before allowing themselves to dig into the miniature feast.
Unfortunately, they aren't left to enjoy the dinner in peace simply, and the questioning begins again. Daeron turns his attention from his food to Daemon. "So Ser Daemon, you were knighted at just 12. What's next from the man who is being hailed as one of the greatest knights of our lifetime."
Daemon quickly replies, "I don't have many plans for the future. Just as many tourneys as possible, maybe raise a small keep."
As far as Marq can tell, his words are sincere, but he is caught by surprise. One would think the man who would try and take the Iron Throne would be more ambitious in his youth. Then again, as far as he remembers, Daemon was heavily influenced to do so, which makes him wonder what the breaking point was. Why press his claim? Why condemn Westeros to a year of war and another hundred years of rebellions and strife after the fact?
From what he knows of his brother, it wasn't out of simple naked greed and ambition. It couldn't be. Unless he doesn't know his brother as well as he thinks he does.
"Marq." Upon hearing his name, he looks up and sees Daemon staring at him. "There we go. I was asking if you had any ambitions for your future."
Marq opens his mouth, then shuts it, and thinks. "I suppose I'd like to travel and see Westeros, but not until I get knighted. Then maybe, like Daemon said, raise a keep or restore Oldstones."
Daeron raises an eyebrow. "Oldstones? What would you want with those ruins."
Marq shrugs. "Well, I'm a Mudd on my mother's side, the last one left alive now."
Daeron's eyebrow somehow rises even further. "Mudd? Is that some house? I'm afraid I'm not familiar."
Marq opens his mouth to explain but finds himself cut off by Prince Aerys. "House Mudd were the Kings of the Riverlands before the Andals invaded, and Oldstones was their capital."
Marq nods. "Prince Aerys is right, though I am surprised he knew. Most nobles today don't even remember."
Daeron nods. "Well, Oldstones. I might have to look into that in the future."
Marq tenses. He didn't just make an unintentional deal with the King, did he? "You- I mean Daeron. That isn't really necessary."
"Nonsense, it's my duty to ensure my siblings are taken care of."
Marq tries to muster a weak smile. Shit, that's going to be held over his head now, isn't it? Daeron leans back, looking satisfied, leaving Marq to assume the best course of action for the rest of the dinner is just to shut up and keep his head down.
Which he does, leaving the verbal sparring to Daemon. Thinly veiled insinuations and deflections flying on both sides. This is one aspect of Medieval life he doesn't think he can ever adjust to. Ironically it was simpler under Aegon. No one wants to talk to a bastard, even a royal bastard. However, now that he has been legitimized, He is a living, breathing succession crisis waiting to happen. All of his siblings are Daemon, just more so than the rest. Eventually, he is able to make his excuses and retreats from the dinner back to the safety of his room.
As he lays on his bed and waits for sleep to claim him, all he can think of is how much more complicated his life just became. That was only half of the royal family, and he still has three other bastard siblings to get to know. Why couldn't he have been reborn as something simpler?