"No flesh is lost, it appears." Gerardys studies Baela's thawing fingers. "But rest is in order — for all of you."
Daemon shakes his head. "I do not believe that will happen."
Jace resigns himself to that fact as well. They take their tea on the cushions that surround the fire until Gerardys deems Moondancer's passengers sufficiently recovered. Daemon sends for Luke and Rhaena to be roused, and the Sea Snake to be sent to Dragonstone.
Gerardys expresses concern. "What of his condition?"
"We haven't the time to go back and forth to see to him. We must consolidate our people as is." Rhaenys nods in agreement.
Jace is troubled by another matter. "Should we be preparing for an attack?"
Daemon considers over several sips before answering. "Baela, did anyone see you?"
Her teeth no longer chatter. "I don't believe so. I stuck to the shadows. Aside from Rhaenyra…" her voice breaks. "Just Ser Erryk and the men I killed."
Daemon looks as stricken as Daemon is able to. "I missed your first kill? We were supposed to do that together." You would think he had missed her first steps. "From the day you were born, I have dreamt of helping you pick the remnants of your enemies from your dragon's teeth."
Jace guides them back. "Ser Erryk?"
Baela blinks as if roused from sleep. "Right, Ser Erryk. Hightower men were pursuing him on his way to Castle Hayford; he meant to warn us by raven. I took out the men and we hid whatever Moondancer couldn't eat, and then he headed for the harbour."
"And you're certain there were no witnesses?" Jace asks.
"As certain as I can be. I followed them for a short time until we were out of sight from the walls. I circled high and quiet until I could ascertain who needed to be killed. We should be fine until they find the hidden remains — I do not know when that will be."
Daemon has his hand over his mouth, his voice is thick with pride. "You remained but a winged shadow of death, my dear tala." As usual, Jace cannot tell how much of his expression is in earnest, and how much is in the interest of discomforting others. Daemon probably doesn't know either, Jace realizes.
No one understands Daemon's true emotions less than Daemon does himself, his mother would say. They sit in silence for a time to finish their tea, but Jace leaves his untouched. He cannot spare the effort.
Rhaena and Luke soon enter wearing their nightclothes and sleepy expressions; they presumably came straight after being summoned. Luke is the more nervous of the two. "What is it? Is there word of Grandsire's condition?"
Jace looks to Daemon before he realizes, he's worried about the wrong Grandsire.
Daemon's mind is on the same path. "Oh, right. You really know nothing. That's what you get for going to bed."
Baela looks up from refilling her tea. "It was for the best, Father. By midday, they'll likely be the only functional ones among us,"
Right, by midday.
Luke's fear is now accompanied by annoyance. "I repeat, what has happened?"
Rhaena joins in. "Why is everyone on the floor? Why is everyone wet?" She looks around the room. "Why is there ice everywhere?"
"Have a seat," Daemon says. "I am loathe to repeat myself."
Fatigue has done away with Jace's inhibitions, but apparently not Daemon's influence. "So, great-uncle, you have passed the point of repeat performance? I did not realize you had entered your change of old age."
"Careful boy. I gave you that wit, and I can take it away."
"What in the Seven Realms does that mean?"
"Never mind, apparently there is no need."
In their talk of wit, they'd missed Luke hit his wit's end. "What. Is. Happening!"
"Your Grandsire is dead," Daemon says casually. Luke pales. "No, not that one. It gets worse; sit down and be quiet, or we'll never get through this conversation in time murder."
"Father, I believe Moondancer needs time to recover before she does any more murder."
Jace states the obvious fact that everyone has been ignoring. "I believe we are all in need of recovery before doing any murder."
"Grandmother cannot help us," Baela realizes. "We're down Syrax and Meleys. We're completely outclassed." The ice in her veins has yet to melt enough for panic to permeate her voice, fortunately.
At some point Luke and Rhaena had actually sat next to them in silence. They'd stopped demanding elaboration in favour of exchanging what in the Seven Hells, looks. Curiously, Rhaenys stares intently at Daemon, who himself is lost in thought.
"Should we be expecting an attack?" Jace repeats.
"No. Not by dragonfire," Daemon says. "We occupy what is probably the one dragon-proof fortress in the realm; they would be fools to unleash them here. Which means we have some time to prepare."
Luke and Rhaena are beyond lost, which reminds Jace that he is also lost. "What of their plans? What of Aemond? What of Mother?"
Daemon's face darkens. "They mean to supplant you as heir, and myself as consort."
Rhaenys stops her staredown with Daemon for long enough to speak. "They mean to take the Driftwood Throne as well. By marrying Baela off to Daeron." Jace starts to understand what they were speaking of earlier, but he stops himself.
"Wait, what?" Baela exclaims.
"Oh, right. I forget he existed," Daemon says. Jace is quite certain the two have never even met; Alicent shipped him off at such a young age. "How long do we have? Before…" He looks away into the fire.
"I do not know," Rhaenys says. "But regardless of their ceremonial plans, Rhaenyra has suffered through labour. That gives us time."
"Wait, what?" Luke demands. "Tell me what's happening!"
It is Daemon, of course, who speaks the hard truth. "They're going to force your mother to wed Aemond and install him as King to circumvent your drunken uncle without reducing their own claim."
"But she's already wed!"
"When has that stopped a Targaryen?"
"But she doesn't want to!"
"When has that ever stopped anyone?" Daemon demands. "You know the histories. You know the present."
"But she's the Queen now, is she not?" Luke realizes his mistake. Girls without families aren't heirs, they're keys. He tries a different approach. "But they are no true Targaryens, they're Hightowers. How do they mean to—"
"Lucerys!" Daemon snaps. "It is difficult enough to process this without you dragging me three steps back each time. So fine. Cold. Hard. Truth." He looks around to ensure only family occupy the room. "The Hightowers follow a code, yes. But how they choose to follow that code… their reach is longer than Caraxes' neck."
"Wow, how long have you been saving that one for?" Jace quips for some reason.
"Jace," Daemon says. "Stop making inappropriate japes to disassociate from the severity of the situation. You're bad at it," Daemon says. Presumably what he really means is, that's my job.
Rhaena steers them back. "Father! Wedding. Aemond. Code. Stretch."
"Right. By their convoluted, motivated interpretation of their ridiculous Faith, all of Rhaenyra's children are disqualified from the succession. I think." He turns for confirmation. "Rhaenys?"
And she does, indeed, confirm. "They were hoping to kill you and bring Aegon and Viserys into their custody. But they have a contingency plan I imagine they'll now carry out."
"You spoke of Uncle Laenor," Baela says.
Daemon swirls his near-empty cup. "They will spread slanders that I killed him to claim Rhaenyra's hand. And that she was but an unsuspecting pawn in my quest for the throne. That is their plan, is it not?"
Rhaenys nods. "They claim to have evidence." All four of the children look to each other. They had long let the possible truth go unspoken between them.
Daemon meets Rhaenys's gaze, completely unfazed. "Do they now? How very interesting it will be to see what they come up with."
Rhaenys does not challenge him; she moves on. "It seems we're to fight annulment with annulment."
Jace grasps onto anything that does not involve his stepfather murdering his… father. "With annulment?"
"We have six weeks at best," Rhaenys says. "Matters become more complicated after that; we must send out the ravens at once."
Daemon scoffs. "I do not intend to fight a war of words and ravens with the vipers that killed my brother and imprisoned my wife. This will be answered with fire and blood."
"Daemon," Jace warns. "We're down two among our largest dragons."
"I said blood as well. I do not intend to throw our dragons against theirs; that has never gone well for either side in the histories. There are other means of shedding blood." And blood will flow, Jace realizes; as do the others, from their expressions.
Rhaenys sighs. "The Greens hold the better cards. And you all handed them over."
Daemon finally challenges her. "You're going to have to be more specific, good mother."
She glares at the title. "This would not even be an avenue for them to pursue had Rhaenyra and Laenor simply done their duty! They knew her claim was vulnerable, and yet still they chose to further endanger their position!" Jace had never seen Rhaenys speak of Laenor without grief. "Foolish, spoiled children — all three of them."
Jace is [aghast]. "Grandmother I do not k —"
Daemon is apparently beyond caring. "Quiet, Jace. War is here, appearances are out the window." He turns to Rhaenys. "And you. Do not judge those for resenting a situation you have never had to experience. You chose Corlys. Not all of us had that choice; we made the best of the situation forced on us." Jace notes the us. Mayhaps he is not yet beyond caring.
Jace could tell exactly what Rhaenys thought of their situations. She confirms his theory. "To be handed fabulous riches and privilege. Is that the situation you speak of?"
"Chains of gold restrain all the same. You sold your son for the throne. My brother sold Rhaenyra for a fleet. And I was sold for a keeper — a daemon-keeper. Do not act so affronted that treating us as livestock has gone so poorly for you. And consider yourself fortunate that your daughter was smart enough to see in me a means of escape."
"Yes, you've many times found yourself someone's means of escape."
This gets Daemon's attention, as well as Rhaena's, apparently. His stepfather leaves a hole of silence in the conversation: waiting, inviting, daring Rhaenys to fill it. She does not deign to.
Eventually, Daemon pushes past the hole. "Imagine being told, everyday of your life, that you are power made flesh. You are the blood of the dragon, the legacy of Valyria; you are beyond the reach of the common man. And then you're sold in the way even a common man is safe from. Dragons do not fuck on command; it is one of the many complications in breeding them. Why would the blood of the dragon be any different?"
Jace does not know if he should ponder this question or appreciate the rare moment of calm vulnerability from his stepfather. But Baela does. "And then to… carry that with you for nine moons, knowing you might die for it. They will not have me alive," she resolves.
"They will not have you at all, daughter. No one will, if you so will it," Daemon says. Thankfully, Baela gives Jace a reassuring smile. Daemon turns back to Rhaenys. "Rhaenyra and Laenor made the right choice. I will not have you disparaging them, especially not now."
Rhaenys does the scoff and head tilt combination that Mother was so skilled at imitating.
Daemon takes exception. "They did try, you know. They tried until it was almost too late."
"Too late for what?" Rhaenys asks.
"Too late to salvage any semblance of a relationship because you can't even look at each other and start to resent one another for basically violating each other. And then of course there are the mechanical issues, the few times in a marriage when the man too looks back to the door and sees there's no escape, no choice." Jace only now notices that at some point Daemon had swapped his tea for wine. "And so, of course, the woman, bitter with her own position, will start to take delight in his discomfort it escalates until someone can't reliably finish for the next decade and eventually someone ends up killing someone."
Even Rhaenys lets her jaw drop. Jace was certain the four of them had not experienced an equivalent level of collective horror and confusion since their parents brought them back from the funeral and immediately started cutting into one another and drinking each other's blood.
Jace is at a loss to think of something to change the subject, soLuke rises to the occasion. "Can we please talk about the war and fire and blood?"
Oh right, last night happened. Do I need sleep? Jace wonders. His mind is not as it should be.
Rhaena has a better idea: "Can you all please go to bed before we start a war?"
Is this why Daemon is so crazy all the time? Is he just riding out sleep deprivation over waves of adrenaline from all his stunts? Does he just need a nap?
"I'd also like to reiterate Rhaena's ice question," Luke adds.
Baela helpfully adds another branch away from Daemon's revelations. "I would like to point out that your succession would not be an issue if we had simply maintained traditional Valyrian matrilineal inheritance. It leaves much less room for doubt of parentage,"
Daemon follows their subject change. "It also leaves too much room for women to run about, it's helpful to have an excuse to lock them in a tower."
Rhaena takes control. "Alright, I'm going to call for an official meeting at midday, and I'm going to have the garrison on alert."
"That's not soon enough, Rhaena," Daemon says. "We need to mobilize immediately."
Rhaena crosses her arms. "You cannot even remember what was said five minutes ago, or to tell me how you came to be covered in ice. Rhaenyra isn't here, so I'm going to be the one to tell you all to go to bed for a few hours and join us at midday when you're coherent and not suffering from the chills."
Rhaenys rises. "I do believe she has a point. I have run out of adrenaline to fuel me any further." She lets the blanket slip from her shoulders down to the floor, and everyone sees the Hand-of-the-Queen pin for the first time.
"Rhaenys," Daemon asks. "When did you come by your position?"
Jace cannot even remember if he was supposed to know.
She only now seems to take note of her own pin. "Oh, indeed. It has been a long night."
At some point, Rhaena began to follow the conversation far better than Jace could. She narrows her eyes in consideration at this revelation. Whatever passes between Rhaenys and Daemon, Rhaena is clearly following it better than he is.
Rhaenys apparently decides she's not ready to move far and sits down in Daemon's usual chair. "I wouldn't sit there," Jace warns, recalling a particularly traumatic childhood memory.
Daemon rolls his eyes. "Please, it was one time."
"That I know of."
"In that case, you should probably avoid every surface in the keep. Why do you think there's such a comfortable rug here?"
The four of them have likely never moved so fast in such unison. "Ah!" they yell in various tones, and they all find themselves upright.
Rhaenys is stoic, yet still annoyed. "You certainly have a talent for ruining fireplaces."
Daemon rises as well. "You're going to have to elaborate."
"No, I do not think I do." They enter some silent conversation Jace is not privy to. It appears as if they're… assessing one another. For what, he does not know. He had put aside any question regarding Daemon and the Velaryons long ago, for his sanity as much as his safety. Baela and Luke seem equally uncomfortable and the three of them look to each other.
Interestingly, Rhaena had been simply observing. She decides to interrupt whatever passes between them. "Now that we're all up, bed before war council."
"Very well," Daemon concedes. "But first, the Young Prince and I have a matter to attend to." He puts his arm around Jace.
"What would that be?"
"It's time to ascertain the loyalty of the Kingsguard."