King's Landing ― Street of Silk…
From his perch atop a residential house in the capital city, young Daeron Targaryen surveyed the local populace from afar. Despite being in the midst of his training, the princeling felt that he needed this moment to himself. Unfortunately, he had been in a bad mood all day. Jaehaerys had been given more responsibility and was trusted in court. Aegon and Viserys were off improving their coordinated efforts for the next confrontation, and he had no time for pranks since the Driftmark incident. As for his older sister, Aemma, she was still in the Red Keep, likely receiving praise from her tutors for her needlework. Daeron scoffed at this. At nine years old, he was a Targaryen prince and the blood of Old Valyria. He felt his father should give him a chance to prove his worth regardless of birth order, simply because he was born the youngest.
Look at them all. They are going about their day without a care in the world. Pfft! Bloody peasants. They've no clue of what's to come soon.
Daeron, the young princeling, shook his head and adhered to maintain his rigorous training regimen as he sprinted across the rooftop and deftly leaped from building to building like an agile feline. He wrapped heavy sacks around his arms and legs to push himself beyond his limits, causing him to strain and struggle with the added weight. Nevertheless, he remained persistent and clung to the architecture's empty spaces and precarious stones, using them as leverage to propel himself forward. "Nnnngh!" he strained. Come on now! Don't let go; you can do this! You can show them all! I… am a Targaryen, the blood of the dragon! Huffing and puffing, Daeron reached out to grab the nearest pillar before pulling his feet up. One after the other, the princeling remained steadfast and determined, but his recklessness and disregard for his safety also worked against him. He was pushing himself too hard. This… represents courage; Daeron held on. Stretching his right hand outward, he climbed higher. And this… he raised his foot, symbolizes strength. Putting his boot tip into an empty gap for stability, Daeron felt every fiber in his tendons burning; the strain on his muscles made him ache. Exhaustion was taking him. No! Not now! Not yet! Not when I'm… so… close! His palms were sweating, his knees were sore, and the sacks strapped around his limbs felt increasingly heavier by the second. Gritting his teeth, Daeron tried pulling himself up, but he felt the loose stones beneath his feet slide out from under him as his hands, too, lost their grip, unable to support the heavy weight.
Daeron exclaimed as he fell to the ground, hitting snag after snag of different residents' clotheslines before finally landing into a cart carrying stacks of straw.
"What the?!" one of the commoners said in surprise.
"What was that?"
"By the Mother!"
"Where did that boy come from?!"
A lowborn farmer, whose mules were pulling the cart, shouted for his animals to stop once they started braying and could not move further due to the sudden yet added weight from such velocity. "Whoa there!" he shouted. Then, hopping off his cart, the farmer "Why that no good, prissy little, when I find out who did that to my cart, I swear by the Father, I'm going to… Oh. It's just you," he noticed the unwelcome addition.
"Prince Daeron?" one of the salesmen noticed.
"Seven hells, it is the young prince," a tavern wench recognized him.
Sooner or later, one by one, a contingent of City Watch gold cloaks arrived to separate the growing assembly. "All right, you lots! Out of the way! Out of the way! Move!" their commander ordered. A lowborn knight who succeeded Ser Harwin Strong, Ser Luthor Largent was fierce and almost seven feet tall. Although nowhere near the level of human physicality as the Bonebreaker, it has been rumored that Luthor had once killed a warhorse with a single punch. A grizzled veteran, he was appointed by Prince Aeonar to assume the position of Commander of the City Watch following the dismissal of Ser Harwin. Looking into the cart, Luthor shook his head. "Well, well, well. Look what we have here, boys. Prince Daeron Targaryen. Why am I not surprised?" he gruffed. "Come here, lad. Let's see what you did this time."
"Nnnnngh!" Daeron groaned. Although he landed on the hay stacks, the princeling still couldn't move as his back was stiff. "Leave me alone. I don't need your help!" he protested.
"After a fall like that from that height? No. Boy, I don't think you're in any position for that kind of backtalk, especially since your father is the one who pays us. Lieutenant! Get up here!"
Ser Gwayne Hightower, having been reinstated into the City Watch as Luthor's second-in-command, made his way to the front. "Ah, Seven hells, Daeron, not again," he groaned, shaking his head. "That's the fourth time this week."
"Hi, uncle…" Why? Why him, of all people?
"Ugh, what am I going to do with you?" Aeonar and Alicent are going to kill me. Gwayne sighed. He turned to his superior officer. "Commander, I'll take full responsibility for this. Just let me bring my nephew back to the Red Keep."
"That's why you're stuck with me, lieutenant. He gets up to no good again; that's entirely on you," Luthor huffed again. "Men! What are you lot standing around for? Clear the streets! The rest of you, go about your business!"
The common folk murmured and chatted amongst themselves. Then, while the City Watch worked to clear the wreckage and remove onlookers from the scene, Gwayne hurled young Daeron over his shoulder, carrying him as they walked down the Street of Silk, passing by the Dragonpit through Rhaenys' Hill and taking a shortcut through Flea Bottom, where customers would pass by to enter the Lively Maid before finally arriving at the Street of Looms near the Rose District. "Nephew," Gwayne spoke up, "you know you shouldn't be pulling that recklessness at any time during the way, especially on a day like today. It's dangerous for a boy your age," he scolded.
"I was training!" Daeron complained, puffing his cheeks.
"'Training?' Seriously? Daeron, how was any of that supposed to qualify as 'training'? Falling fifteen feet off a building is extremely dangerous and not a wise way to test your limits, especially with that ridiculous amount of weight you strapped yourself with. You were fortunate that there was a cart with a stack of hay passing by underneath you, or else you could have suffered serious injuries like a broken leg or, worse, you could have died if you landed directly on your head! So what was the point behind it all? To show that pushing yourself to the extreme would gain you the respect you feel entitled to? That you were somehow different from your brothers? Well, sorry to burst your bubble, nephew, but I'm afraid that's not how the world works. There are better and safer ways to achieve your goals."
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
"By learning the simple basics," Gwayne pointed out. "For starters, squires would be required to run errands for their mentors for several years, such as tending to their animals, cleaning their chainmail, and helping them into their armor whenever required. In times of war, they ride beside their masters, assisting them and fighting by their sides. During tourneys, squires will provide their masters with new lances or with a sword."
"Me? A squire? Doing a peasant's job?" Daeron sounded as if he'd been personally offended. "I'm a prince, uncle! Squires are meant for the lowliest among us!" he protested.
"'Lowliest,' is it? With that thinking, you won't get very far in life. So long as you keep skipping the basic tenants and dive headfirst into trouble, you'll always get knocked on your ass."
"I've got a dragon!"
"And without dragons, you're just like the rest of us. Hadn't your father told you that?" Gwayne countered. When the child struggled in his grasp, the Hightower knight wrangled his nephew. "Hey! Now knock it off!" Gods have mercy, but this child is as stubborn as a dragon with a case of constipation. "Daeron, I've been in this world for more than thirty-two years and had my fair share of getting my ass handed to me when I was your age. You want something? You need to earn it like the rest of us. There are no shortcuts. You want to train? Fine. But don't be stupid. Be smart about it."
"Don't call me stupid!" Daeron exclaimed vocally.
"I did not say that, Daeron, don't even think about twisting my words. Haaaah… now I got to report this to your parents." Then head back to the barracks, provided your dad doesn't decide to drown me in bureaucratic paperwork first…
Red Keep ― Maegor's Holdfast…
Daeron was feeling trapped in his own quarters. Gwayne had reported the incident involving Aeonar and Alicent to him as promised. While his sister had expressed her outrage and scolded her youngest son for acting so recklessly, his brother-in-law had warned him that his impatience could cause more harm than just physical injuries. Fortunately, Grand Maester Orwyle had confirmed that the young prince had only suffered minor scrapes and bruises on his back. After receiving medical attention, Daeron was advised to rest until he had fully recovered. This isn't fair! He mentally complained. I was doing what anyone would have done if they were in my shoes. Father mastered it before us; Jay's not too far behind; Aegon and Viserys are barely keeping up, so why should I get the short end of the stick?! His toys were scattered throughout the room, indicating his lack of interest. He felt so restless. He wanted to return to training and show his foolish uncles that Daeron was not to be trifled with, especially that arrogant Prince Aemond. Daeron had a bone to pick with him for what he did and tried to do back at Driftmark two years ago. But to do that, he needed to get stronger and faster. Aemond was already leagues ahead of him regarding his skills as a warrior. Daeron couldn't afford to fall behind. He refused to be trapped in anyone's shadow, especially his brothers and uncles. He just… He just wanted his father to be proud of him. To acknowledge him.
Three knocks on his door broke the silence.
"Go away!" Daeron shouted.
"Not even for me, Daeron?" a feminine voice replied on the other side.
Wait! Aemma! "Oh, ah, umm… Y-Yeah, Aemma! It's open!"
As soon as his older sister walked into the room, Daeron couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement and anticipation. Princess Aemma, now eleven years old, was rapidly blossoming into a beautiful young adolescent with features that closely resembled their mother, Alicent, in her youth. Her stunning red dress, adorned with intricate black embroidery, hugged her body perfectly, accentuating her natural curves. White furry shawls draped over her shoulders and collar, adding an extra touch of elegance to her outfit. The mere presence of Aemma illuminated the room, causing Daeron's heart to skip a beat. He couldn't help but notice how much she had grown and how much more confident and poised she appeared. Despite feeling slightly intimidated by her newfound beauty, Daeron couldn't help but feel overjoyed at the sight of his beloved sister. But his eyes soon drifted to what she was holding in her hands. He could see Aemma was carrying a plate with fresh bakery sweets. Daeron's nose sniffed the air and soon caught the sweet aroma, immediately causing him to salivate. "A-Aemma, is that what I think it is?" he asked expectedly.
"Mm-hmm. I brought you some cookies," Aemma affirmed.
Oatmeal raisin with a hint of blueberries… "Ooh, raqnon mandī iksā… (I love you, sis…)"
How cute. He's like a small, adorable puppy expecting a treat. Aemma placed the plate of cookies beside her brother's bedside so he could snack on them. "Don't eat them too fast. It would be best if you didn't get an upset stomach before supper tonight," she teased. Then, as if she half-expected her little brother to pay attention to what she said, Aemma remained at Daeron's bedside, watching him stuff his face. "Daeron, that's… stop. Ah, ah, ah. Now, Daeron," she withdrew the plate, eliciting a whine from her brother, "I did say to slow down, didn't I? Heh, look at you. What a little piggie," she took a cloth to wipe Daeron's cheeks, which carried crumbs. Aemma enjoyed listening to him complain as he felt he was being treated like a baby again.
"Aemma~," Daeron complained.
"Well, if you don't sit still, I'll never clean it. And… there we go, all done." Aemma then looked serious. "Now, would you mind telling me what happened back there?"
"Back… where?"
"In the city. Something about you and a building?"
"Oh. That. Well, if you heard about it from uncle Gwayne, that's all you need to know."
"There are plenty of ways to skin a stag, Daeron."
"Aww, you're going to make me do this?" Daeron shook his head. "Well, I've been doing some training these past few days. Like the Lykirī Mēre elders do. Mom said it was too dangerous, dad said I wasn't ready, but everyone else was already ahead of me. Jay, Aegon, Viserys, all of them. It's just… It's not fair! Why am I the one being left behind?"
Aemma shook her head. "No one is intentionally leaving you behind," she reassured him. "We all have our strengths and weaknesses; sometimes, the path we want to follow is usually not right."
"I don't want things to remain the same…"
"Daeron, nothing ever changes overnight by mere coincidence alone, nor can we foresee it to alter its trajectory no more can we stop the sun from setting. Maybe you could find out that you might find one worthy of being placed before you, little brother, perhaps when you least expect it. But the choice is yours alone to make."
Whenever he talked to his sister, Daeron contemplated his choices, even though he wasn't fond of philosophical discussions or deep inquiries that required introspection. He felt he was falling dangerously behind his three older brothers, with Jaehaerys being way ahead of the pack and Aegon and Viserys only slightly ahead of him. Daeron wondered if he was on the right path and what other options were available. His sister Aemma mentioned an unforeseen and hidden path, but he was unsure what it entailed. Nevertheless, he trusted his sister, who was always a source of comfort, and knew she wouldn't deceive him. As he pondered her words, he looked back at her. "Sis?" he spoke up. "Do you think I have something that Jay, Aegon, and Viserys don't?"
Aemma thought hard about that question. Both were still young, yet she didn't even have answers to most of them. "Well… from what I believe, you're more headstrong and relentless when you see something you want," she observed. "And when it comes to taking the initiative, you're always the first one in and last one out. It makes you bolder. Unflinching. Even some leaders are required to have qualities when they're getting tested."
"You think so?"
"I know so." Aemma then smirked. "After all… aren't you destined to do great things? Daeron the Brave?" she poked his cheeks.
"Teehee! Hey! Stop that!" Daeron giggled. He felt so much better. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right, sis! 'Daeron the Brave'! That's what the history books will call me. Preserving our family's proud, ancient customs and traditions, which have long since survived the Doom that fell upon Old Valyria, holds great importance to our father. And I'm committed to helping him ensure their continued survival for the next thousand years," he boldly proclaimed. "And I won't let our brothers stay ahead of me forever. I'm going to catch up with them!"
Aemma was gratified with the response she received. She truly believed that her younger brother Daeron had all the makings of a distinguished member of the illustrious Targaryen dynasty. Still, she also recognized that he needed some direction to realize his potential fully. Despite her confidence in her brother, Aemma was uncertain about her future within the house, leaving her uneasy. Daeron picked up on his sister's altered mood and was prompted to inquire about what was troubling her.
"Sis?" Daeron noticed. "Aemma, what's wrong?" he approached his sister.
"I have… something else to tell you," Aemma said nervously. Then, taking a deep breath, she moved to steady herself. She only wondered how Daeron would react to what she had to say. "There will be an official announcement in a few days, but you'll be among the first to know this, so you have to promise me you won't tell anyone. On the day of my thirteenth nameday, I will be… betrothed. Father has arranged for me to marry our brother, Aegon."
"Wait, what? But why?"
"You said it yourself. In accordance with our ancient Valyrian customs and traditions, it is crucial that we keep our bloodline pure, just as our ancestors have done before us. Even if I have my own reservations, I must remain committed to fulfilling my responsibilities to support our household during these dire times to the best of my ability."
"But… But what did mother say about it?"
"Mother has frequently voiced her concerns with our father, and I am certain he comprehends her apprehensions. However, we've all been aware that this was bound to happen for quite some time. I'm the only daughter in our family, so it was logical for me to be chosen to marry one of our brothers. The decision ultimately came down to choosing which one."
"What about Aegon? Does he know?"
Aemma nodded. "Yes. Yes, he does. And he's just as surprised as I was," she explained. "Since the Driftmark incident two years ago, there have been many discussions about our family's future. Tensions between the Blacks and the Caltrops have only escalated after Luke took Aemond's eye. Even the court is gossiping that the latest round of negotiations will likely fail if father and Her Grace continue to be at each other's throats. Seeing grandpa look so sad and helpless breaks my heart." She sighed. "So Aegon and I… we've agreed to the match to support him and our father, who will one day become king and our brother after him. Jay is doing everything he can to ensure the peace talks go smoothly, but our brother is just one person. He cannot do it by himself, and neither can father. So we must come together as a family to overcome this challenge."
Daeron frowned. He knew Queen Beatrice was up to no good again. And he especially hated hearing how it made their grandfather emotionally upset. "Strength in numbers, huh, sis?" he reiterated. Mother always said we're at our best when working as a team. "If it means taking pressure off our brother, dad, and grandpa, just point me in the right direction. Oh," he switched from moody to cheeky. "If Aegon does something funny, just tell me to hit him in the weenie so he gets the hint."
"Pffft! Haha, I'll be sure to tell him that." Aemma felt better. "But until then, keep up your training; just maintain a steady pace so you don't end up in Grand Maester Orwyle's care again, okay?"
"Eugh, anything but him!" Standing beside his sister, taking one of her hands in his, Daeron gazed out the window. Like the rest of his family, he felt a sense of renewal. However, he also sensed that danger was looming in the future. To prepare himself for whatever might come, Daeron promised to train hard and become the finest swordsman and dragonrider possible. He was determined to confront any challenges that lay ahead with confidence. 'Fire and Blood,' father. 'Fire and Blood.'
Chapter End
Author's Note: Today is the release of the second filler arc in this series, but this time the focus is centered around Prince Daeron Targaryen, the youngest of Aeonar's and Alicent's five children. For a nine-year-old, Daeron already has a bit of a temper and defiant nature, especially if authority is involved. We also catch a first glimpse into Luthor Largent, yet we're reunited with Alicent's brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower himself! Seems Gwayne is already familiar with what his nephew's been up to for quite some time and already had to give him several lectures. Later on, we see a softer side of Daeron when he interacts with his sister Aemma. What do you guys think? How this will affect future chapters? Let me know.
randomdude24: I pity Daeron a bit, granted he's only 9 years old but he just wants to make his father proud like his other siblings. That's all he wants.
Interesting choice betrothing Aegon and Aemma, both children of Aeonar. Was the decision to betroth them because Aeonar believes in the whole pure Valyrian line or to prevent Beatrice, the Caltrops from attempting to marry her to someone like Aemond?
―In regards to his kids, Aeonar's more of a traditionalist; so, in a certain perspective, yes it's in keeping the Valyrian bloodline pure, but also keep his daughter away from the Caltrops who might use her for their own ends.
XavierWright: Aemma... betrothed to marry Aegon, huh...? Didn't expect that. I assume he'll be a better husband than Aegon the Elder, anyway.
Also, does Daeron know about the exile of his Aunt and cousins? Does he miss them?
―Yes he does to both
Mnava1205: It might be just me, but I'm seriously getting some Damien Wayne vibes from Daeron this chapter 0.0