The Princess and the Queen 19: Daeron II
"Behold, I am the rider of the Pink Dread, the scariest beast of Westeros!" declared Baelon as he sat on the back of the outrageously fat pig. The pig was fitted with a saddle, and wings made of straw were tied onto each of its sides.
"I shall eat the Pink Dread for supper!" Daeron shouted, pointing a twig at Baelon and the pig.
"He shall eat you for supper! My mount shall eat Tessarion!" he replied.
"The only food he shall eat are carrots and neeps!" countered Daeron. "No other beast is a match for my Blue Queen! Surrender now!"
"I shall never!" laughed Baelon as Baela ran in from behind them, riding a large stick that had a knight's helm at the end of it.
"It is I, Baela the Bold, rider of Moondancer, the most beautiful of dragons!" she exclaimed as she whacked Daeron with a wooden sword.
Baelon began laughing so much it startled the poor pig, who began screeching and running around the yard.
"No... serve me, Pink Dread, serve me!" yelped Baelon as he gripped tightly onto the pig's reigns.
"Mayhaps it shall understand if you command in High Valyrian!" called Daeron as the pig bundled around the yard, knocking over a maid carrying pails of water and a rack of training swords.
Eventually, the pig let go of its rider, and Baelon went tumbling down into the mud. The Pink Dread continued running until it was picked up by two guards who carried the screaming pig away, much to Baelon's laughter.
"You have served me bravely, Pink Dread... but now I shall eat you for supper!" Baelon shouted as he sat up in the mud.
Daeron and Baela ran up to Baelon with their wooden swords and surrounded him, pointing at him.
"It is over, Baelon... yield now! You have been defeated!" Daeron said to him.
"I shall never yield... I am Baelon the Never Yielded!" he replied.
"It's Unyielding," corrected Baela as she and Daeron began lightly poking him with their swords.
"That is what I meant!" chuckled Baelon, as the three of them began giggling as they all dropped their swords.
All the laughter ended, however, when a familiar voice called across the yard.
"Which of you children's idea was it to bring a blood pig into the yard for your own amusement?" Daeron's mother asked in a tone that very much conveyed disapproval.
Her tone clearly meant nothing to Daeron, Baela, and Baelon, as they all just looked at each other and burst into laughter again.
"Who's idea was it?" she repeated. "Either of you could have gotten hurt. Was it your suggestion, Baelon?"
"N-No... Your Grace..." said Baelon, his head lowered and his laughter non-existent.
"It was mine, Mother," Baela quickly said, shielding her nephew.
She just rolled her eyes and walked up to them. Her dress was made of fine blue silk, which blew like waves of the ocean as she walked. Despite her lilac eyes looking tired, they still glistened like amethysts in the morning sun, and her curly silver hair shone like metal straight out of a forge.
"Look at the state of the both of you," she tutted. "You are both filthy."
"We were playing in the yard," replied Daeron.
"You should both go and clean and change your garb," she said, patting both Daeron and Baela with each hand.
"But we were still playing, Mother," Baela pleaded.
"The evening feast is mere hours away. Do you really want to attend looking like a stableboy?" asked Mother.
"I would not mind," shrugged Baela. "Baelon has not been told to change his garb; why do we have to?"
"I am sure Princess Rhaenyra shall inform him as such, but I am not his mother. I am the mother of you both. And I am informing you to change into cloths more appropriate," she said sternly.
"But it is Baelon's final day here. We shall not be able to play in the yard for much time longer," Daeron countered.
"Baelon shall be at the feast later, shan't you, Baelon?" she asked as Baelon gave a nervous nod. "You can talk to him then. Now, go and get dressed."
"Very well, Mother," sighed Baela.
As Daeron and Baela were turning to leave, Baelon called out to Daeron.
"You forgot about our secret greeting, Daeron!" he said from halfway across the yard.
"We do not need to do it all the time, only on special times!" replied Daeron.
"Why am I not part of the secret greeting?" Baela asked sadly.
"You should really have a secret greeting first and foremost with your own sister before anyone else, Daeron," their mother said as Baelon was out of earshot.
"Thank you, Mother," smirked Baela as she pulled a funny face at Daeron.
Daeron then pulled a funny face in response before she jumped up and ruffled Daeron's hair. The two of them then ran around in circles chasing each other before their mother had to pull them apart.
The so-called "secret greeting" between Daeron and Baelon was a concept they had created a year ago when Baelon had first departed to Dragonstone. It involved a handshake, then hitting the back of each other's hand, before then handshaking with the opposite hand and smacking shoulders with each other. The greeting was simple to learn, and both Daeron and Baelon remembered how to do it a year after seeing each other.
When Daeron arrived in his quarters, his garb for the evening feast was laid out neatly on his table. It was blue, just like everything else he wore.
"Shall there be a time where I needn't have to wear blue all the time?" asked Daeron.
"What, do you wish to wear red, Daeron?" Mother scoffed.
"No, not red... but another colour. Like black, like Father does."
"There may be a time... when you may wish to wear whatever colour you desire..." she said, her eyes glinting and hopeful, thinking of something Daeron did not know. "But for now, your garb shall always be blue. Do you not like the colour?"
"The contrary, Mother... I love blue; it is the colour of Tessarion," he replied.
"That is good to know," she smiled, before leaving the room.
Before Daeron could change into his new cloths, he had to bathe to remove the stink of mud and pig. He was old enough to bathe himself, but some handmaidens still aided him by scrubbing his back and cleaning his silver hair. They then sprinkled some fragrant oils on his skin before helping him change into the garb.
I do appreciate that there are maidens to aid me in dressing; I would never have been able to wear this by myself!
The whole outfit was grand and more extravagant than anything he had ever worn for at least as long as he could remember. His boots and breeches were made of a fine leather almost whiter than the Kingsguard armour. After he wore his inner tunic, he wore a fabulous dark blue doublet that was stitched with even darker blue dragons. He noticed that the stitching on the collar, as well as the ruffled sleeves, were made with cloth-of-gold, going all the way to the bottom of the doublet, which almost reached his knees. Above the doublet was his surcoat, which was also entirely cut from cloth-of-gold. The shoulders were padded, making Daeron feel twice the size he actually was. It was fastened with tiny golden dragons, matching the small necklace he wore. His silver hair was neatly combed behind him, and he wore a golden ring on the index finger of his right hand, as well as the third on his left.
I am looking truly princely today.
After he was dressed, he went to his mother's quarters. On his way down the halls of Maegor's Holdfast, he encountered Jocelyn, accompanied by her aunt, Lady Alicent. Jocelyn looked exactly like Lady Alicent, from the same brown eyes to the wavy chestnut hair tied in a bun. They were also in matching garb, modest grey dresses lined with blue and dark green, and each wore a silver seven-pointed star necklace. The dresses did seem quite old and threadbare, and not what Lady Alicent and Jocelyn usually wore.
"Jocelyn!" Daeron called, running up to the Hightower girl.
"Prince Daeron," she smiled.
Lady Alicent also bowed her head to Daeron and smiled. As Daeron came closer, he noticed that neither of them smelt particularly pleasant. He slightly winced at the stench of mud and other unsavoury things.
They smell a bit like the Pink Dread.
"Where have you been all day?" Daeron excitedly asked. "We played in the yard earlier! Baela and Baelon had this idea to stick wings to a pig and pretend it was a dragon. You should've been there!"
"We were out in the city," gently replied Jocelyn.
"In the city?" asked Daeron.
"Yes... we went to Fleabottom, again... to visit the orphanages and give food to the smallfolk."
"That explains the stink, My Prince," said Alicent sheepishly. "I do apologise that we were not in more... suitable dressing."
"It is no worry, Lady Alicent," politely replied Daeron, remembering his courtesies. "You always go out into the city and give food; shouldn't the smallfolk have enough by now?"
"I do not know if they ever will, My Prince," Lady Alicent sadly said.
"Then why do you always do it, Lady Alicent?" he asked.
"It is little Jocelyn's suggestion; you must ask her for the answer to that one," chuckled Lady Alicent, as they both looked at Jocelyn.
"Even if they may never have food, it is still nice to give them food... because they all smile when I do it, which makes me smile," Jocelyn said, looking at the ground. "The people in Fleabottom are also a bit like me, I reckon."
"How is that so?" Daeron asked.
"They are orphans... they do not have a mother and father, apart from those above. Just like me..." she smiled, but her eyes were full of sadness, which also made Daeron feel sad.
I should consider myself lucky, since I have two parents still.
"It is very nice what you do, Jocelyn. I do think the Seven shall reward you greatly," Daeron said, remembering the words his septa told him, which certainly brought a wider smile to her face.
"Thank you," Jocelyn replied quietly.
"Now, Jocelyn, we must take our leave. The Prince has a feast to attend to, do you not?" Lady Alicent asked. "With your leave, of course."
"Of course," nodded Daeron, before heading off to his mother's quarters.
By the time he arrived, Baela was also there. Both were in their evening garb, in matching blues and golds and long skirts that dragged across the ground. Baela's dress was modest, whilst their mother's bore her shoulders. Both had their hair let loose, a river of milk and honey flowing down their necks. They both had matching golden necklaces, the same as Daeron's, which were wrought into a dragon and studded with three sapphires. Daeron smiled upon seeing his mother and sister, and they smiled in return.
"You do look wonderful, dear," Mother smiled as she gave him a kiss on his right cheek.
"I look wonderfuller!" said Baela.
"They did manage to clean off the smell of the training yard, it seems," Mother said, rubbing his silver hair.
"I was not the one smelling of pig... it was Baelon who stuck the feathers and saddle onto the pig," Daeron said.
"Oh, was it?" she asked. "He is always up to trouble, that lad."
"It was my suggestion, Mother, as I said," responded Baela.
"You both have been spending too much time with him, and his troublesome habits have rubbed off on the both of you," she tutted.
"He is not," protested Daeron. "We are his elders, and he oft follows our lead."
"Yet his habit of playing pranks and japes to the Dragonstone garrison are well-known to even us here in King's Landing," said Mother.
"I like pranks and japes, too. They are just harmless," Baela said.
"Aye, but you both know your limits. If you do not, then that can lead to other issues."
"Very well, Mother," nodded Daeron.
"I am not saying that japes and pranks and the sort are outlawed, my dears, but you should not follow in the footsteps of Rhaenyra," Mother said, whilst hugging both of them.
"Why not?" asked Baela.
Baela loves to ask why, as of late.
"Your older sister was supposedly similar, too, in her youth, yet she constantly went unpunished by her father. That led to a lack of discipline, and her attitude may very well be passed down to her son," she replied.
"Father did not discipline Rhaenyra?" questioned Daeron.
"Not that I am aware of," she curtly said.
"That cannot be true," Baela gasped. "Whenever we tried making a jape to Father, he scolds us!"
"Does he?" asked Mother, her eyebrow raised.
"Yes..." Daeron replied. "There was that time we covered ourselves in flour from the kitchens, and he warned us that it is wasting cooking ingredients!"
"When was this, Daeron?" she demanded, her hands clenched and her brows furrowed.
"Some while ago... he does not like it when we jape around, I am not certain why..." mused Baela.
"That is the nature of your father, children, see? Rhaenyra was never punished for any wrongdoing, yet the two of you are scolded for even minor infractions and japes," she scoffed angrily. "This is why Rhaenyra is a bad influence upon you both."
"But that does not mean Baelon is," Baela protested.
"As of now, he may or may not be... but his mother raises and coddles him in the same manner, to have no respect for his seniors and those around him. A carefree, unlawful attitude. You both do remember what the septa teaches you?"
They both nodded.
"It seems that your older sister does not, and Baelon follows in his dear mother's footsteps," she said curtly.
"She's still our sister," said Baela. "And does that mean we cannot talk to Baelon anymore?"
"Ye-You still can, but you must be wary around them, both, as well as Prince Daemon. I have warned you many times before, and now that you both are almost a man and woman grown, it becomes more paramount that you begin to listen."
"Yes, mother," Daeron and Baela said.
That isn't particularly fair... Just because he is supposedly less disciplined than Baela and me. If Baelon is so less disciplined, then wouldn't spending time with me and Baela let him learn from us?
Both Daeron and Baela looked at each other and frowned. Their faces were a mirror of each other, and their thoughts likely were, too. As much as they misliked what their mother had warned them of, they would still have to listen, as she was hardly ever wrong, and was still their mother, nonetheless. Then, they walked down Maegor's Holdfast to collect Aemon, who was in the care of the maids.
Poor maids...
It was no secret that Aemon was a terror for every handmaiden around the Red Keep. He would kick, scratch, bite, and punch anyone whenever he was in a foul mood, which was always. The two-year-old's wrath did not spare other children, either. He regularly got into fights with children twice his size, viciously attacking them until they cried, and a handmaiden had to pull Aemon off his current victim.
It is lucky that he has not yet unleashed his fury upon me.
The only people he tolerated being around were their mother, Daeron, Baela, their grandparents, their uncle, Ser Laenor, his children, and Ser Criston Cole. Even still, he would not shy away from crying and screaming in their presence when things did not go his way. Aemon also did not enjoy the presence of their father, angrily screaming whenever he tried to carry him. Once, he even tried poking the poor old man's eye out with a wooden spoon.
That old Septa Prunella said that little Aemon was cursed some time ago... I do wonder what has happened to her, since I have not seen her in a while.
Mother affirmed that Aemon was not cursed, however, even bringing the Red Keep's septon, as well that from Maegelle's Sept in the city and Septon Eustace from the Hightower household, to pray over him and make sure that he did not have any bad blood. All three septons, plus one that Grandfather summoned from Driftmark, asserted that there was nought wrong with Aemon, and he was just a fiery-tempered child and would likely grow out of it. Despite not being particularly godly, Mother then thanked the septons for their words and made sure to echo them to others. Even the maesters agreed with the septons; he was angry and vicious, but he was learning to walk and talk just as fast as anyone, if not faster.
Eventually, they did reach the nursery at which Aemon was. The princeling was also in matching attire, with a doublet similar to that of Daeron's, but he had no necklaces or rings in case he would try and eat them. His dark violet eyes lit up when he saw his siblings and mother, and he ran out of the handmaiden's arms and towards them.
"Your Grace," one of the handmaidens politely nodded whilst curtsying.
"Was Aemon well-behaved today?" Mother asked, already knowing the answer to the question.
"He certainly did not enjoy having to change into this attire, Your Grace," she nervously replied.
"Prince Aemon also was involved in a scuffle with a steward's son earlier. The lad's nose was broken," another handmaiden said.
"But is my son all well?" Mother asked.
"Yes, Your Grace. He did not-"
"Good," she curtly said before leading the three children out of the nursery and down out of Maegor's Holdfast.
Only when they were walking through the lower bailey and away from the ears of anyone else, save for Ser Criston Cole and Ser Willis Fell, did their mother ask Aemon about his behaviour earlier in the day.
"Aemon..." she began disapprovingly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. "Why were you fighting another boy, earlier today? You know that you are not allowed to do that."
"The boy said me have long hair!" Aemon replied angrily, but still in a somewhat low tone.
"You do have long hair!" Daeron exclaimed.
"Whatever the boy said, you should not be kicking and punching him, do you understand?" Mother explained.
"But what if the boy says bad?" demanded Aemon, crossing his tiny arms.
"Then you tell me if the boy says anything bad, and I shall deal with the matter."
"Very well," Aemon snorted.
Why did Mother not ask Aemon about the incident back in Maegor's Holdfast?
As they were walking through the middle bailey and to the small hall where the feast would be taking place, Daeron paused to express his thoughts to his mother.
"Mother..." Daeron nervously began, keeping his voice low, like his mother did with Aemon in the lower bailey. "Why did you only say this to Aemon there, instead of back in the Holdfast?"
She paused and frowned somewhat, before gathering all three of the children in a small circle. She then kneeled on the ground, putting her warm arms around all of them. Her voice was lower than before, and her lilac eyes were sad and haunting.
"In the presence of others, we must remain united. You all may bicker and squabble amongst yourselves in privacy, but in front of others, you do not go against each other. Whenever a disagreement occurs, no matter how serious, or not, side with each other... because we are all that we have," she said, making sure to look all three of them in the eyes and also keeping her voice soothing and calm.
Daeron's mind went to some time ago, when she told him not to trust Baelon and Rhaenyra. Daeron did not truly agree with his mother's words, but he still acted somewhat more cautious in their presence, even if he remained cordial with his nephew.
He still is like a younger brother to me, but Mother did once tell me that Baela and Aemon are my only full-blooded siblings.
"Is this what you told us about Rhaenyra and Baelon earlier, Mother?" Baela gently asked.
"Yes..." she sighed. "Yes, it is. Rhaenyra may be your half-sister, and Baelon, Joffrey, and the other two your half-nephews and nieces, but they will never have the closeness that the three of you shall have."
"Yes, Mother... me no like Ranyruh," Aemon whispered. "Ranyruh fat!"
He did always cry whenever she tried to carry him.
"Keep your voice down, Aemon!" warned Baela.
"It would be better if we needn't have to be so divided, though," sighed Daeron.
"It would be, but it is too late for that, Daeron. Much too late," she said, tutting. "And we do not have it any easier. Your father shall constantly favour your half-sister over you both, in any matter. Like how you spoke of the time he scolded you both for playing pranks."
"But surely he would take our side on some matters, Mother," said Baela, her voice almost sorrowful.
"You shall see, tonight, at the feast. Whether he shall, or shall not," Mother bluntly said before leading them to the hall.
That cannot be true... we are his children too...
The sun was almost setting when they arrived at the small hall, making the stone walls a pastel pink and orange. Torches surrounded the building and twinkled in the twilight. The air was mild, and there was hardly a cloud in the sky. From within the hall, Daeron could hear bards playing songs on harps and lutes and pipes. Two guards posted at the entrance nodded at them all and opened the large wooden doors.
"But remember, my dears, first and foremost, we remain united as one," she whispered, taking Daeron by the hand and putting her other arm around Baela and Aemon.
When it opened, Daeron was greeted by the smell of hot bread and fresh fruit. The sounds of music were even louder, but still soothing to the ears. The hall was fabulously decorated, with a Targaryen banner at the end of the room. A gigantic golden chandelier hung from the ceiling, and its tiny candles lit the room in oranges and yellows. Two stone pillars were on each side of the hall, with silk curtains hanging from them all, and ahead of Daeron was the dining table.
It does feel splendid, like some glorious feast from a story...
It was a long table made of dark mahogany, and the oak chairs cushioned with purple velvet cushions were set on the opposite side. At the centre was Father, engrossed in some conversation with Rhaenyra next to him. His seat was twice the size of the others, decorated with gold and copper, and looked like a miniature Iron Throne. He wore his crown on his head and had a giant black cloak over him, lined with beautiful ermine.
That was the cloak Rhaenyra gifted him upon her return to the city.
They all waited for about half a minute for Father to finish his conversation with Rhaenyra and greet them. When he did, he still did so with his customary wide smile and open arms.
"Ahh... Laena, children! Come... sit... we do have an excellent feast planned for tonight, as it is... with regret... Rhaenyra and her family's final night here in the city. I do rue the fact that you are not remaining for longer, but still... we shall cherish the night we have!" he jovially said, beckoning for everyone to sit.
Daeron took his place at the end of the table whilst Baela sat to his right. After her, was Aemon, then their mother, who sat next to their father. After Father was Rhaenyra, clad in a bright red and gold dress. Her sleeves were made of sheer cloth-of-gold and her bodice had tiny flames stitched on. Her upper chest was bare, and a golden necklace studded with rubies clung to her pale throat. Two golden rings hung from her ears and her silver-gold hair flowed loosely down her back. Next to her was her husband, Prince Daemon. He was clad in a maroon leather doublet, with a bright cloth-of-gold cloak hanging from his shoulders. His hair was tied into a braid and was the same bright silver as his beard.
After Daeron's uncle was little Joffrey, who wore a tiny red velvet doublet with golden sleeves. Next to him was Baelon, at the end of the table and directly across from Daeron, who wore the same garb as his younger brother but also donned the same golden necklace that his mother wore. He greeted Daeron and Baelon with a wide smile and an excited wave. Daeron replied with a small smile, and Baela with a small wave. The two twins, Viserys and Visenya, were not present, likely asleep in the care of the wet nurses and handmaidens.
The night began with a first course of pigeon pie, served with lemon cream. There were also honey cakes, oatcakes, and berry tarts. Father helped himself to an entire plateful as well as multiple cups of wine to help wash it down. Baelon asked if he could try some wine but was denied by his mother. Daeron and Baela asked the same to their mother but were also denied.
"So, Baelon... tell me more about Sunfyre, like you were the other day," Father said through a mouthful of honey cake.
He has never asked me about Tessarion.
"He's very friendly... I do hope he grows so I can ride him soon," Baelon eagerly replied.
"And so you can grow too," laughed Rhaenyra, which made their father snort wine out of his nose.
"When he does grow, promise me that you shall take me on a ride on Sunfyre... it has been too long since I last rode on a dragon," he said.
"I shall do so, grandsire!" Baelon giggled.
"Tessarion is large enough to ride, Father," Daeron said. "I can take you on a ride if you wish."
"Or I can take you on Moondancer when she becomes large enough!" added Baela.
"Very well, children," said their father, who turned his head and smiled at them before turning back to Baelon. "When shall Sunfyre be large enough?"
Daeron looked at Baela after that. Both of their mouths were wide open in shock. They then looked at their mother, who shrugged and frowned at them whilst their father was engrossed in talking to his daughter and granddaughter.
Mother truly did have the right of it... No... it may have been a one-off...
Father was speaking to Baelon at that moment, and it may have been the last time they would speak in years. Daeron could speak to his father whenever he wished, so it would make sense that he would prioritise speaking to his grandson now.
He could speak to me at any time, but he still hardly does.
The second course eventually arrived, a roast boar with crispy skin served with buttered carrots, onions, and turnips, along with even more hot bread and tangy cheese. The boar was served whole, and its head and face could easily be seen even after being cooked in a furnace. Baela snorted when it was placed on the table, and Daeron burst into laughter when he looked at his sister. They both then looked at Baelon, who joined in on the laughter.
"What is the laughing matter?" asked Father, who was now so eager to be part of this conversation.
"The Pink Dread!" exclaimed the three children at the same time.
"Pig! Fat pig!" shouted Aemon.
"What is this Pink Dread, then?" the old man laughed.
"We put wings on a pig and then a saddle, and then you could ride on the thing!" Baelon excitedly said.
"That does sound like fun... you are always the troublemaker, aren't you, Baelon?" he said, toasting his cup to his grandson.
"Yes... it was quite fun... Baela even strapped on the wings herself with straw and rope, and then I rode on it!"
"I wish I could have seen it myself!"
"I even fell over once, but it was all well-"
"You fell off the pig?" Rhaenyra asked worriedly. "You did not tell me that... are you truly not hurt?"
"No, Mother... my arm only hurt for a small while, but it doesn't now," Baelon replied.
"I do not see the amusing part of this," she said whilst looking at Father. "Baelon could have been severely injured if they were not careful."
"It was truly no issue, Mother, I promise!" pleaded Baelon. "When Baela told me about the plan, she said that it would be safe-"
"Baela was the one to rope you into this scheme?" asked Rhaenyra.
"It was not the safest of plots, was it, Baela?" Father asked. "It may be amusing, but as your older sister said, Baelon could have been injured. Japes can be fun at times, but you must remember not to take it too far."
"It was irresponsible. Daeron and Baela should know better," Rhaenyra grumbled.
"Your son was also involved in this scheme," countered Mother. "If he wished to have no part of it, he would have said so-"
"Enough!" interrupted Father. "This is Rhaenyra's final night in the city. I shall not have it marred with foolish arguments. Daeron, Baela, you should have been more intelligent... and that is the end of it."
Daeron was somewhat excited to eat the roast boar and the hot bread when it first arrived, but the last interaction had made him feel not very hungry anymore. He looked at his sister and his mother once again. Baela had hardly touched her meal whilst Mother was angrily drinking a cup of wine.
It was all very well until Rhaenyra said otherwise!
Earlier in the day, Daeron was dreading the evening dinner since it would be the final time that he would see Baelon, and even Rhaenyra. But this dinner had him feeling much more apathetic to all of it. He would still miss his nephew when he returned to Dragonstone, but not as much as before.
Though this has been a normal occurrence for some time, as per Mother.
Through the third course, a selection of fresh fruits, cream cakes, and sugary pies, none of which Daeron touched, his mind went to his father, his half-sister, and his nephew. He thought of how his father was always so attentive when it came to Baelon and Rhaenyra but hardly even spoke to Baela and him.
No... there must be some other reason for it... Father cannot truly favour one child so much over another...
Regardless of what his father did, Daeron couldn't help but blame Rhaenyra for it, as well as Baelon. It made no sense as to why, but it also didn't make sense to Daeron that his father would favour Rhaenyra so much over him, Baela, or Aemon.
Father was enjoying the tale of the Pink Dread until Rhaenyra spoke up... would that mean the issue is with her, and not Father?
It all started to make sense in Daeron's head. Father, whilst sometimes dismissive, did not actively scold him in normal circumstances, but seemed to be more than willing to when Rhaenyra was around. Daeron almost felt a fool for heeding his mother's warnings earlier.
It is my half-sister who causes Father's head to twist and turn... and when Baelon is older, she shall spread the same poison to him...
Daeron's head seemed to be almost as mashed as the filling of an apple tart. He didn't know who to blame for all of this. He blamed his father for favouring his sister, he blamed Rhaenyra for creating an issue with the Pink Dread, he blamed Baelon even if he did nothing particularly wrong, he blamed his mother for opening his eyes to all of it, but he also blamed himself.
Maybe if I was somehow better, Father would love me more.
His mother eventually noticed his distress, and he heard her comforting voice in his ear.
"Daeron?" she whispered. "Daeron?"
Suddenly he was back at the table. Mother was looking across, her eyes worried. Baela's hand was on Daeron's arm, and Aemon even seemed concerned. Meanwhile, Father was distracted in some conversation with Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon, and Baelon, their laughs as well as the bard's songs filling Daeron's ears.
"Are you well, Daeron?" Baela asked. "You have a tear coming down your cheek."
"No... it is no... I am just tired, is all," smiled Daeron, quickly wiping away the tear with his sleeve.
"If you are not well, we can leave early. It has been a long day, and you do need to rest," said Mother.
"Is there anything amiss?" Father said, turning to face him. "Are you not well, boy? What is the issue?"
Daeron was tempted to declare that he was well and that he was not tired. He looked to his father, whose face was concerned, as well as Baelon, who had the same anxious expression. Rhaenyra almost did, too, whilst Prince Daemon just seemed dismissive. He then looked at his mother and sister. They were both just as concerned as the others, but for some reason, the looks of pity on their faces seemed more poignant to Daeron.
"No, Father... I am not well," Daeron gently said.
"May we take your leave, Lord Husband?" Mother asked Father. "It has been a long week, and the tiredness is finally affecting Daeron."
"Very well," he sighed. "But do say your farewells to Rhaenyra; they are to depart early in the morning."
Rhaenyra and her family stood from the table and walked around to the centre of the small hall. The two groups were facing each other at that moment, Daeron, with his mother, sister, and brother on one side, clad in blues, whilst Rhaenyra, her husband, and two of her children, clad in reds, on the other, whilst their father, the King sitting on his large seat in the middle.
Daeron looked to Baelon, whose green eyes were sad and somewhat pleading. His lips were mouthing "our greeting!" at Daeron, but Daeron tried his best to look away.
"My farewell, Princess," Mother said curtly. "I do hope your, as well as your children's, travels are pleasant."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Rhaenyra coldly replied.
Mother then moved back to allow Daeron and his siblings to wish farewell to Rhaenyra. Aemon went first, and gave a half-hearted wave to Rhaenyra before running back to his own mother's skirts. Baela was after him, and despite her farewell being spoken with a sweet smile, it was still kept short. Next was Daeron.
He stepped forwards to face his sister. Next to Rhaenyra, Baelon had also taken a step forwards and was still trying to get Daeron's attention. Daeron still ignored it.
"My farewell, sister. I pray your travels are safe," said Daeron.
Baelon then stepped forwards to Daeron and held out his hand to do their secret greeting one final time.
Should I?
For a moment, Daeron considered it, but he instead just quickly walked out of the hall.