The Princess and the Queen 28: Daeron III
The visit to Dragonstone was not a long way away now. In fact, it was just a day away. Daeron didn't know how to feel about that. Was he excited or nervous? Unbothered or scared?
A strange mix of all of them.
On the one hand, he had not visited the island in years and longed to see the stony cliffs, and Valyrian architecture, whilst taking in the fresh breeze of the sea, now that he had grown out of his seasickness. However, the place brought up other memories. There was his half-sister, and her existence was always a reminder of how much Father favoured her over him, Baela, and Aemon. There was also Baelon, and that friendship from so many years ago.
I was just a child - the age of my other nephews and niece; why do I let that hover over me like a dark cloud?
It brought a bitter taste to his mouth, and a strange stinging feeling enveloped his body, like an untreated wound. And it was yet again another reminder of how Father loved Rhaenyra's family so much more.
He still does love me, though.
That was all to come on the morrow, as well as the coming weeks whilst at Dragonstone. Now, it had to wait, as Daeron was to attend one final Small Council meeting. There weren't any scheduled during his and Mother's absence, but Grandfather and Ser Otto Hightower would head them if needed.
Daeron took his seat in his usual position - on the left of the King's seat, or what should have been the King's seat. For as long as Daeron attended Small Councils, Father had shown up to so few that Daeron could count the number of times on his hand. Mother would assume control of the meetings, sitting in the King's seat.
She remained standing, looking regal in a long turquoise and navy dress with waves stitched onto its skirts and ruffled sleeves. Her silver hair was let loose, and she wore an amethyst-studded necklace that matched her eyes. On her right, and across from Daeron, was Ser Otto, the Hand. To Daeron's left sat Grandfather in a splendid cloth-of-gold doublet, topped with an aquamarine silk sash. After Grandfather was Uncle Vaemond, the Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks, then Lord Jasper Wylde, with the Clubfoot, Larys, at the end. Grand Maester Orwyle sat next to Ser Otto on the other side of the table, and Lord Lyman Beesbury was next to him.
"Is His Grace to attend this session?" Mother asked, looking to the Grand Maester and then Ser Criston, but in a tone that suggested she knew the answer.
"He has not told me or any of my underlings that he is not attending," cautiously replied the Grand Maester.
"He is not like to attend," Grandfather sighed. "We should commence."
"Has he given explicit confirmation of that?" Daeron perked up.
If he has not confirmed his absence, he may yet still attend.
Every time Father had not confirmed his absence prior to the meeting, Daeron would request that the council not commence without confirmation. The council would, of course, agree, but reluctantly, as they felt it to be a futile cause. And truth be told, it was futile and a fool's hope, but there still was a chance.
"No, My Prince," the Grand Maester softly replied.
"He has not attended one in the past two years, Daeron," said Mother. "I do not think today shall be the day."
"We shall still wait," nodded Daeron. "Father shall send a page confirming it, as he usually does."
"Very well," smiled Grandfather, glancing at Mother.
Eventually, within five minutes, a page did arrive, confirming that Father would not attend, citing a sickness. It was a fool's hope. Mayhaps next time. Even though the answer wasn't surprising, Daeron still felt slightly let down.
"Unsurprising," whispered Grandfather, as Uncle Vaemond let out a chuckle. "Shall we now commence the council?"
"Yes," Daeron said. "With your permission?" he asked, looking at Mother.
"Aye," Mother replied, taking her seat in the King's chair.
The first part of the council was more of the usual, ranging from mundane tax reports to updates to borders in the most obscure of holdfasts owned by a landed knight deep in the Vale. Old Lyman Beesbury almost fell asleep twice, and Daeron fought the urge to not let his mind drift elsewhere. Luckily, the council was interrupted by a refreshment break before they returned to discussing whether Lord Fossoway's harvest was greater than the last moon's.
Daeron soldiered on, paying keen attention to every nuance and detail and making a note of it, both on parchment and in his mind. It would likely never come up again, but his mother, grandfather, as well as Ser Otto had instructed him that the best king is one that keeps a close eye on his kingdom and maintains strong ties to as many, if not every, vassal he could.
All of them wanted Daeron to succeed Father, but Daeron knew that would never actually happen as long as he stuck to his decision to keep his half-sister as his heir, something he had shown no indication of wavering in. Still, Daeron had a duty to the realm as a prince, and what better way to fulfil that than to guide its affairs from the Small Council chamber?
Mayhaps I could succeed Ser Otto as Hand of the King, and eventually, Hand of the Queen when Rhaenyra succeeds Father.
Mother had always warned Daeron about the prospect of war, but that was the last thing he would want, for himself, his family, and the realm. And it would never happen so long as he did not try and take the throne for himself, against Father's wishes.
It would be good to be the King, ruling in my own right, but if that cannot happen, I am content to serve the realm alongside my half-sister.
Soon, the reports on Maidenpool's cotton imports were dealt with, and the meeting looked set to be over. But before they could conclude, Grandfather brought up another matter.
"I am once again bringing up the matter of the Triarchy, and the threat of an attack on the Stepstones," he said gravely, any of the usual pride gone from his voice.
"Has there been any update on the positions of the naval forces of the Triarchy?" Ser Otto asked calmly, his face tilted slightly.
"There has not been as of yet, but an offensive from them is coming," Grandfather replied, putting one of his arms on the table.
Daeron recognised the change in his tone and what would occur. Grandfather would become somewhat agitated and add small chuckles to the end of his sentence, whilst Ser Otto would raise his head slightly, and speak as if he knew the answer to any question he would ask.
A lengthy, as well as heated discussion, is upon us.
They would usually butt heads during councils on what direction to take on some issues. Most of the time, it would be resolved with a compromise or agreement, but other times, Grandfather would assume command, and on infrequent occasions, Ser Otto's viewpoint would take precedence.
It was truly difficult when such discussions would happen. Both would bring up valid points, and Daeron favoured Grandfather's suggestion half of the time and Ser Otto's the other half.
And when I make my opinion known, it can sometimes be almost enough to shift the decision of the small council.
He was only just a man grown, but on the times Daeron would vocally state an opinion contrary to his grandfather's, it could sway the council. It wouldn't always work, however, and Mother, who would always take Grandfather's side, would often advise Daeron of the other viewpoint, and a compromise would be the end of it.
And this very issue has plagued this council before.
Grandfather would be in favour of a strong naval presence in the Stepstones to showcase the might of the Houses Targaryen and Velaryon, whilst Ser Otto would be the voice of not angering the Triarchy even more, citing that Oldtown's trade with the Free Cities had only now just returned to the level that it was before that war all those years ago.
"And how can you be sure that the Triarchy is planning to attempt a retaking of the Stepstones, Lord Corlys?" Ser Otto asked, tilting his head higher.
"It is the talk of sailors and washerwomen in ports," Uncle Vaemond swiftly replied on behalf of his brother.
"You cannot mean to take the idle chatter at the dockside for fact, Ser Vaemond," said Ser Otto, almost chuckling.
"Lord Larys' spy network can surely attest to this," sighed Grandfather.
They all looked to the Clubfoot, who sat at the end of the table and had yet to speak a word today.
"It is true," he began as Grandfather turned to Ser Otto. "Yet the same reports have come out of those cities for a decade now."
"Rhetoric," bluntly said Ser Otto. "Nothing more. Just enough to rile up the nobles of the city so the Archon could be re-elected. Such cannot be taken as a threat to the Stepstones. It is unlikely, and remains to be. If the Triarchy do take action, we shall respond in due course."
"There has not been enough evidence to suggest that the Triarchy plans an offensive," squeaked the Grand Maester, agreeing with Ser Otto.
"Talks at the dock would be sightings of galleys and dromonds amassing at Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr, as well as legions of sellswords arriving at those cities," agreed Jasper Wylde. "It would be more than just talk of how the Triarchy plans to attack the Stepstones."
"What of the fleet Princess Rhaenyra is building at Dragonstone?" Mother asked.
"What of it?" Ser Otto asked, perplexed.
"A Tyroshi, one with close ties to the incumbent Archon, has been overseeing the construction efforts there," she said. "It stands within reason that some agreement has been made between Princess Rhaenyra and the Triarchy."
Daeron remembered the council called when construction began on a fleet on Dragonstone. Grandfather was furious, yet Ser Otto said that she was well within her rights to build a fleet within her holding. Solutions were suggested, from accusing the shipbuilders to being Essosi slaves, but Rhaenyra had not been foolish enough to request that the shipbuilders not be freemen.
"And how does that mean an attack on the Stepstones is imminent, Queen Laena?" Ser Otto asked.
"With such a large-scale project being undertaken, the Tyroshi would never do it just for the promise of gold. They would want support in their campaign, likely with Lannister funding."
"Should the Dragonstone fleet aid in attacking the Stepstones, a Crown territory, as well as the Velaryon ships defending it, it would be a breaking of the King's Peace," Ser Otto said. "With all due respect, My Queen, but this grasping at nothing. There is no feasible evidence that war is afoot."
"So you would have us do nothing until the Triachy's flags are planted on Bloodstone?" asked Grandfather, clenching his fist.
"Even sending more ships there would act as a provocation to the Essosi!" Ser Otto countered. "They are not fools, and would see that we are preparing for a conflict."
"Since when was moving units within your own territory considered a provocation?" scoffed Uncle Vaemond.
"Say Lord Serrett calls his levies, and marches them down the Lesser Mander and onto his borders with Lord Rowan? Would you not call that a provocation of conflict?" Ser Otto demanded.
"That is what the Triarchy plan to do, Ser Otto. It may not be now, but their cities are much closer to the Stepstones compared to King's Landing," Grandfather said, shaking his head. "They would be able to amass their fleet and take the islands before we could even react, with how few ships I have left there."
"If you are willing to move a slight amount of ships there, to increase its defence, I would not be against such a motion," conceded Ser Otto with a much calmer tone, much to the surprise of Mother.
It seems Grandfather is the victor in this debate.
"But I shall be against sending any ships of the royal fleet," Ser Otto said curtly. "It must only be of ships from Driftmark's naval arsenal."
Or this debate is not yet over.
"And why would you be against sending the royal fleet?" frowned Grandfather. "Driftmark's fleet is protecting the Gullet, so it must be ships from the royal fleet that shall join my ships in the Stepstones."
"The royal fleet's purpose is to defend King's Landing in the case of naval attack," replied Ser Otto. "How may it do that if occupied in some skirmish with Essosi sellsails off the coast of Dorne? I shall only agree to adding the garrison on the Stepstones if it were only with Velaryon ships, and I am already reluctant to do that."
"You are simply the Hand, Ser Otto," said Mother quietly. "You are not yet the regent; remember that."
"Neither are you, Your Grace," said Ser Otto, calmly nodding.
"Whilst I am the Master of Ships," Grandfather said firmly. "And thus the Lord Admiral of the royal fleet. I can sign off on such a decision, for the small fleet to be sent to include ships from both Driftmark and King's Landing… or only King's Landing."
"And as Hand of the King, I would not allow such a motion to pass. His Grace would not allow for any ships to sail there, and would recall all that are patrolling those waters, which is not even close to what I am willing to give."
"Give me good reason as to why you do not wish for the royal fleet to sail into the Stepstones, Ser Otto," Uncle Vaemond said, smirking. "Are you in the hope that if fighting breaks out, you can make the naval might of Driftmark be sent into the face of the Stranger? Then, the sea would be dominated by Hightower and Redwyne ships, just as you would like."
"Sending ships from the royal fleet implicates the King, and by extension, me," Ser Otto said, raising his head to speak to Uncle Vaemond. "And me being implicated implicates Oldtown by extension."
The loss in trade.
Daeron was well aware of how careful Ser Otto was in trying to avoid any association with Grandfather's activities, or "frolics", as Ser Otto said, in the Stepstones.
"Not only is a good kingdom built on the might and achievements of its leader. It is also built on its trade and relations with its neighbours," Ser Otto once told Daeron, many moons ago, in the great library of the Red Keep. Daeron was reading some books on the histories with Jocelyn, and the Lord Hand happened to also be present and gave Daeron a good lecture on ruling.
Ser Otto also spoke of how the Stepstones War affected Oldtown's foreign relations that day. He often would bring up the effects of that war whenever a relevant opportunity arose, likely for a multitude of reasons.
He regrets it. Regrets dragging Oldtown into it.
"It was a desperate move by Grandfather," Jocelyn explained to him that time in the library, her hair smelling of rose and citrus. "He said that he was fortunate in gaining two marriages to Lord Corlys already, but had to pay the price with the war. That is what he told me once, anyways," she shrugged, returning to reading the book of poems compiled by Septon Barth. "It is not the area in which I am all too knowledgeable about."
Supposedly, due to the war, the Triarchy had threatened to cut off all trade with Oldtown, before the late Lord Hobert negotiated some agreement, pacifying the Essosi. Still, ships hailing from Tyrosh and Lys would rather lengthen their journey and sail up the Sunset Sea to trade at Lannisport rather than dock in the harbour of Oldtown.
It is such a delicate situation - it is small wonder Ser Otto would want to avoid angering Oldtown.
"Should fighting break out once again, will Oldtown not send its ships in our aid?" asked Uncle Vaemond. "And, of course, with aid from the Arbor, to pincer those Triarchy buggers back to where they came from."
"My nephew has made it clear that should fighting break out, House Hightower would not send its ships to fight the Essosi," Ser Otto bluntly replied. "And I very much doubt that he would enjoy it if a Hightower Hand sends the royal fleet, too."
They bickered and debated and discussed for a while longer whilst Daeron watched intently. Both brought up valid points, with the Stepstones being an important strategic location. Still, it was also not worth risking a drop in trade should a full force move in during maritime with House Targaryen being the aggressors.
A fleet must be sent to show that we do not intend to lose those islands.
Daeron was sure of that, and would have sent more ships than what Ser Otto was proposing, yet was unsure of whether the just ships from Driftmark be sent or a mix of Driftmark and King's Landing.
Oldtown's trade with the Free Cities is integral to the economy of Westeros, yet bowing to the whims of your vassals is not good practice.
That being said, was House Velaryon not a vassal to House Targaryen, too? And if it were for the stability of the realm, it was undoubtedly the correct solution.
"We shall send ships," Daeron said to the council, his voice clear, addressing everyone with his dark purple eyes. "Not enough to be seen as a threat, but enough that the islands are defensible. More than what Ser Otto proposes."
The council turned to face him. Grandfather nodded, not conveying any emotion, whilst Ser Otto kept his face still. Mother, meanwhile, smiled slightly and looked proud of Daeron.
"If that is your suggestion, Prince Daeron…" Uncle Vaemond began.
"It is what I feel is the correct course of action," Daeron replied, standing up.
"Very well," smiled Grandfather.
"But it shall be only Velaryon ships that are sent. Ships from our royal fleet, as well as Hightower and Redwyne ships, are to not be involved in this," continued Daeron.
"A fine proposal, Prince Daeron," Ser Otto nodded, smirking slightly at Grandfather.
"And your reasoning behind this…" asked Grandfather, his face frowning.
"The turmoil such an action can have on the incomes of King's Landing and Oldtown is a worry. As Driftmark already has little to no trade from the Triarchy's cities, the effect shall be minimal," Daeron explained as Grandfather nodded, shifting ever so subtly in his seat.
He accepts it, yet would rather it have gone slightly more to his favour.
"Very well. I take it we can conclude this council?" Mother asked, as nobody objected. "Then we are dismissed," she smiled, standing from her seat.
Her face almost seemed tired, with little bags forming under her gentle eyes.
Why wouldn't it be? Attending councils for how many years now?
She was only two-and-thirty and younger than she looked, but mayhaps she now actually looked par for her age. Grandfather certainly did, too, looking almost seventy, as was his age.
"You remain, though, dear," Mother whispered as everyone exited the chamber, barring her and Grandfather.
Daeron took a seat once again whilst Mother remained standing. Grandfather also stayed in his seat, one arm resting on the oak table. Once Lord Beesbury had finally hobbled out, Mother walked across the room to face Daeron, smiling.
"You did well today," she said calmly, whilst Grandfather nodded in agreement.
"Even if I went against what you both had hoped for?" chuckled Daeron nervously.
"Some wounded pride," Grandfather laughed. "But you conducted yourself even better than any other time, lad. You took control of the room, just like a sailor takes control of his ship."
"As a true king would take control," Mother added.
"Aye," agreed Grandfather.
"That is pleasing to hear," replied Daeron, breathing a sigh of relief. "But what of the decision? Would you not have rather had me agree with your notion of sending the royal fleet, too?"
"Either serve the same purpose," Mother shrugged.
"Yet each one sends a different message," said Grandfather curtly.
"Aye, which is why I opted for the option that does damage the city's revenues, nor anger Lord Ormund," Daeron explained, gulping somewhat.
"I understand your reasoning, and I accept it," Grandfather replied. "If it were me in your position, I likely would have done the same."
"Yet you are not fully pleased as Ser Otto got the outcome he hoped for?" Daeron asked slowly.
"Otto Hightower didn't get the outcome he hoped for," Mother corrected. "He wished to maintain the present status."
"It is a half-measure," sighed Grandfather. "A compromise to the Hightowers. We appease them too much as is. He already gains more than he needs with all he has, especially your pending union with Lady Jocelyn."
"But the decision was made for the good of the realm," reaffirmed Daeron. "If I had to appease and feed all of our ambitious allies and underlings, it would still be the right decision, if it were for the stability of the kingdom."
"Very well, My Prince," grinned Grandfather, looking prouder than he ever had been. "However, it is sage advice to keep a close eye on one as ambitious as Otto Hightower, and not allow him to influence you too much."
"Aye, Grandfather," nodded Daeron. "I understand."
"Good," Mother smiled. "All of that being said, you did wonderfully today, dear," she said, ruffling his silver hair.
"You very much did," Grandfather added. "Some day, you shall make a fine king," he said, leaving the room.
Following the Small Council meeting, Daeron headed towards the godswood. He had scheduled to meet Jocelyn there, so they could walk and talk amongst the lush leaves and fresh flowers. It was her favourite place in the Red Keep, likely since it was her aunt's, too, once.
Before he could arrive, however, he encountered a Reacher girl who was walking alone through the outer yard. Daeron recognised her as Lady Florys Florent, a breathtakingly beautiful woman one year his senior.
She was dressed in her house's colours, a splendid dress of white and orange with ermine sleeves and a low-cut dress. Her long brown hair covered her ears, and her pale grey eyes matched with the jewels studded on her silver necklace. Her attire, however, notably contained no sign of any blue or red, even if the former were part of House Florent's traditional colours.
The Florents are a proud bunch, and as of yet, undecided on red or blue and would likely only decide if either brings them some benefit.
"Prince Daeron, it is always good to see you," she said, smirking.
"Lady Florys," Daeron replied courteously.
"Are you occupied at this moment?" Lady Florys asked.
What does she want?
"Unfortunately, My Lady, I am headed to the godswood now, though we can always convene later today," he smiled.
"Well, it cannot be on the morrow, can it?" she giggled. "Might I accompany you there? If you allow it, of course."
"Very well," Daeron graciously nodded.
"Thank you, My Prince," she said as she smiled and grabbed his sleeve as they walked with their arms.
I would wager Lady Florys wishes that she was my betrothed.
"Did you attend the breakfast organised by the Lord Hand this morning?" she asked, making small talk. "It was truly a splendid meal, with more cakes, meats, and cheeses than I could count!"
"It does sound like it was a good event," he agreed, slightly smiling.
"It most certainly was. I was spoiled for choice. There was a massive bowl of fresh fruit from the kingswood… but I couldn't decide between the blueberries and the red strawberries. Both seemed enticing…" Lady Florys said, trailing off and looking at the blue sky.
Ah, so this is why she has come to walk with me.
"Nevermind that, however, My Prince. I am sure you would rather speak about more enthralling issues rather than what I ate to break my fast," she smiled. "Pray tell, My Prince, how are Princess Baela and Prince Aemon? I do hope they are in good spirits and of health."
"They are," said Daeron. "And how is your family, I might ask? It has been a while since I spoke with your father, with you all not being at court recently."
"Yes… it has been a while, Prince Daeron," she chuckled as they passed the stables. "But my family is well. Florian is of marriage age now, and my father has begun the search for a lady wife for him."
And that also means you are of the age of marriage too.
"Your twin brother is a handsome man, a knight, and from a distinguished bloodline," replied Daeron. "Ser Florian shall have no difficulty in finding a suitable match; I am assured of it."
"I am assured too. Yet it has not been as easy as you would imagine, Prince Daeron," she said, almost frowning.
"Has it not?" Daeron asked.
"Well, the number of women of age with him isn't many, and some have already been taken," replied Lady Florys, abruptly pausing their walk. "Your cousin being one of them…" she said, before continuing to walk. "But I am sure the Blackwood boy shall be an excellent match for Lady Valaena. Though not all is lost, my father was speaking to Lord Tarly yesterday about the prospect of a union between Florian and Lady Samantha, so mayhaps my brother shall have a stroke of luck, if the gods are good."
Her game is clear to see, yet difficult to play.
Lord Alan Tarly was one of the few lords in King's Landing that still proudly wore the red of Daeron's half-sister. If Lord Florent were to bind his and Lord Tarly's houses together, that could mean Brightwater Keep would also become red.
There is no doubt that Lady Florys wishes for a union for herself or her siblings to House Targaryen or Velaryon.
"If the gods are good," smiled Daeron. "What of your other siblings, Lady Florys? I do remember that little Florence and my baby sister used to be good friends in their youth. And your baby brother would surely have grown now," gently said Daeron, veering the subject away from such delicate matters.
Daeron could not remember the name of Lady Florys' younger brother for the life of him, which he cursed himself for. A good king maintains good ties with his vassals. Though judging from the little Florent's previous siblings, Daeron had a good idea of what he would be called.
Florys, Florian, Florence… I would wager the boy is named Flement.
"Yes, my baby brother is no longer a baby. Little Armen is thirteen now, and loves to ride with all the squires," she smiled.
It seems I was mistaken.
"I do seem to remember a small lad in Florent colours beating all the knights whilst jousting!" chuckled Daeron, which elicited some laughter from Lady Florys. How genuine the laugh was, however, Daeron was not sure.
"He is a good talent, my brother is," she mused as they walked under the portcullis, passing by a Roxton squire as they did. "He shall have all the women fawning over him when he grows older."
"Certainly," agreed Daeron.
"You would know a lot about women fawning over you, wouldn't you, Prince Daeron?" she playfully asked, looking up at him with her pale eyes. "You are the most desirable man in the Seven Kingdoms."
"You are too kind, Lady Florys," replied Daeron. "But I am already promised."
"Of course you are," she tutted. "That is common knowledge! But if you were not…"
Seven hells…
"Do you think I would be a suitable consort for you, Prince Daeron?" asked Lady Florys quite bluntly.
"Definitely, My Lady," replied Daeron, making sure to not just avoid angering her, but also praising her. "You are charming, witty, comely, and of a respected bloodline."
"A respected bloodline, for certain…" she whispered, hardly loud enough for Daeron to hear.
Of course.
Daeron was used to it by now. The chatter was common amongst squires and maids in the Red Keep. Jocelyn was supposedly not good enough for Daeron. "A prince of the realm should not marry a girl of such low standing!" was what was being said in the courtyards. It was due to Jocelyn being the daughter of a son of a second son and, to some, barely better than a commoner.
I have even heard rumours of them saying that Jocelyn's love of the smallfolk was because she was one of them herself!
Even Grandfather thought so. He had not outright said it but always insinuated that Ser Otto was "lucky" that his granddaughter had the privilege of marrying Daeron. That being said, Daeron did not mind that at all. Jocelyn brought the Hightower name as well as Oldtown's allegiance, and she was all he could have asked for in a future wife.
He bit his tongue and didn't reply to Lady Florys' remark, just in case he would say something he would regret. Noticing Daeron's silence, she continued the subject.
"I may or may not be all that you describe, but I am still without a betrothed, too, just like my brother," she frowned. "I had hoped to marry you, at one point, but you are promised to that Hightower girl," Lady Florys said, the last part with a hint of scorn. "Will I truly find a marriage, or am I doomed to grow old without finding love, just like Princess Rhaena did all those years ago?"
Is this all because you still hope for me to set Jocelyn aside?
According to Grandfather, the Florents were a haughty family, but certainly suitable for a royal marriage. Only the Hightowers and Redwynes succeeded them in prestige, two of Brightwater Keep's biggest rivals.
And it is a Hightower that is promised to me, and a Redwyne promised to Vaegon.
It definitely was a sore point amongst House Florent, Daeron knew. Their enmity for House Hightower may not have been as intense as their vitriolic hatred of the Tyrells, but both houses had the same goal - dominion over the Reach, either in name or all but name. A future monarch being half-Hightower with a Hightower Hand would all but assure that. And with the baby Lyonel Tyrell's mother reiterating Highgarden's neutrality, Brightwater Keep only had one of two options: aim to make a Florent Daeron's Queen Consort or throw their force behind Rhaenyra to become the dominant force of the Reach once the dust settled.
"You worry too much, Lady Florys," reassured Daeron. "You are one of the most desirable women in the kingdom. It may not be me that you marry, but it shall be a man that befits your station."
"Aye, mayhaps I do worry too much. There are other men out there for me, and you may yet change your resolve about me," she winked.
I shall not.
"You do flatter me with praise, Lady Florys, but as I have said, I cannot break a betrothal," Daeron said uncomfortably as they finally reached the entrance to the godswood.
"Aye, I am afraid you cannot," she frowned. "But if you could set the Hightower girl aside, who would you choose for your lady wife, then?"
"I would rather not answer that, My Lady," Daeron said curtly.
"Very well," she said curtly, any semblance of a smile gone from her face. "This is where I shall leave you, then, Prince Daeron. It has been lovely to speak to you, and I do hope we can chat soon, once you return from Dragonstone."
"Likewise, My Lady," he nodded, letting go of her arms.
"Enjoy your walk in the godswood, then," Lady Florys said, smiling once again, even if the smile was as genuine as a mummer's dragon, before whirling around and walking away.
I may have lost the Florents, but what choice did I have? Anger Oldtown whilst also being seen as an oathbreaker.
As Daeron walked through the godswood to find Jocelyn, Lady Florys' words still stuck in his head. Mayhaps she was correct. Mayhaps Jocelyn was too low of a marriage for him. Mayhaps he could break the betrothal. He was a prince, after all…
No, stop! You are beginning to sound like half of the gossipers around the realm! We would anger Oldtown, I would be known as an oathbreaker and poor Jocelyn…
He tried to push those thoughts away, even if they would try and creep back up. He sighed and focused on other things, like what he would speak to Father about in their impending dinner.
I can tell him of the decision I made in the Small Council; he would surely be proud of that.
Or would he? Daeron wasn't sure of that. He also wasn't sure what to expect from the visit to Dragonstone on the morrow and what wounds would be reopened. There was also Grandfather and Ser Otto happening to disagree with each other more and more by the day, and also the issue of the Triarchy, and about a hundred other things pounding on his head.
No, I will not drown myself in all these worries, not now. I have the rest of the day to do that. Now, though, I will not let it sour the last time I shall see Jocelyn for a small while.
Eventually, he did find her sitting in the shade of a great oak, leaning on the massive trunk. She wore a loose-fitting grey dress with blue-green sleeves and had her hair tied up in a bun. Her face lit up upon seeing Daeron, and she quickly got up to his feet.
"My Prince," she grinned, running up to him.
"My Lady," he said back to her, mockingly bowing and offering his hand.
She gave her hand, and Daeron took it, kissing it like the knights did in all the paintings. Daeron then kissed her on both cheeks and put his arm around her waist, before they set off for a walk.
"Come, this way," Jocelyn smiled. "I have a surprise waiting for you."
"Very well, you lead the way," Daeron smiled, following her, as they walked through the grass, past roses and lilies, taking in the fresh air and afternoon sun. "It is a good day today, is it not?"
"The past few days have been quite pleasant," she said, running her fingers through some red roses. "It is a shame that you depart on the morrow, only now that the Seven have blessed the weather."
"I shall be back in due course, do not fret," he reassured. "But I do wish you would come along."
"I do, too," sighed Jocelyn. "But my grandfather said that he would never let me go there, so long as he still breathes."
"I assure you, Jocelyn, you shall not be missing much," Daeron scoffed. "The reason why I wish you would come along is for your company, not that you could see the island."
"Truly? It is a fascinating place! A volcano in the middle of the sea, and the peculiar atmosphere. It would be a sight to see."
"It is a cold, grey island that smells of dragon," he laughed. "I love it because of the dragons, but that is why you would hate it. You would find the island miserable and grey and cold."
"I loved living in Driftmark, and people that call it a cold island!" protested Jocelyn.
"Driftmark is very different from Dragonstone. It is full of passing trade, and you can eat food from a different land every day. There are ships and people from the east, the west, the north, and everywhere in between."
Dragonstone's new fleet and growing port trade may see the two islands become more similar.
"Hmm… mayhaps I wouldn't enjoy it all too much, then," she said, taking an apple hanging from a tree and taking a bite of it. "Maybe it is that all these years in King's Landing have me wishing to be in another place, even if the smallfolk are so kind here. That being said, I am to spend the rest of my days here, once we marry," she happily said, but with a hint of worry in her soft voice.
She dislikes the city because of all the politicking, not because of the stink and smallfolk, like most people do.
"Aye, King's Landing can grow tiring," agreed Daeron. "I imagine it pales compared to Oldtown."
"Where in the world doesn't pale to Oldtown?" she laughed. "Gods, Daeron, you should come there once."
"You keep telling me such," he said as they passed by two Redwyne girls.
It would do well to visit my allies; it would be akin to a sort of royal progress.
"My cousin Lyonel is to marry Lady Celia Tully in some moon's time. You could come with me and the rest of my family then!"
"That does sound like a great idea. I shall inform my mother of such; she would surely agree," he smiled.
Daeron had noted a growing number of marriages between people of two different kingdoms as of late. It was clear to see, especially with the Hightowers. Lord Ormund's mother was a Redwyne, he married a Fossoway, and Ser Otto's late wife was a Costayne. But for the next generation, Oldtown had preferred to marry outside of the Reach.
Grandfather once told me that such marriages only happen when war is brewing.
They walked for a while longer until they came to a clearing in the godswood, with rose bushes and fruit trees surrounding them. On the lush green grass, a thin blue cloth was laid out on the ground, and on it was a selection of assorted treats neatly spread on there. There were three types of cheeses, honeycakes, lemon cakes, and oatcakes, a variety of fruits, and loaves of brown bread, all accompanied by a chalice of Arbor Gold.
"What are your thoughts?" Jocelyn grinned as Daeron lay his eyes upon the feast.
"It's wonderful," he softly replied as he approached the clearing to sit.
Daeron gently let Jocelyn down on the grass, holding her dress as she did, before he sat down, getting grass and mud on his dark blue doublet and black breeches.
"Wine?" she asked, offering the chalice.
"I should be the one to pour it," Daeron chuckled, but still letting her pour a small amount into his cup.
They ate some of the food there, with Daeron enjoying the fresh fruits whilst Jocelyn nibbled on the honeycakes. Neither drank much, even though the wine was diluted. All the while, they sat and talked and japed, but there were still some thoughts niggling at Daeron's mind.
Jocelyn had mentioned that all of the leftovers would be given over to one of the orphanages in the city, which took Daeron's thoughts back to what some people in the city would slander her with.
They say she cares for them because she is one of them.
He shook his head again, trying to concentrate on Jocelyn talking about the latest court gossip, but all those things he tried to stop thinking of came back up.
Will my nephews and niece be glad to see me? Or shall they despise the very sight of me, just like my mother despises the sight of their mother?
Daeron didn't know how he would react to seeing them again. On the one hand, he longed for his friendship with Baelon again, but that was so long ago. So many years had passed since then, and he probably wouldn't even remember it all that clearly.
If he won't care, why should I?
But maybe Daeron should care. Because he was well aware of how much Father coddled his half-sister and her side of the family. Father spent more time carrying Baelon than Daeron ever remembered.
If I were to show how cordial I am with Baelon and Rhaenyra, Father would be happy with me.
It was certainly possible. On the rare occasion that he would sit and talk to Father, he would stress the importance of keeping the house of the dragon united and how Mother should make amends with Rhaenyra.
I have tried something similar, though…
Daeron would hear his father off-handedly state how much he liked a certain thing, so Daeron would gift it to him, or if Father would say how important the usage of longswords was, so Daeron would spend hours in the yard perfecting his skill with it. Father would then smile and perhaps offer his congratulations if he was in a pleasant mood. If not, he would just nod at Daeron.
Is the nod to give his approval, or is the nod to signal that I am dismissed from his presence.
Daeron thought and hoped it was the former, but a tiny voice inside of him would whisper that it was the latter. Maybe it was, but Daeron would never want to hear or accept it.
It is not; I am just being paranoid.
He tried to push away those intrusive thoughts once again, and return to his afternoon meeting with Jocelyn. It worked, and he nibbled on some more fruits and cakes whilst japing about how Lord Massey's squire managed to accidentally let a hawk loose in the throne room.
"Daeron…" Jocelyn gently said, putting her hand on Daeron's arm. "Is everything well today?"
No, not really.
"Yes," he lied. "It is just the journey on the morrow."
"I can see when an issue is plaguing your thoughts," she frowned. "What is it?"
"Nothing, truly. Matters regarding the council," Daeron responded, waving a hand away.
"I am no help with that, then," Jocelyn laughed. "Though in time, I may have to learn, judging from your mother's participation in them," she said, helping herself to an orange slice. "But it isn't just the council meetings, is it? I know my grandfather and yours have their differences, but it is something more. You can trust me; you know that, I swear by the Seven."
It was a multitude of issues, in truth. The journey on the morrow was one of the major ones, and the council matters were more minor. But there was also what Lady Florys said (along with half the damned court!) and Father.
"Very well," he conceded, sighing and taking a long drink of the golden wine. "It… it… it's about my father."
"What about His Grace?" asked Jocelyn, an eyebrow raised.
"Less so the King and more so my father," Daeron said, beginning to feel a lump in his throat. "Sometimes… sometimes… I don't know… seven hells, I truly don't."
Jocelyn didn't reply, only putting her small hands on his arm and rubbing it slightly.
"I don't…" sighed Daeron, holding back any tears, and succeeding. "I don't know why I bloody try," he finally spat. "With him. Why… fuck… I shouldn't, not here of all places, so open."
Daeron cleared his throat and cleansed it with another gulp of Arbor Gold, before lowering his tone.
"You understand what I am meaning?" he asked, his voice hushed.
She nodded slightly, a warm but apologetic smile on her face.
"What would you have me do, then?"
"Keep trying," whispered Jocelyn. "I would if I were you. My father passed when I was but a young child. Before that, though… I hardly knew him. The chatter was that he didn't even know my name. All of his time was spent drinking away, not a care in life. Then he ran off to war and died. Yet I still yearn to see his face. You are lucky, Daeron, compared to me, compared to all those poor children in those septries. They would kill you for what you have with him. I would drop all I have just to speak, or even see him again. I know… you have told me about how he… but still, there are moments there where he shows, and I know, and you know, that he truly loves you and he is your son."
"I am to have supper with him tonight, all of us. Mother, Baela, Aemon, before we depart," Daeron said, nodding.
He still does give me nods of approval… he still calls me his son… he still smiles somewhat when I enter his presence.
"Then talk to him, laugh with him, enjoy your minutes and hours with him," she whispered, tears falling down from her green eyes and onto her dress.
"Very well, I shall," he nodded. "Thank you, truly."
Jocelyn simply grinned through the tears as Daeron offered her a small cloth to clean her face. She graciously accepted it, wiping the salty tears away so they could resume their afternoon feast.
Usually, such moments would sour a feast, but Daeron's spirits were lifted by it. Some of those darker thoughts remained, but they were buried for now. He spent the remainder of the afternoon with her, telling small tales, laughing at her japes, and trying tiny bites of all the fruits served until the sun became low and shone a bright red against the darkening blue sky.
Daeron kissed Jocelyn's cheek whilst offering his farewell, promising that they would see each other one more time before he departed, likely the next morning. On his return to Maegor's Holdfast, he passed by some lords, knights, and ladies-in-waiting, all offering their greetings and blessings along with a sincere nod. Luckily, none stopped him to talk, like Lady Florys did that afternoon.
Whilst on his way to his quarters, where he would change into more formal attire, he encountered Mother, along with Baela and Aemon. Mother was in the same dress she wore to the Small Council meeting, whilst both Baela and Aemon were casually dressed in dark blue cloths. Mother had a dour look on her face whilst Baela was scowling, and Aemon's dark violet eyes glinted in anger, though that was usual.
"What is it?" Daeron politely asked, noticing their garb as well as their mood.
"Your father cancelled supper," bluntly said Mother, smiling with her hands on her hips.
What?
It was as if he was punched in the gut. He felt short of breath for a moment, as if poison was lodged in his throat. Then he just felt disappointment, as if it was his fault.
"I am not surprised," frowned Baela, leaning on the wall and putting one leg up.
"I told you all! I knew it would happen!" shouted Aemon. "Why did you even agree to such a supper, Mother, when you likely knew, too!"
He stormed off, cursing as he went, leaving Daeron with his mother and sister in the corridor. Daeron then turned to his mother, who simply shrugged, whilst Baela watched the empty hallway ruefully.
"Why did he cancel it?" Daeron asked, not knowing what else to ask.
"Because he wishes to see us as little as possible," mumbled Baela, her light purple eyes fixed on the ground.
"He claims that he is occupied preparing for tomorrow's journey," Mother replied, shaking her head.
"He has all of his maids and squires and pages to help him; he's a liar," Baela scoffed.
"Did he not say that he was ill of health earlier?" Daeron asked. "Which is why he could attend the Small Council."
"Good," Baela whispered.
"Whatever it may be, it seems your father is more occupied with other matters," said Mother, raising her eyebrows and shrugging. "Mayhaps he found the strength to look at his Valyrian city one more time… Very well, then. The three of us can have supper then!" she smiled. "All of the meals were already prepared by the time His Grace let you all down."
"What's the point?" laughed Baela. "The reason we were to all have supper was because it was all of us. Now Father cannot be bothered to give a rat's arse about it, and Aemon has gone to Seven-knows-where. I shall just go eat with Roxton and Black Aly, because I likely shall not see them on the morrow."
"Very well, Baela," sighed Mother. "Enjoy it."
"You too, Mother," nodded Baela before walking down the hall and off to meet her friends, likely to get drunk with the Gold Cloaks, leaving Daeron and his mother alone.
"I shall sup with you, then, Mother. It is not like I have anywhere better to be," smiled Daeron weakly.
If there is no one else, then I can count on Mother.
The first round of the feast prepared contained a whole host of food, still steaming hot as maids brought them in. There were loaves of brown, black, and white bread, whole roasted capons, salads of raisins, onions, and greens, and a cold egg and lemon soup to start.
"I would not ponder over Baela and Aemon," Mother gently said. "They are angry that their father let them down once again, and are taking it out in ways they can."
"I already knew that," replied Daeron, taking a bite of hot brown bread.
"I know you do," Mother grinned. "But I am telling you it is because you aren't angry, are you?" she asked, as Daeron shook his head. "You are simply disappointed, because you still have hope that Father will treat you like he does your half-sister."
"Maybe," shrugged Daeron.
"It is true, and you know it," she said. "But you should not have any hope. You have had hope for the past ten years, despite mine and Baela's and Aemon's and Grandfather's and Grandmother's warnings. Where has that gotten you, except bringing you even more disappointment?"
I don't know.
"I hoped he would back when you were a child, no older than three. That was before one damned night…" she said, before trailing off to look at the night sky through her window. She then just shook her head and laughed. "I would rather not speak of it all."
"Me neither," replied Daeron, putting a spoon of the soup in his mouth. It didn't taste very pleasant, nor did much of the food. He didn't feel very hungry either. "It's just that I do everything I think he wishes for me to do," said Daeron, speaking about it all. "Yet he doesn't even bat an eyelid. I don't know what more I can do."
"There is only one more thing you can do."
"What?" Daeron asked, half knowing the answer would be sarcastic and the other half wishing that there was one thing he could do.
"Be Rhaenyra," she smiled.
Yes, but what else is there?
Daeron knew it was a futile question, and one that Mother would not answer honestly, so he refrained from asking it. There might have been something, but Daeron didn't know, so he accepted it.
It is no matter if Father ignores me… I do not care, truly. But I shall keep doing what I do, and one day, he might, as unlikely that may be. Where is the harm in that?
The next round of meals included cream cakes, a roasted capon spiced with mint and parsley, and a Volantene dish of fried rice cooked with fatty chunks of mutton. Daeron hardly had the stomach for it, and only nibbled on some of the berries garnished around the capon.
"Onto more upbeat topics, then. How was your last day in King's Landing?" asked Mother, smiling. "Anything of note?"
"Not much," he shrugged. "After the council, I spent all of the day in the godswood with Jocelyn. We had a small feast, and walked and talked some."
"Sounds enthralling," she grinned. "I am certain you would love to give me the details."
"Not much interesting was discussed... ah, actually, she did mention that we should go and visit Oldtown sometime soon. It would work as a royal progress, too."
"It could," nodded Mother. "We stop at New Barrel, Starpike, the Arbor, and maybe some undecided houses. It would endear them to our side, definitely."
"Very well, we shall do that when the time comes," Daeron smiled. "Also, I just remembered another matter. I did have an... interesting encounter with Lady Florys on the way to the godswood. The Florent girl."
"I am aware of her," Mother nodded, taking a small sip of wine. "What did she wish to speak about?"
"She wished to marry me," chuckled Daeron as Mother almost spat out her wine. "I refused, of course. She was quite forthright with her resolve, but I nonetheless stood firm. That said, it may have lost us Brightwater Keep, and it may be partly culpable."
"You, partly culpable?" she scoffed. "A man promised to another. If House Florent's allegiance to you was conditional on a royal marriage, we lost them all those years ago when your grandfather made a pact with Otto Hightower. What else did she say?"
"She talked down upon Jocelyn, repeating those same japes told in the corners of halls, as well as being not very subtle about her house's respected bloodline."
"Lady Florys is not incorrect. She would have made a worthy match, and would have certainly been the second or third-best house to tie ourselves to in the Reach, outside of Oldtown and the Arbor, and also one of the best houses in the realm. But if she was not very subtle, it was likely a move of desperation, a final chance at trying to gain something for her house. I would not ponder over it, at all, to be frank," explained Mother.
It is less the fact that the Florents shall go over to my half-sister, but more of how Lady Florys was so callous regarding her words about Jocelyn.
Daeron's appetite slowly returned to him over the course of the supper. The comfort of talking to his mother certainly helped, as well as the smell of the fresh suckling pig that was brought in, along with buttered neeps, onions, carrots, and a stew of aurochs and pepper.
"I cannot even remember the last time I went to Dragonstone," Mother sighed, dipping a chunk of bread into the stew. "It may have even been before I was married. Though, I would not say that I am eager to return to that dreary place. It is a pauper's Driftmark, truly."
"Grandfather said that the fleet shall be interesting to see," Daeron replied.
"I wonder if they shall hide it, to keep it out of our sight and knowledge. It would be humorous if they did."
"Knowing the Rogue Prince, he would certainly wish to present a show of force when we arrive. Grandfather thinks that whatever has been built of the fleet shall be present when we dock there," said Daeron, stabbing his fork into a golden-coloured buttery onion.
"We would have our own force to show them, then," Mother chuckled. "I had to beg your father to allow Tessarion and Moondancer to fly to the island with us. Though, I doubt Rhaenyra would miss the opportunity to show her strength in dragons, too."
"It would be a sight, at least," mused Daeron. "A host of ships, and how many dragons? One, two, three… seven of them flying over the island, plus all the unclaimed and wild dragons! If only Grandmother, Uncle Laenor, and Vaegon were invited, too…"
"And if I still had Vhagar," laughed Mother bitterly.
"That would scare all of the smaller dragons back into the Dragonmont," he replied.
"But it is now your niece who has the largest of the claimed dragons," she said, almost worriedly.
"I do wonder how she managed to claim such an old beast. Aemon would certainly love to know," Daeron said.
"Visenya also happens to be one of the only people in Rhaenyra's family that he doesn't despise," noted Mother. "But a lot has happened in the past years. I wonder if his feelings have changed."
You would wish he hates Visenya, too, now.
"They must have all grown so much by now," smiled Daeron. "Her and Viserys would be eight, by my estimate. Joffrey, nine, and Baelon would be thirteen. Seven hells, how time does fly…"
"And all of them would likely have been poisoned in the mind by the words of your half-sister and her leech of a husband. I highly doubt any semblance of a friendship you all would have had four years ago is still there," she warned sternly.
"I never made any mention of that," Daeron countered.
"But I know you were thinking such, so I warned you in due course."
"Very well," he conceded, slumping in his chair. Suddenly, he didn't find the stew or suckling pig so appealing anymore.
The remainder of supper was cordial, with small chatter and talks, and Mother made sure to give Daeron a big embrace when he departed for the night. The warmth of his mother's arms did make him feel like a young lad again, but it also made him feel safe.
When Daeron arrived in his bedchambers, the sky had only just become the black of night, so it was still quite early. Nonetheless, he changed into his nightclothes since the morrow would be a hectic day. All of the worries of the earlier day slowly dissipated as Daeron climbed into his bed.
Finally, some rest.
It was the only time he could rest, so he ensured he would. He pulled the white wool quilt over himself and snuffed out the tallow candle before closing his eyes, instead of reading some book to drain any of his remaining energy. Even without his nightly read, the sleep still took him quickly, and everything faded away. He drifted off just like a small boat would drift away on a dark, empty ocean.
Good… let me enjoy it… it shall be a while until I get to sleep in this again…