King's Landing, The Red Keep – 130 AC
When the raven came to Bloodstone with the letter informing us of King Viserys's passing, I felt a coldness creep into my bones, a chill that had nothing to do with the sea winds or the damp air of the Stepstones. It was the kind of cold that settles deep inside, a hollowness that leaves you feeling like you're nothing but an empty shell. I thought, maybe, that I should feel something more—anger, sadness, grief—but all I felt was a profound sense of apathy. Viserys, the brother I had once loved, the king I had once served, was dead. And I felt… nothing.
Laena, sweet Laena, saw the look on my face and tried to console me, her warm hand on my shoulder, her voice soft with concern. But what was there to console me about? Viserys had died long before that raven reached me. All the love I'd once had for my brother had died with my son, Aegon, burned to ashes alongside his tiny body. Viserys's death was just the final extinguishing of a flame that had already gone cold.
I dressed Baela and Rhaena in black, as was fitting for the occasion, though it felt more like a formality than anything else. The girls didn't understand, not really. They were too young, too innocent to grasp the weight of it all. To them, it was just another dress, another day. They still had their mother and father, and for now, that was all that mattered.
We flew to King's Landing, the four of us. Baela rode with me on Caraxes, her small hands clutching tightly to my sides as the dragon's powerful wings beat against the sky. Rhaena rode with Laena on her dragon, Moondancer and Morning trailing close behind. The sky was overcast, the clouds heavy and dark, as if even the gods were in mourning—or maybe they were just tired of it all, like I was.
When we arrived at the Red Keep, we were greeted by Laenor, Aemond, and Lucerys. The three of them stood at the foot of the dragon pit, waiting for us as we landed. Laenor looked as he always did, composed, calm, but there was a stiffness to his posture that told me he was grieving in his own way. Aemond, on the other hand, looked utterly indifferent, as if this were just another day, just another meaningless event in the endless parade of royal duties. His face was a mask, and if there was any emotion there, it was buried too deep to see.
But it was Lucerys who caught my eye. She was dressed in black, a rare choice for her, as she usually preferred shades of blue and silver. There was no pearl in her hair, no ornament to catch the light. She clung to Aemond's arm as if she might crumble without his support, her face pale and drawn. She looked more distraught by Viserys's death than Aemond did—more than anyone, really. It was strange, unsettling even, to see her like this, to see that grief etched so deeply into her features. One would think it was her father who had died, not Aemond's.
I understood Aemond's detachment, though. I felt the same. When I looked at Viserys's life, all I saw were wasted opportunities, missed chances, and broken promises. He had been the king, the man who should have held our family together, but instead, he let it all fall apart. He let ambition and fear drive a wedge between us, and by the time he realized it, it was too late. We were too far gone.
As we dismounted and approached the others, I found myself studying Lucerys more closely. What was it that had her so shaken? She had always been closer to Viserys than I was, always eager to please, to earn his favor. But this… this was something else. She wasn't just mourning a king—she was mourning something deeper, something more personal. I wondered if she, too, had seen the cracks in our family, if she had felt the same sense of loss, the same sense of inevitability that I had.
"Kepus Daemon," Lucerys said, her voice trembling as she greeted me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and there was a rawness to her voice that made me uncomfortable. I wasn't used to seeing her like this, wasn't used to seeing anyone so openly vulnerable.
"Lucerys," I replied, my voice gruff. I didn't know what else to say. Comforting others had never been my strong suit. I was a man of action, of blood and steel, not of words and solace.
Aemond stood beside her, his expression unreadable. He glanced at me, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes, a recognition of the emptiness we both felt. But then it was gone, replaced by that same cold detachment. He was a dragon, just like the rest of us, and dragons don't weep for the dead.
Laena came to stand beside me, her hand slipping into mine, a silent show of support. She had always been the kinder one, the more empathetic, and I could see the concern in her eyes as she looked at Lucerys. But there was nothing either of us could do. Grief was a personal thing, something each of us had to bear in our own way.
As we made our way into the Red Keep, I couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at me. This place, once so familiar, so full of life, now felt like a tomb. The halls were quiet, the air thick with the weight of a king's passing. Servants scurried about, their faces solemn, but it all felt like a charade, like we were all just going through the motions because it was what was expected of us.
We were led to the throne room, where Viserys's body lay in state, draped in black and surrounded by candles. The sight of him, pale and lifeless, did nothing to stir my emotions. This was not the brother I had known, not the man who had once been my closest confidant. This was just a body, an empty vessel that had long since been drained of life.
Baela and Rhaena stood beside me, their faces a mix of confusion and curiosity. They were too young to understand the finality of death, too young to grasp the significance of what they were seeing. I wanted to shield them from it, to keep them from the ugliness of our world for just a little while longer, but in Westeros, innocence is a fleeting thing, lost far too soon. I watched them as they stared at the body of their uncle, and I wondered what they were thinking. Did they see him as just another man who had passed, or did they sense, even in their youth, the weight of the history we were all dragging behind us like chains?
Laenor, always the diplomat, always the one with the smooth words, offered his condolences with the practiced ease of someone who has spent his life playing the role expected of him. He spoke of Viserys with the appropriate reverence, his tone respectful, but even he couldn't mask the emptiness in his eyes. It was all just words, just ceremony, and we both knew it.
Lucerys, still clutching Aemond's arm, was different. She didn't say much, didn't offer the same empty platitudes. She just stood there, staring at the body of the king as if trying to draw some meaning from it, as if searching for something that wasn't there. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing I was—that Viserys had died long before his heart stopped beating, that this final act was just a formality.
Aemond's silence was almost a relief. He was like me—detached, cold, unwilling or unable to let his emotions show. We exchanged a brief glance, a moment of unspoken understanding. Neither of us had any tears to shed for Viserys. We had both buried our grief a long time ago, buried it deep where it couldn't touch us.
The throne room felt oppressive, the heavy silence pressing down on us all. Even the dragons outside seemed subdued, their usual restlessness replaced by a strange stillness, as if they too sensed the shift in the world, the end of an era.
I couldn't help but think about how things could have been different. If Viserys had been stronger, if he had been willing to make the hard choices, to stand firm when it mattered most, would we be here now, in this silent tomb, mourning a king who had let his kingdom slip through his fingers? Or would we be celebrating the reign of a strong, decisive ruler, one who had kept the family together, kept the realm at peace?
But there was no point in dwelling on what could have been. Viserys was gone, and with him, whatever hope there might have been for a unified Targaryen house. Now, all that was left was the aftermath—the splintering of the family, the power struggles, the bloodshed that was sure to come. We were dragons, after all, and dragons are born to fight, to burn, to destroy.
Laena squeezed my hand gently, pulling me out of my thoughts. I looked at her, at her warm, compassionate eyes, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of something—gratitude, perhaps, that I still had her, that despite everything, there was still someone who cared, who saw me as more than just the warrior, the rogue prince.
"Daemon," she said softly, her voice a soothing balm against the harshness of the world. "It's time."
Time to pay our respects, time to say our goodbyes to a brother, a king, a man who had once been the center of my world. But what was there to say? What words could I offer to a man who had let his kingdom and his family fall apart, who had let his own life drift away into nothingness?
I stepped forward, standing over Viserys's body, and stared down at his face. It was pale, drawn, with none of the vitality that had once made him the man I had followed, the brother I had loved. He looked small, diminished, like the man he had become in the end—someone who had let life slip through his fingers, who had let others make his choices for him.
"You were supposed to be the king," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, the words more for myself than for anyone else. "You were supposed to hold it all together, to keep us from tearing each other apart."
But he hadn't. And now, it was too late. I turned away from the body, feeling nothing but a deep, hollow emptiness. There were no tears, no anger, no grief—just a numb acceptance of the fate that awaited us all. Viserys was gone, and with him, whatever fragile peace had held our house together.
As I walked back to where Laena and the girls stood, I caught a glimpse of Lucerys. She was still watching me, her eyes filled with a sorrow that seemed too deep for someone so young. I nodded to her, a silent acknowledgment of the grief she carried, but there was nothing else I could offer her. We all had our burdens to bear, and hers were no less heavy than mine.
Aemond, ever the stoic, gave me a slight nod as I approached, his face still a mask of indifference. But there was something in his eyes, something that told me he understood—understood the weight of the crown, the burden of a family that was destined to destroy itself. We were both dragons, after all, and we both knew what it meant to live with fire in our blood.
As we left the throne room, the heavy doors closing behind us with a finality that echoed through the stone halls, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were all walking into a storm. The Targaryen house was on the brink, and the dragons were restless. There was no avoiding what was to come, no stopping the flames that would soon engulf us all.
And so, as we stepped back out into the cold air of King's Landing, I looked up at the sky, at the clouds that seemed to hang so low, so dark, and wondered just how long it would be before everything we had built was reduced to ash.
Viserys was gone, but the fire he had ignited was still burning, and it would consume us all before it was done.
I wandered the halls of the Red Keep that night, unable to find rest or peace in the bedchamber that now felt as cold as a tomb. The castle was steeped in silence, broken only by the occasional distant murmur of guards or the flicker of a torch flame. The walls seemed to close in around me, the weight of the past pressing down with every step I took. This place had once been my home, but now it felt like a prison, a place where ghosts of what could have been haunted every corner.
I wasn't even sure where I was going. Maybe I just needed to move, to keep myself from being swallowed whole by the emptiness inside me. My feet carried me down familiar paths, through corridors lined with memories I wasn't ready to face. Eventually, I found myself standing in front of the library doors, that old, creaking barrier to a world of knowledge and secrets.
I thought, perhaps foolishly, that I might find some solace in there, some quiet place where I could escape the weight of the day, if only for a little while. I pushed open the door, expecting to find the place empty, cold, and still, like the rest of the castle.
But it wasn't empty. There, sitting at one of the long tables with a book open in front of her, was Rhaenyra.
For a moment, we just stared at each other, caught off guard by the unexpected encounter. Her eyes were red, her face pale, and she looked as tired as I felt. We hadn't really spoken since Viserys's death, not beyond the formalities and the necessary exchanges. There was too much unsaid between us, too much that had been buried over the years.
"Daemon," she finally said, her voice soft, almost hesitant. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Nor I you," I replied, a bit more sharply than I intended. The truth was, I didn't know what to say to her. We'd been through so much, had shared so many dreams, so many losses, and yet there was still this distance between us, a chasm that had grown wider with each passing year.
She gestured to the chair across from her, a silent invitation. "Sit with me?"
There was a time when I would have jumped at the chance to be alone with her, when I would have seen it as a sign, a moment to rekindle something that had never really died. But that time had passed, and all that was left now was the heavy weight of what could have been.
I sat down, the chair scraping against the stone floor as I pulled it out. We sat there in silence for a few moments, the tension thick between us, the air heavy with unspoken words.
"I suppose we should talk," Rhaenyra said eventually, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the book in front of her. "About kepa. About everything."
I nodded, unsure of where to begin. "He wasn't the brother I wanted him to be," I said finally, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "But I suppose I wasn't the brother he needed either."
Rhaenyra looked down, her gaze fixed on the book but not really seeing it. "He made so many mistakes, hurt so many people. Us, Laena, Laenor… muña." Her voice wavered slightly at the mention of her mother's name. "I keep thinking about what could have been different, if only he had—"
"Been stronger?" I finished for her, my voice harsher than I intended. "If only he had made different choices, if only he had listened. But he didn't, and now we're the ones left to pick up the pieces."
She nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Do you ever wonder, Daemon, what might have happened if we had been allowed to marry? If things had gone differently?"
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "All the time. We were supposed to be together, Rhaenyra. That was the plan, wasn't it? You and me, ruling side by side. We could have been great together."
"But it didn't happen," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Kepa wouldn't let it happen. And then… Laena. Laenor. Harwin. All of them came and changed everything."
The names hung in the air between us. Laena, who is my anchor, my voice of reason when the fire inside me threatened to consume everything. Laenor, who is Rhaenyra's rock, even if their marriage was more of a partnership than a love match. And Harwin… Harwin Strong, who had given Rhaenyra the strength she needed when I couldn't, when I wasn't there.
"We've lost so much," I said, the words heavy with regret. "But we're still here, Rhaenyra. We're still breathing, still fighting. Maybe that's all we can do now."
She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine, as if trying to find some answer, some resolution in my gaze. "Do you think… do you think we could have been happy? If things had been different?"
I didn't know how to answer that. Happiness seemed like such a distant, foreign concept, something that had slipped through my fingers long ago. "Maybe," I said finally. "But we'll never know, will we?"
Rhaenyra's shoulders sagged, as if the weight of all the years, all the what-ifs, was finally catching up to her. "No, we won't."
There was a long silence, the kind that stretches on forever, filled with all the things we would never say. In that silence, I realized something. We couldn't keep holding on to the past, to the dreams that had died with it. We couldn't keep tormenting ourselves with thoughts of what could have been. It was time to let go, time to close that chapter of our lives.
"We can't change what happened," I said, my voice firm, though I could feel the weight of my own words pressing down on me. "But we can decide what we do next. We're Targaryens, Rhaenyra. We're dragons. We move forward, we survive, we keep going. It's all we know how to do."
She nodded, wiping away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. "You're right. It's time to move on. Time to… to accept that what could have been is just that. Could have been."
I reached across the table, taking her hand in mine. Her fingers were cold, but she didn't pull away. We sat like that for a moment, two souls bound by blood, by fire, by the shared history of love and loss. "We'll find a way, Rhaenyra. We'll find a way to keep going."
She squeezed my hand, her grip strong despite everything. "Yes, we will."
With that, the tension between us seemed to ease, the weight of the past lifting just a little. We weren't those young, hopeful dreamers anymore. We were survivors, battle-worn and scarred, but still standing. And maybe that was enough.
We sat together in silence for a while longer, not needing to fill the space with words. There was a peace in that silence, a sense of closure that had been missing for so long. We had both loved and lost, both made mistakes and paid for them, but we were still here. And that meant something.
Finally, Rhaenyra stood, her hand slipping from mine. "I should go," she said, her voice soft. "The boys… they'll need me in the morning."
I nodded, standing as well. "And Laena… she'll wonder where I've gone."
We walked to the door together, and as we reached it, she turned to me one last time. "Goodnight, Daemon."
"Goodnight, Rhaenyra."
She left then, her footsteps echoing down the hall as she disappeared into the shadows. I watched her go, feeling a strange mix of sadness and relief. The chapter of what could have been was finally closed, the past laid to rest. Now, it was time to face whatever the future held.
I lingered in the library a little while longer, the flickering candles casting long shadows across the room. There was still so much ahead of us, so many battles to fight, so many fires to stoke or extinguish. But for the first time in a long time, I felt ready to face it. Not as the man I once was, but as the man I had become.
As I left the library, the halls of the Red Keep seemed a little less cold, a little less foreboding. The ghosts were still there, of course, but they didn't seem as threatening now. They were just memories, echoes of a past that no longer held me in its grip.
The following day dawned with the same gray skies and heavy air that seemed to hang over the Red Keep like a shroud. The castle, usually bustling with the comings and goings of courtiers and servants, was eerily quiet as if the very stones were mourning the death of a king. But it wasn't mourning, not really—just a suffocating silence that no one dared to break.
Every member of House Targaryen was present before the funeral pyre, a somber gathering of pale faces and dark clothing. The pyre itself was massive, stacked high with wood that would soon become a blazing inferno. The dragonlords were a proud people, and we sent our dead to the afterlife with fire, just as we had always done. Today would be no different.
But as I stood there, looking at the faces around me, it was hard to ignore the sheer emptiness in their eyes. Rhaenyra, Rhaenys, even Aemond—none of them looked like they were mourning a beloved family member. They were just… present. Fulfilling their duty, standing there because it was expected of them. It was as if Viserys's death had sucked the last bit of life out of them, leaving only husks behind.
And then there was Alicent. She surprised me by being there at all. The last time the green bitch had shown her face in public was when her father been executed, and even then, she had retreated back to her chambers as soon as the formalities were done, shutting herself away from the world. She hadn't even come out for Helaena's wedding. But here she was, draped in black, her face as pale as death, standing stiffly beside Rhaenyra as if the two of them were allies in some grim conspiracy.
It was an odd sight. Once, there had been so much animosity between them, but now, it seemed as if they were both too tired, too worn out, to care about old grudges. Or maybe they had both simply come to the same conclusion—that none of it mattered anymore. Not the throne, not the power, not the endless games that had driven our family to this point. They were just going through the motions, like all of us.
Rhaenyra stepped forward, her back straight, her face set in a cold mask of determination. The pyre was ready, the wood piled high around Viserys's body, and all that was left was to command the flames. She didn't flinch, didn't hesitate as she called out to Syrax, her voice steady and strong.
"Dracarys."
The dragon responded instantly, unleashing a torrent of fire that roared to life, engulfing the pyre in an explosion of heat and light. The flames licked at the sky, consuming the wood, the body, everything in their path. It was a sight we had all seen before, countless times, but this time it felt different. Hollow. Empty.
No one shed a tear. Not a single drop of sorrow fell from anyone's eyes as Viserys's body burned. The heat from the flames warmed our faces, but it did nothing to thaw the coldness in our hearts. We all stood there, watching the fire do its work, but there was no grief, no sadness—only a sense of finality, of something ending that perhaps should have ended long ago.
I couldn't help it. The absurdity of it all—the coldness, the detachment, the sheer lack of any real emotion—made something snap inside me. A cruel, bitter laugh bubbled up from my chest, escaping my lips before I could stop it. It echoed through the silence, sharp and jarring against the backdrop of the crackling flames.
"Viserys the Peaceful," I spat, the laughter still bubbling beneath the surface, "died with his whole family hating him."
My words hung in the air, heavy and cutting, and I could feel the eyes of my kin on me, but I didn't care. The truth of it was undeniable. Viserys, the king who had prided himself on keeping the peace, on maintaining the unity of our house, had failed spectacularly. And now, here we were, the last remnants of his legacy, standing by as his body turned to ash, not a single one of us feeling anything resembling love or loss.
Alicent flinched at my words, a small, involuntary movement that only someone who knew her well would notice. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, but she said nothing. What could she say? What could any of them say? The truth was laid bare, ugly and raw, and there was no point in pretending otherwise.
Rhaenyra didn't react at all, her face as still and cold as stone. She just kept watching the flames, her eyes reflecting the fire but not the heat. I wondered if she felt anything at all in that moment, or if she, like me, had finally become numb to it all.
When the flames finally began to die down, the wood collapsing into embers, and the smoke rising into the sky like a ghost of what had been, I turned and walked away. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do but wait for the inevitable.
As I walked through the silent ranks of my family, I saw it in their faces—the same apathy, the same resignation, the same understanding that we were all trapped in this web of fate, with no way out. We were dragons, bound by blood and fire, but we were also human, and humans make mistakes. Viserys had made his, and now we would all pay the price.
I caught a glimpse of Rhaenyra as I passed, her face still as unreadable as ever. Our conversation from the night before lingered in my mind, the sense of closure we had found, the decision to move forward. But as I looked at her now, I couldn't help but wonder—was it really possible? Could we really move on from this, from everything that had happened, or were we doomed to repeat the same mistakes, to dance the same bloody dance that had claimed so many before us?
I didn't have the answer. Maybe none of us did. But as I left the pyre behind, the ashes of Viserys swirling in the wind, I knew one thing for certain—there was no going back. The past was dead, and the future was as uncertain as the smoke rising into the sky.
And so, with nothing but the cold wind at my back and the bitter taste of ash in my mouth, I walked away from the pyre, from the Red Keep, from the ghost of my brother, and prepared myself for the war that was coming.
Because that's what we do. We fight, we burn, and in the end, we survive. Or we don't. But either way, the dance goes on.