All Hail The King

Chapter 3

Haera wasn't surprised the two Maesters were useless, just standing there gaping at her like she was something unknown that they'd never encountered before. She was just beginning to fear that she would need to get the sword out on her own, which would be easily done with magic, but she couldn't use it right now. She'd never trust anyone in this damnable place, not those that believe in the faith of the seven. She still didn't get how marrying into the Targaryen family would help save that girl, she really didn't, but the gods clearly saw a path she didn't right now. What she did know was that she had to prevent the dragons from dancing, without dragons there was nothing they could do against the enemy – White Walkers – from the wall and the utter desolation of magic to the extent that an ice age would cover the entire world and killing off humanity in its entirety. They couldn't survive without magic, man that was…something else, he wondered if his own universe was the same or if this particular one was different.

Daemon put a hand on her shoulder, "Are you sure?" he asked, fingers inches away from the sword imbedded in the Valyrian beauty whose name he still didn't know.

"Do it," Haera declared through gritted teeth, inhaling sharply before letting his breath out and holding it, only to hiss through her teeth as the sword was extracted.

"Prince Daemon she will bleed out soon if she's not tended to," the Maester cautioned with a strangled voice, the Prince who was staring at the sword with a calculating look on his face didn't even blink. It was insignificant, the sword, something easily bought, the sword was sharp, badly looked after, numerous nicks in it where it had parried with other swords, whoever owed this clearly saw many battles with it but didn't care for his weapon. The idea was reprehensible to him, who had received Dark Sister, a Valyrian steel sword that he would cherish and care for until the end of his days. It also didn't help him identity who had dared to harm someone of Valyrian descent.

"Now who's hysterical," Haera muttered, gasping as she straightened up, moving over to the Maesters, she began rummaging in their bags, it looks like she'd need to do it the old-fashioned way. Well, at least this scar was easily hidden unlike the one that had once adorned his head. She took what she needed and went to sit on the bed, using water next to him to wipe the wound, casting a spell non-verbally to ensure there was nothing nasty residing in the wound that could cause infection. He doubted the gods would have thought about such things, they were immortal beings after all. They were created with pure magic; not born a human like he was.

Haera winced, her first attempt failing, her hands were shaking too much for her to steadily stitch herself up. She was just about to set the needle and thread aside and try to get her hands to stop shaking when a pale hand reached for them, taking them from her.

"Let me," Daemon said, taking the needle and thread from her shaking fingers.

Haera glanced up, looking at someone properly for the first time since regaining consciousness. Her second blink was slower, as she took a second look. She quickly deduced that this was either Baelon or Daemon Targaryen, she knew the names of the royal family in this time and what their fates were. Given the time she was in, the guy was too young to be Baelon she reckoned, so Daemon it is. Viserys wasn't built like either his father or brother.

"My Prince! Please, allow us…" Orwyle blustered, attempting to take over from the Prince, this was his purpose! to have the Prince attempting – never mind doing so – was at the height of impropriety. He took great offense at being relegated to the side.

The glare the young maiden levelled him with caused any further protests or advancements. She embodied the 'if looks could kill' perfectly, those dark lavender eyes filled with such scorn and disgust that it was rather overwhelming. They had done nothing to deserve her scorn or ire, yet here she was with such poisonous stare that could petrify a Maester such as himself. How was such a maiden capable of such reckless hatred? Pursing his lips, he held onto the milk of the poppy that the young Prince had given him, sure in his estimation that she'd need it to endure what came next.

Daemon smirked, highly amused by the days happenings, not many shared his distrust of the grey rats. To see them so affected by a young maidens glare made him gleeful to say the least.

The Maesters watched Prince Daemon with narrowed gazes, just watching and waiting. Prince Daemon was mercurial, rarely sat still, was violent and temperamental. To see him on his knees carefully and with much patience and care, stitching the wound closed came as a huge surprise to them.

Nothing was more astonishing than the fact she remained still and silent as she endured the treatment. She barely breathed more than she had to as Prince Daemon set to work. Luckily the wound wasn't so big, but it would mar her, it would cost her potential husbands, nobody wanted to take a scarred maiden to wife. Both her back and her chest would be marred, but she was astonishingly lucky, a couple of inches in either direction, would have been all the difference between life of death.

Daemon finished the front, glancing up at her, truly impressed by her, she hadn't even twitched once during the process. Standing up, he poured some water from the ewer into the bowl and dabbed the fabric in it before he carefully pressed it over the wound, getting rid of the blood then dried it with the other side. Her eyes were glassy, it looked as though it was sheer stubbornness alone that had her remaining conscious. He didn't think she'd be able to move much more without passing out again. Once more, he couldn't help but wonder if she was a commoner, no lady would be able to put up with this without pain relief.

It didn't spell a good fate for her, his grandfather would never borne a commoner, even a Dragonseed having a dragon, and he'd never perceive allowing a commoner- even one of Valyrian lineage – to be married into the family. Not that there was anyone left to marry, he'd soon be bound to his Bronze Bitch and there would be only Gael, who was unsuitable, leaving only one person suitable, his father, but he had vehemently refused to remarry to the point of being obstinate with the king. Something nobody did, ever.

And people would wonder where he got his attitude from. Ironically nobody said it was 'because of the spring prince' even if he looked remarkably like him. Then again, who really knew the royal family? Nobody, not even the guards could argue that they did.

Haera swallowed, as if attempting to swallow back the nausea threatening to overwhelm her. The idea of moving was a painful one, let alone actually doing the moving. However, she knew she needed to be stitched up at the back, otherwise she really would lose too much blood. Pursing her lips, she swung her legs back onto the bed and turned to face the Maesters who were standing at the side of the bed extremely flustered.

"Qrugh, damn, fuck, qrugh, bastard, orvorta!" Haera cursed violently, gritting her teeth, she would not be sick, she would not be sick. She was going to take a leaf out of the Greek mythology and hang Balerion up by his blood ankles and let birds feast on his liver every day for it to just grow back! He won't know pain like the Greeks did it. Oh, he was going to pay for this, the fucker, bloody stabbing her then transporting her to the damn Blackwater Bay right at the mouth of a damn cannibal dragon it was freezing cold at least until she got on the dragon. But, oh, the feeling of that bond snapping into place, the whole that Hedwig had left behind when he was just sixteen years old wizard, filling up, and even now she could sense her dragon. "Nyke hope pōnta're morghe!"

Daemon's eyes widened; she hopes who was dead? The person who had done this to her? They, so it was more than one person. She was speaking High Valyrian, with perfect pronunciation, no commoner would know and speak High Valyrian, there were only three families that he knew who could speak High Valyrian, Celtigers, Velaryon and his family the Targaryens. There were a few other families that still had their Valyrian blood, but they spoke a bastardisation Valyrian not High Valyrian. Before he could even think of actually asking anything, her body went lax, his grandfather would have to get in touch with the Celtigers, who else could it be? He didn't understand why they'd never introduced her to court, why hide her? Surely, they'd have come to his grandfather if one of their own were attacked in seek of aid?

Mentally shaking off his thoughts, he finished stitching up the last of her wound, taking painstaking care to ensure that the stitches weren't too tight and that it was even. Using a clean new piece of fabric, he dunked it into the water and wiped the wound down, before patting it with the dry side before discarding it.

"Here, my Prince," Mellos said, handing over bandages that would cover the wound, keep it clean and dry until it heals.

It was a testament to how many times Daemon had already been injured – he was a Knight and had been knighted – that he knew what to do without another word. He very rarely went to the grey rats with any injury, unless he had to.

"Daemon? What are you doing?" for such a large imposing man he was extremely quiet when he wanted to be, as both Maesters jumped out of their skin at the sound of his voice.

"We aren't being allowed to do our job," Orwyle complained, lips pressed in a firm line.

"She didn't want them near her, but she allowed me to help her," Daemon retorted, as he finished dressing her wounds.

"The King demands your presence as soon as you're done here." Baelon told the Maesters, it wasn't the first time his son had spoken of such distrust. "You as well, son." Seeing as he had been the only one allowed to get close to her. "The King is in his solar." He wanted to keep the information as tightly contained as he could. The idea of a bastard Dragonseed gaining control of a dragon actually had his father's stress levels shooting through the keep.

Naturally the Maesters immediately bowed to Prince Baelon and scarpered off towards the Kings solar.

Daemon watched them go with his usual air of distaste.

Prince Baelon watched with a sense of curiosity at Daemon's, well, softness, his gentleness, she was injured, yes, but he'd never seen him act so with anyone that wasn't family. Although, as of late, Daemon had been angry at the entire world, avoiding them all for the most part. When he wasn't avoiding them, he was pleading with them not to force him to marry the Lady Rhea Royce. Just hearing his son pleading with him made him feel sick to his stomach. It made him have flashbacks to his own sister attempting to entice him to avoid her own marriage. She'd died before he could even apologise for not just even simply listening, or try anything to help her. He'd just been too pissed off at the sheer audacity of her actions. He knew deep in his heart it wasn't maliciously meant, that she didn't think for a second, she could replace his wife. She'd just been desperate, who wouldn't be forced to marry a man three to four decades older than you?

Now his son was coming to him with the very same problem, pleading for his help. Truth was, he was just as helpless as he would have been back then. The King and Queen would not budge, he'd tried, he would try again for the sake of his son, but he doubted anything would work. The only other way he'd get out of the marriage is to leave the royal family. Daemon wouldn't do that, but he'd make them wish they had. He was very vindictive, his son, Baelon thought proudly.

Baelon turned and exited the rooms, giving a nod to the guard on duty before following the two Maesters and his son to the Holdfast, and the King.

Twenty minutes later, he was announced and granted entrance, only to find the Maesters complaining to the king over the actions of the young maiden. How Prince Daemon had taken over their duties and not allowed him to fulfil them.

"Skorkydoso bōsa emagon pōnta issare rȳ ziry?" Baelon murmured as he neared his son, asking him how long they had been complaining to the King as if he could do something about it. Leaning against the table, both arms crossed, a blank look on his face, the only acknowledgement of annoyance was the question he asked Daemon.

"Pār īlon jiōraton kesīr," Daemon replied, they'd been complaining since the second they'd got there.

"Daemon, what do you have to say for yourself?" the Wise King asked, observing the young Prince, who was so much like Baelon and Aemon, so similar to them but uniquely himself.

Daemon known for his insolence knew better than to start something with the king, he straightened up, "They were hounding her, she's been attacked, they told me she was hysterical due to the fact she didn't want them touching her."

"She also refused Milk of the poppy!" Mellos explained as if that deemed her hysterical.

"There may be a reason for that," Baelon declared calmly, "We have no idea what she's been through."

"Did you get a name at least?" the King asked, but it was truly a command.

"No, but she spoke High Valyrian," Daemon answered, swore and cursed in High Valyrian at that, "If I'm not wrong it's her first language, nobody that's completely out of it, would revert to a second language not at her age." Even he spoke the common when he was furious, because it had been the common tongue that he'd learnt first. Sure, he had known a few Valyrian words here and there, mother, father, dragon, big brother, as a child but he'd never known it as a second language until later in life when he took to learning it proper. He didn't consider himself Westeros but Valyrian.

The King straightened up at that, a thoughtful pensive look crossing his features.

"Should we have Rhaenys and Corlys come? They might be able to identity her?" Baelon questioned, his face tightening in pain, his brother's death had been terribly painful, not even killing everyone that day had helped any. Then the King had gone made him his heir, and he hadn't heard from his niece since. She hadn't replied to any of his letters. He hadn't asked for this, by the fourteen, if anything happened to her his brother would never forgive him. "Or one of the Celtigers?" she wasn't a Targaryen, so she had to be one of the other families, they were the only ones who still spoke High Valyrian.

"When will she be awake and aware for questioning?" the King asked the Maesters, without answering his son for the moment.

"I cannot say, your grace," Orwyle confessed, "We didn't get a chance to do a proper exam before she woke up."

"I'm not sure we're going to be able to conduct one, she is very opposed to our presence. To force her would cause her more harm than good." Mellos added, more concerned than insulted like Maester Orwyle. Her actions had truly alarmed him, how on earth could she stand having a sword removed from her body without nary a peep out of her mouth? Without needing the milk of the poppy? He could only imagine the severe pain she'd undergone, not to mention the stitches. "So far she isn't feverish, which is a good sign, with food and water she will become stronger." Never mind that he was sure she wouldn't survive, but seeing what he had…changed his mind, she was very strong indeed.

"Don't write to them, I will get answers out of our guest before they could receive them." The King decided, as always decisive and sticking to his guns. Then there would be the travelling, no, there was no point to asking them to come to the capital.

Baelon bowed to his king, "Your grace,"

"Now leave me, all of you." The King commanded, he wasn't as young as he used to be, and his body wasn't half making it known. He wanted some peace and quiet, the Maesters didn't half like to complain. The young maiden was becoming more troublesome not less. The sooner he could deal with that particular problem the better. The rumours were concerning but not only so right now, not with his Master of Whispers prodding them in a more reasonable manner. "And Daemon, you will spend time with your betrothed." The king warned his wayward grandson.

"ȳdra daor jikagon tolī tolmiot, daemon." Baelon warned his son not to take it too far, the King did not have a vast infinite of patience.

Daemon just scowled, but knew better than to comment, he was well aware that the walls in the Red Keep had ears.

Daemon watched the Lady Rhea Royce with unmitigated disgust, if there was ever a time where he actually wanted to flee it would be now. He loved his family (even if he hated them right now) the idea had merits, he wanted to travel, see the world, but it didn't hold a candle to his family. Here she was strutting around his home, especially after what she'd been overheard saying, it made him grit his teeth to stop himself from bashing her head in and relieving himself of the fate of actually being married off to her.

He'd never consider it a marriage; he didn't believe in the faith of the seven.

The idea of just taking off on Caraxes and never returning was a recurring dream as of late. It was an enticing prospect, but he loved the position he had. He knew he was lucky, all he had to do was visit Flea Bottom to know that for certain. He was impulsive but not that impulsive to give up his position.

He blanched when he heard her approaching with a gaggle of admirers that had come with her, he made a mad dash for the nearest secret hidden passageways he'd found when he was younger. Sighing in relief, temporarily as the reprieve was, he would need to be seen making some sort of effort, if only to point out that he had done as the king bid.

The silence was very welcoming, even if the sound of his feet seemed to be extra loud in the cavernous passageways.

He didn't realize he had veered off quite so much until he heard his grandparents speaking from the confines of their own rooms.

What do you mean?

She's clearly been through some sort of trauma; to have such a high pain tolerance, it doesn't bode well for her. There's a chance even if her family is found that they won't want to take her back. The king, Daemon realised, was talking about the girl, he was implying she'd been sexually assaulted and that her parents wouldn't want to put up with her. Nobody would want broken goods, and that's exactly what people thought of those ladies who weren't 'pure' on their wedding night. Bullshit if you asked him, then again, nobody did.

Perhaps Baelon's idea would prove useful, she's not one of ours, she may well be a Velaryon or Celtiger.

She'll be awake and able to tell us herself before word reaches Driftmark or Claw Isle.

Then what will you do? There was a shallow hint of concern for the girl in his grandmothers voice, which surprised Daemon. If it wasn't about his aunt Gael or cousin Rhaenys his grandmother didn't seem to care about anything these days.

We'll see what she has to say, then a decision will be made. His tone grim, it was clear he'd already made a decision on her fate.

King Jaehaerys could not risk someone else outside of the Targaryen family controlling a dragon. Bad enough his granddaughter had one for the Velaryon's. While there were four for the Targaryens, unfortunately, neither he or his wife were in any state to enjoy dragon riding anymore. Which caused such a mass of longing within him just to ride him again. Vermithor, his beloved dragon, and his wife had once rode Silverwing. With the death of Viserys mount, it left only his son and grandson mounts to defend them if anything happened. Nobody in their right mind would go up against Vhagar and Caraxes seemed to inspire fear in everyone due to his unique appearance.

Of all the dragons why did it have to be the cannibal? The second biggest dragon in the world, after his own sons Vhagar. By the seven, he could do without this at the end of his reign.

He had a feeling things were about to get messy, and he always listened to his instincts, which by the way, were screaming of a calamity they were about to endure.

"What if she's a Celtiger or Velaryon?" Alysanne questioned her husband, without a single speck of emotion on her face for the 'love of her life'. She stared at him as if he were a stranger, still enraged by her husband taking on Baelon as the heir over Rhaenys.

"Then the betrothal between Lady Rhea Royce and Daemon will be nullified and she will marry him in her stead." The king declared, staring just as coolly at his wife, neither backing down on who they believe would be a better heir for the throne. He was king, it was decision at the end of the day.

They did put on a wonderful front the moment they stepped out of their bed chambers.

Or as Daemon liked to put it, put on a murmurs farce.

A/n – If the Valyrian is wrong, blame google translate, I'm not going to learn a whole new language for a story, even if I could actually learn it (languages isn't my thing like at all) I'm actually contemplating just having the Valyrian spoken in italics what do you guys think? SOOO two Questions!

1. Overreaching Hightower's or a conspiracy by the faith which one would you prefer to see? Either one suits me just fine :D in fact, I'm rather looking forward to it, but it's going to be a long game before we can really get to the fun parts BOO LOL!

2. Will Haera and Daemon becoming Queen and King of the seven kingdoms or will they create a world of their own making?

I'll also be editing the first chapter before the next update, I'm not really impressed with it, but I'll let you all know so you can re-read it again if you'd like (it's just changing what was the outcome).