Chapter 23 The Tourney
The morning of the tourney dawned cool and gray, a soft breeze rippling through the banners that lined the field. Inside his tent, Daemon sat on the edge of a wooden stool, his hands moving over the polished metal of his armor, checking each fastening and buckle. The lion etched into his breastplate gleamed with a pride that Daemon felt in his core, but this pride mingled with the weight of expectation. Today, his performance would be seen as a testament to House Lannister's strength.
But a subtle tension crackled in the air, a silent judgment that passed through the gathered nobles of Westeros. Word had already spread that King Robert and Queen Cersei, despite their duties, had arrived only that morning—well after the betrothal feast had concluded. Their absence from such a momentous event was perceived as a blatant slight, and hushed voices around the grounds buzzed with disapproval. Daemon overheard snippets as he moved toward the field, catching phrases like "the king's indifference" and "the queen's pride," each word laced with disdain.
When the royal party finally arrived at the tourney grounds, all eyes turned toward the entrance. King Robert's expression was, as usual, dismissive and unfocused, his gaze slipping lazily over the guests as if it hardly mattered that he'd missed the previous evening's celebration. Cersei, cool and composed, took her place beside him with an air of thinly veiled disdain for the spectacle before her. The noble families shifted uncomfortably, some casting dark looks toward the royal pair, others murmuring to each other about the disrespect toward House Lannister and Tyrell. Even Tywin's gaze turned to flint, though his expression remained otherwise unreadable.
Daemon straightened his shoulders, forcing himself to focus. He had Margaery by his side, the encouragement of his house, and a future that would be built with or without the favor of the crown. He knew he had to push forward, and as he adjusted his armor, a rustle at the tent entrance drew his attention. He looked up to see Margaery standing there, her silhouette framed by the morning light. She wore a deep green gown embroidered with delicate golden roses, her Tyrell colors vivid against the backdrop of the gray morning. Her eyes sparkled as she stepped closer, holding a green ribbon in her hand.
"Good morning, my lion," she greeted, her voice carrying a warmth that filled the quiet space. She extended the ribbon, offering it to him. "For luck," she murmured, her gaze unwavering.
Daemon stood, taking the ribbon from her hands, his fingers brushing hers. "Your favor," he said, his voice softer now, "is all I'll need." He wrapped the ribbon around his arm, binding it over his wrist before meeting her eyes again. "This will remind me of you, of your courage, and what we're building here today."
Margaery's gaze softened, her fingers lingering on his arm where the ribbon lay. "And I'll be watching every step," she said. "I know you'll make us proud. Just… be careful, Daemon. I would hate to see you bested today."
He laughed lightly, the sound easing the tension he hadn't realized he was holding. "Not a chance, my lady. No one is worthy of that honor but you."
She reached up, straightening the ribbon with careful hands. "Then go, Daemon, and let them see what a true lion is," she whispered, her voice carrying a command wrapped in affection.
He held her gaze, a smile softening his features. "I'll fight for you," he replied. "In every pass, every tilt—know that I'm yours."
With a lingering glance, she left him to prepare, leaving behind the warmth of her presence. As Daemon donned his helm and readied himself for the tourney field, he felt her confidence in him, settling his nerves like a cloak of iron.
The day unfolded in a series of fierce, adrenaline-fueled matches. Daemon's first opponent, a young Frey, was unhorsed with a single powerful pass. As the crowd cheered, Daemon's gaze moved instinctively to the stands, seeking Margaery. She smiled down at him, her expression filled with pride.
When he faced Prince Oberyn, the tension mounted. The Dornish prince was quick, his lance steady, and they clashed in a flurry of speed and skill. As they passed each other, Daemon's heart pounded, his gaze snapping to Margaery once more.
She raised her hand, calling out, "You've got this, Daemon! Show them what you're made of!"
A grin broke across his face, and he returned to his place, feeling renewed by her words. In the second pass, he unhorsed Oberyn with precision, earning a respectful nod from the prince as he dusted himself off.
The crowd's cheers washed over him, and between each tilt, Daemon caught Margaery's eye. Her encouragement was silent but constant, grounding him as he faced the next challenger: Garlan Tyrell. The match was close, each strike and parry testing Daemon's focus and endurance. When he nearly faltered, a glance at Margaery's calm, steady gaze pushed him forward, urging him to keep his balance. After a hard-fought pass, Daemon emerged victorious, saluting Garlan with a respectful bow.
But the final match against Jaime was a different battle. They met at the center of the field, and Daemon inclined his head, acknowledging the man whom the realm believed was his true father and who had, in every way that mattered, earned that title in Daemon's heart.
Jaime's mouth quirked in a smirk. "Ready, my son? I won't go easy on you."
Daemon returned the smirk, his eyes alight with determination. "I would expect nothing less, Father."
The two knights charged, their lances raised. Each pass felt like a measured dance, the clash of their lances reverberating through their armor. After several intense passes, Daemon's lance finally found its mark, unhorsing Jaime in a resounding display that earned a standing ovation from the crowd. As he approached Margaery in the stands, he lifted the victor's crown of roses, bending to place it upon her head.
"My queen of love and beauty," he murmured, his voice only for her.
She reached up, touching the crown lightly. "You've more than proven yourself, Daemon. Today, you fought not just for yourself but for us."
The softness in her eyes and the warmth in her words settled something within him, and he knew that the bond between them was something powerful, something that would carry them through whatever lay ahead.
That evening, the hall filled with music, laughter, and the clink of goblets. King Robert's loud, drunken laughter rang through the hall as he raised a goblet toward Daemon, slurring, "To the… the young lion! May he… protect us all!" The mockery in the toast was met with uncomfortable silence, and across the room, Ned Stark's brow furrowed, his discomfort plain.
As the feast continued, Daemon led Margaery to the dance floor, his hand resting lightly on her waist as they moved together, lost in their quiet conversation.
"You fought well today, my lion," she said, her voice soft as they turned together in the dimly lit hall. "I think you've shown the realm your worth."
He met her gaze, his expression sincere. "I fought for you, Margaery. For us. Today was only the beginning."
They danced in silence for a moment before she whispered, "Are you ready for what lies ahead? For the challenges that we'll face together?"
He nodded, his hand tightening slightly around hers. "With you by my side, I know I am."
After the music softened, Daemon walked her to her chamber. Outside the door, she paused, her eyes meeting his with a hint of vulnerability that he hadn't seen before.
"Daemon," she began, her voice almost a whisper, "today was… a glimpse of what we could have, what we could build together."
He took a step closer, his hand moving to cup her cheek. "Then let's make it more than a glimpse," he murmured, his voice roughened by emotion. He lifted her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles, lingering there as if grounding himself in her presence.
Margaery's hand stayed in his, and after a moment of hesitation, she stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Her lips met his softly, a tentative touch that quickly deepened, each of them surrendering to the connection they had only begun to explore. Their arms encircled each other, the kiss intensifying as they shared what words alone couldn't convey.
When they finally parted, Margaery's cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with emotion. She looked up at him, a small, trembling smile playing at her lips. "I didn't think… I didn't realize it would feel this right."
Daemon's fingers brushed her cheek, his voice barely a whisper. "Neither did I. But I am yours, Margaery. In every way that matters. And I will stand by you, through whatever comes."
They lingered together, each holding the weight of the other's gaze, knowing that this moment was more than a kiss—it was the beginning of something powerful and binding. After a final embrace, he bid her goodnight, his heart filled with a newfound resolve.
Later, he made his way to Tywin's solar, where Jaime and Tyrion waited, discussing Littlefinger's impending proposal. Tywin spoke with a calm finality. "We do not lend to men like Petyr Baelish," he said, his voice steady. "We guard our alliances wisely."
Daemon nodded, his thoughts turning to the responsibilities that lay ahead. Jaime looked over at him, his gaze proud yet thoughtful.
"Today showed me," Jaime said quietly, "that you're ready for all of it—the challenges, the leadership. I couldn't be prouder."
Daemon met his father's gaze, feeling the weight of Jaime's trust and confidence, and nodded in return.
After the meeting, he descended to the caves beneath Casterly Rock, and Daemon made his way to the secret caves beneath Casterly Rock. The walls of the cave were rough, but the path was well-worn from his frequent visits to his dragon, Rhaelys. The air grew warmer as he approached, and a familiar, comforting heat filled the cavern as he entered.
Rhaelys, his father in spirit and bond, immense and silent, lay curled within the vast, dark chamber. His scales, a deep mix of red and gold, shimmered in the faint light, casting a warm glow against the cave walls. Daemon stepped forward, placing a hand on the dragon's massive neck, feeling the steady, deep thrum of Rhaelys's heartbeat beneath his palm.
"Father," Daemon murmured, his voice barely a whisper, carried more through his bond than sound.
The dragon's great eye opened, gleaming with ancient wisdom and something gentler, something only Daemon saw in those deep amber eyes. Rhaelys acknowledged him, his consciousness merging with Daemon's own. Through their bond, thoughts and emotions intertwined, transcending words. Though Rhaelys could not speak as a man might, the understanding that flowed between them was sharper and clearer than any language.
"You've done well today, my son." The thought entered Daemon's mind, warm and proud.
Daemon smiled, feeling Rhaelys's pride wash over him. He bowed his head, the humility of being in the presence of such a powerful, ancient creature filling him with quiet reverence. "Thank you," he replied, his mind reaching back in gratitude. "Today was for House Lannister, for Margaery… and for the future we're building."
Rhaelys's gaze softened, his mind turning over Daemon's words. "You carry much on your shoulders, Daemon. But you have the strength for it. I have always known this."
Daemon felt the reassurance sink into him, grounding him in a way only his father's presence could. "Sometimes I wonder…" he hesitated, his hand running absently over Rhaelys's warm scales, "if I am truly ready for what's to come. There's so much at stake, so many lives in my hands."
Rhaelys rumbled, a sound that reverberated through the cavern, carrying comfort and understanding. "Power comes with burdens, and they can be heavy. But remember this, Daemon: you are not alone. You have Margaery now. And you have me. When the time comes, you will have what you need."
Daemon closed his eyes, letting the bond carry Rhaelys's calm strength into him. The bond wasn't only that of dragon and rider—it was the bond of father and son, one forged not by blood but by a loyalty that ran even deeper.
With a silent invitation, Daemon climbed onto Rhaelys's back, settling into the familiar place between his great neck ridges. The dragon stood, stretching his mighty wings, and with a powerful push, he launched them into the night sky. They soared higher, leaving Casterly Rock behind, the world stretching out below them, the land a patchwork of shadows and moonlit rivers.
In the cool night air, Daemon let his thoughts flow freely, sharing his fears, his hopes, his uncertainties—all of it—through their bond. Rhaelys listened, his presence steady and unwavering.
"I fear the weight of the crown, of the throne that might come. I don't want to lose myself in it," Daemon confessed, his words mingling with the rush of the wind around them.
Rhaelys's answer was gentle, but firm. "The throne is not what makes you, Daemon. It's your heart, your loyalty, your spirit. Do not fear losing yourself to it—those things are yours to give, not to lose."
Flying beneath the stars, Daemon felt the truth of his father's words settle within him. He looked down at the landscape far below, the stillness of the world blending with the profound bond he shared with Rhaelys. The dragon's wing beats were steady, their rhythm lulling him into a calmness he had not felt in days.
After a time, Daemon spoke again, his voice a quiet whisper carried through their bond. "Will you be there, when the time comes? When I take up what awaits me?"
Rhaelys's answer was immediate, fierce with conviction. "Always. I have waited centuries for this—to guard, to protect, to guide. You are my purpose, Daemon, and I am yours."
Tears pricked at Daemon's eyes, though he did not let them fall. For all his life, he had known love and loyalty, but none so unwavering as this. No alliance, no title, no duty could match the bond he shared with Rhaelys. He was a man of two worlds—one that stood on the ground, and one that soared among the stars, bound by love, by loyalty, and by the promise of all they would accomplish together.
As dawn approached, Daemon guided Rhaelys back toward Casterly Rock. Their descent was slow, unhurried, the dragon's wings gliding over the still land below. In the silence of the predawn hours, Daemon's mind was clearer, his heart steadier. He knew he was ready for the trials ahead. He had the love of Margaery, the loyalty of his family, and, above all, he had Rhaelys, his father, his dragon—his truest ally in the storm that lay on the horizon.
And with Rhaelys by his side, Daemon knew he could face anything.