Apologies about the longer than usual delay in posting. Was writing the Dance of Dragons bits (CH50), and it was kind of difficult to get through.
Everyone Else, Thank you for your reviews and comments, I always read them even if I don't respond to them.
As always, please enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think.
Note: If you would like to read ahead, the next three chapters after this chapter are available on P. .^T.^R.^E.^O.^N./ Boombox117
Late 126 AC – Kings Landing, Tourney Grounds
Otto Hightower POV
The drums played as the heraldry changed around the field for the final time for the Archery contest, the white cloak with a sole blood red raven soaring about a weirwood tree attracted up a respectful cheer though that soon gave way when the banner of the three headed dragon went up, drawing up a roar of approval.
The heralder took centre stage, his arms aloft as he began to speak. "Good people of the City" the crowd began to quieten down as the herald spoke and the man looked approvingly at the lessening sound before he spoke again.
"We have been graced by wonderful spectacle in the Archeries tis Tourney though above them all, the two competing for the title of finest Archer have given account of themselves that passes for legendary!" the herald was impassioned in his words, something that was reflected in the cheers granted by the crowd.
"Wonderful spectacle?" Tyland murmured derisively from beside Otto.
Otto understood what the tone was for.
The archery contest was never the most appealing contest of a Tourney. It lacked the blood and energy of the melees and the jousts that audiences sought after and typically, it also failed to draw much appreciation of contest at all.
Often times, there were archers that were simply far above the other contenders, and often times, there were no more than one or two archers in a generation that dominated the archery contests in every Tourney thrown in the realm for a whole five to ten years straight.
This Tourney was no different.
Throughout the archery competitions, there were only five or six archers of any notable skill but they did not compare to the two finalists that were competing in this tourney.
The skill both had shown, hitting the centre circles of the target faces without fail each time, scoring maximum scores regardless of distance or obstacles, had made that clear.
"The contests might have been predictably lacklustre" Otto began in a quiet voice as he watched movements of the guards at the lower entrance into the main tourney ground "however this final shall prove to be at least worth a measure of spectacle."
"So please cheer for Robb Rivers, finalist of the Kings Landing Tourney of 126 AC!" the herald announced and a pleasant cheer rang around for the bastard nephew of Lord Blackwood.
The red-haired man confidently strolled into the tourney ground was clad in simple clothing, black in colour, and Otto heard more than a few disapproving murmurs from behind him about the bastard.
Otto had not heard of the bastard before, which was surprising in all accounts, given how often the Blackwood-Bracken feud invaded the Small Council with whatever had caused the latest breach of the King's Peace.
'At least I know of you now…' Otto mused to himself as he watched the man take his position in front of the first set of target faces, a starting distance of fifty yards.
The bastard had soundly won all of his contests in record time, with not a single arrow mis-struck. He'd started his inquiries in the bastard then.
A nephew of the Lord Blackwood, the bastard had been nurtured in his talents from the time he was a babe, and his spies relayed that the bastard had even been raised amongst his trueborn kin and that he was well regarded in Raventree, and considered that he was the best archer of Blackwood blood for many generations.
"-Please cheer for Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, Prince of the City, rider of Aegarax!" The crowd were much more audible in their approval and Otto's lips up-ticked minutely at the sound.
Tyland chuckled lowly at him. "Yes, I suppose so. Care to place a bet on whom shall be the victor?"
Otto glanced at the Lannister for a moment before he looked back at the Tourney Grounds. "100 gold dragons on my grandson." Otto knew it was rather futile to bet on his six and ten nameday grandson.
For all of his grandson's talent with the bow and though Otto might not be the most well learned in the art of the bow, he could still take a well educated measure of one's talents and the bastard of Ravenwood…well, he was a measure too far for his grandson.
But it would not do for him not to show confidence in his grandson.
"I'll take it." Tyland said all too pleased with himself. Plus, Otto mused, the loss and his humble acceptance of the loss would do nicely in opening up ways for him to further entangle Tyland into remaining at court for the foreseeable future.
Whilst Jason Lannister had shown to be none too interested in swearing fealty to a woman over a rightful first born son, having his twin supporting Aegon on the Small Council would only help to push the whole of the West into Aegon's camp.
There might not be any Small Council seats available for his appointment at this present time, that would not always be the case. Viserys would not live many more natural years, that much anyone could tell.
One did not need to be a Maester to see that, he mused as he glanced at the King who wore his infamous bronze mask as he sat upon the throne at the centre of the platform, or rather…slouched.
Viserys was flanked by the acolytes of the Grandmaester who ensured he remained painfree and conscious, and a momentary flicker of pity and sympathy passed through his mind for his old friend.
The Gods were indeed cruel, Otto thought to himself. For all of the insanity of Viserys' choice of heir, he thought as he glimpsed at Rhaenyra and Daemon the Younger who sat on left hand side of Viserys next to the Velaryons Ser Daeron and Lady Laena, Viserys was a good man…and a good king.
The disease that was slowly rotting him from the inside was perhaps the worst kind of ailment Otto ever had the displeasure of learning about.
Few men could have lived this long, for so long in pain, and Otto could not help but deeply respect his old friend for his endurance.
Of course, Otto thought as he looked away from Viserys, it helped that the maesters were made to be deeply invested in the survival of the King for as long as possible, but it did not detract from the strength of will Viserys showed to keep on living when every breath was a breath taken in pain.
Otto looked away from Viserys, burying the unhelpful feelings, and instead, he refocused on the contest as his grandson and the bastard exchanged a few words.
It wasn't long after the exchange of words that the herald dropped the coin and signalled that his grandson had first serve, and Otto leaned forward in anticipation.
His grandson stepped up, and notched his arrow and after a few tense moments where even the crowd did not dare to make much noise, did his grandson loose.
The crowd roared in approval when his grandson's arrow hit the centre of the target face, only slightly off from the very centre, and Otto let off a faint proud smile.
"Good shot." Tyland murmured as he clapped gently though Otto said nothing but let him the man saw his faint proud smile.
The next rounds of the first was a tense affair, the Blackwood bastard matching, no, loathed as Otto was to admit it, bettering each of his grandsons shots.
By the time of the end of the second at sixty yards, the Blackwood bastard had pulled away in raw scoring, the man having hit the centre five times out of six at fifty yards and three times out of six at sixty yards, in comparison to his grandson's twice centre hits in each of the distances.
It was only because of the fact that his grandson kept up hitting within the second circle of the target faces that allowed him to have a chance still at the third at five and seventy yards.
Nonetheless, the contest was one of the closest in living memory, at least in Otto's living memory. Typically, a clear victor was announced by the second, or when the losing archer gave defeat when it was clear in the disparity in talent.
In this instance however, the difference in the archers was not as pronounced.
Unfortunately, whilst it was not as pronounced, the difference was still there…and it was shown in the third as the Blackwood bastard hit the centre thrice in a row from the start, at which point the man had secured his victory in scoring as his grandson would not be able to close the gap in the remaining rounds of the third.
The crowd cheered the Blackwood's victory when the herald announced it though the cheer did not compare to the roar of approval when his grandson, in a bout of good sportsmanship, shook the bastard's hand.
"Prince Jaehaerys is quite the talent with the bow, Lord Hand." Tyland remarked from beside him as they both clapped for the contest.
"He is." Otto acknowledged. His grandson had shown an interest in archery from a young age, preferring the bow over that of the sword.
Alicent had told him of the resistance Jaehaerys had shown in the training yard with the sword, only growing worse when she'd orchestrated that the boy be banned from practicing the bow, but he'd put stop to that and told her to encourage the boy with the bow.
Jaehaerys was only a third son and a dragonrider to boot.
To be masterful with the sword was not necessary and archery was fine enough a martial talent that it did not need to be a point to antagonise her son.
And it was better that Jaehaerys found something he was good at and be satisfied with it, along with his station in life, and from all accounts from the archers of Oldtown he'd sent to instruct Jaehaerys, the boy had grown to do that exactly.
"Though that bastard is quite something." Tyland said begrudgingly and Otto couldn't help but agree even if he would not voice it out. He would have to speak with the bastard and see if he could entice the bastard into service…
Otto turned around at the sound from behind and he saw Viserys being carried from the throne and onto the wooden wheel chair, his daughter and the usurper Rhaenrya by his side.
"Excuse me, Ser Tyland." Otto said and he didn't wait for the man's response as he walked up the steps towards the King, and he sent a glance towards Aegon who sat with pregnant Helaena and their children on the right side of the throne, who looked unconcerned and uncaring as he sipped on his cup of wine, a marked difference to worry that was on Helaena's face, and even when their eyes met, Otto showing a disappointed look at his grandson, it did little to change the comportment of his grandson, who only snorted and looked away uncaringly.
Otto clenched his teeth momentarily though he dispelled it as he arrived.
"Your Grace." Otto said concernedly, the raspy gasps of air causing him to look on the masked King with a genuine look of concern on his face.
The guards led by the Kings Guards began to crowd out the nobility that were in the platform with them, closing up a circle around them.
"I must retire for the night." the King rasped out though before he could say anything further, Rhaenyra spoke up.
"Two days in a row for such long hours…it has caught up with him." Rhaenyra's tone of voice was curt and sharp as she stared at Otto with a cool look.
The distasteful woman had tried to get her father to remain in the Red Keep after the opening ceremony, trying to tell him that he was no in no condition to travel far and away from his chambers and it had been a true hassle in trying to convince Viserys otherwise, that it was of great import that the realm see him even in his state.
"I will leave with my husband." Alicent said as she fretted a little over the King.
"There is no need. I shall see to my father's safe return with the Kings Guard." Rhaenyra turned her cool look at his daughter.
"Rhaenyra…stay." Viserys rasped as he placed his gloved and remaining hand on her hand that sat on the arm of the wheel chair. "Let the realm see their future Queen and her heir a while longer."
Alicent flinched at those words, and her hands began to retreat into a clasp where he saw her peeling at the edge of her nails.
"Father…" Rhaenyra tried but Viserys interrupted her.
"Please. Stay." The cool look of Rhaenyra faded as a look of concern took heavy root." If not for my sake, then for your cousin." Viserys rasped out before he lost strength and breathed heavily.
Otto watched as Rhaenyra's expression shifted once more, the concern fading as indignation threatened to lose on her face though that lasted a mere moment as she hid her opposition to the bastard on her face.
"Of course father." Rhaenyra said with a clipped tone of voice as she stepped back and took hold of Daemon the Younger's shoulders.
The masked face of the King turned to Otto. "Otto...bring him to me in the morn…I wish to hear of his trials directly."
"Of course, Your Grace." Otto said with a bow of the head and Viserys signalled the guards to take him and Otto stepped up to his daughter and neared her ear.
"Go with him." Otto murmured quietly and she pulled away before she nodded and followed Viserys out.
Rhaenyra then stepped forward and stood in front of Viserys' throne, staring at him all the while as if she waiting on him to challenge him but he would not. Her inane childishness did not matter…and none of this would matter in the long run.
She looked away from his impassive face and directed her gaze towards the audience who had audibly murmured amongst themselves at the sight of the King being taken away and at this, Otto clenched his teeth for a minute moment before he stepped away.
He'd wanted to address the crowd and though he could fight her on it, and win, it would not look good to do so, so openly in front of everyone.
Otto assuaged the few nobles who inquired after the King and just as he neared his seat, Rhaenyra spoke, the heralds having quieted down the crowd.
"The King has retired for the day but he wishes that we all keep enjoying the Tourney, so much so that His Grace has ordered a free cup of ale to all of the good people of the realm!" Rhaenyra shouted and the crowd cheered in approval.
Otto arrived at his seat where he saw Tyland look back at Rhaenyra, which he stopped doing when Otto took his seat.
"How much of that is true?" Tyland questioned quietly after he too took his seat.
"All of it. The King has retired for the day." Likely rest of the Tourney too.
It was fortunate that there would only be one other day left.
"A shame." Tyland only said and Otto didn't deign to respond to that.
They didn't have to wait long for the next part of the second day of the Tourney as the archery target faces and markers were all removed, and the squires were all introduced in the squire melees finals.
The name Duncan Waters had been amongst the name called out and his name had been one of the more cheered names of the day, undoubtedly the rumours of the bastard's father having circulated around by now.
Duncan Waters…
Otto sat back in his chair as he considered the bastard whilst he waited on the melee finishing in its arrangement.
He'd heard of the bastard – and his brother – over six years ago, having been informed on the matter by the maesters as the King wrote to Claw Isle to inquire on their wellbeing.
It had been somewhat difficult in getting eyes on Claw Isle, the old Lord, and now the new Lord, having some skill in hiding the two boys away from scrutinising eyes, but eyes on them he did have.
Both boys had the looks of old Valyria, with Duncan having the strongest looks out of the pair with Aelor Waters having brown eyes instead of the Valyrian purple.
Raised in a small keep by a man named Gerren of Claw Isle, a commonborn horsekeeper, and a former whore by the name of Falena, the two boys lived in as much luxury as a merchant family and were squired to knights sworn to House Celtigar and often were a sight at the training yards of Claw Isle Keep, with the sons of Bartimos Celtigar.
It also seemed like some of the Keep had been suspicious of the origin of the boys, from what his spies had told him, those some being those who had seen Daemon with their own eyes and whom Duncan Waters had a startling resemblance too.
'Startling indeed' Otto thought grimly as he stared at the boy in poor quality armour amongst the crowd of armoured crowds, the memory of the boys being in front of the Iron Throne just four days ago vivid in his mind.
Viserys had ordered Lord Bartimos to send the bastards to the capital to partake in the Tourney and so they came. And Viserys had dispelled any notion or chance of obscuring their heritage when he'd ordered them to the Royal Chamber before him.
He'd heard Viserys mutter Daemon in a gasp, which thankfully was not overheard by any but himself, Alicent and Rhaenyra, but if one was to picture a Daemon of the same age…he doubted anyone except perhaps Viserys, Prince Baelon the Brave and the Old King would have been able to tell the difference.
Such was the disturbing familiarity of the bastard.
Otto grimaced as the squires moved into position.
He knew then that Viserys would not want to part with them any time soon. The fact that Viserys had invited them to his solar, alone, was only a confirmation that he'd latched onto the bastards where Daemon had left a gaping hole.
The two bastards had known that they were bastards of Daemon for a number of years. Apparently, according to Viserys, they'd been told of their bastardy by their stepfather after a knight who had fought in the Stepstones had told them of the possibility.
The news of Viserys' invitation and acceptance of the bastards to squire with the Kings Guard and to house them in the royal apartments was only a surprise to those who did not understand Viserys…such as Rhaenyra and Alicent.
The death of Daemon was a wound on his heart that Viserys would always blame himself for, just as he would blame himself for the death of Aemma.
The man was built to self-flagellate himself for deeds not in his control.
In any case, the two bastards were now fully aware of their kinship to the King, bastards though they may be, and it was now on Otto to take advantage of it.
It was only fortunate that Rhaenyra, for all of her trained wisdom, was still a fool for what the two bastards represented.
The very keys to destroy the imbalance that existed.
The squires melee began apace, the blunted swords and weapons of six dozen boys and young men clanged and chinked and shattered dully in the wake of the sounds of roars and cheers of the crowd though Otto paid it little mind as he focused on the bastard.
The bastard had some skill with the sword but it was clear that he was no prodigy.
That fact did much to satisfy Otto.
The battles dwindled down rather quickly, six dozen having turned into just over two dozen in no more than three minutes, and when the bastard yielded, he ended up yielding as one of the last ten, an adequate final place for a boy of six and ten of decent talent.
The final victor was a boy from the Crownlands, a Gregory Buckwell who wielded a longsword, who defeated a second son of Lord Lefford in a protracted duel that acquitted both squires well.
He would not be surprised if both were knighted soon hereafter.
"I'm disappointed. I would have thought, like father like son, a tragedy may play out on that pitch." Tyland japed and Otto allowed a smirk to form as he glanced at the Lannister.
"Tragedies are oft only those when they come unexpected." Otto remarked and Tyland chuckled at that as he stood up at the same time Otto stood up and clapped.
"Aye, no truer words." Tyland mused. "Though, for a bastard like him, a royal bastard no less, tragedies can never be unexpected."
At that, Otto said no more, even if he felt Tyland's eyes burning at the side of his face.
A little while later…
The last of the contests of the Tourney had come and gone, as eve threatened to fall, and Otto was accompanied in the carriage with his grandchildren and his great-grandchildren back to the Red Keep.
Jaehaerys the Younger sat next by Jaehaerys the elder, playing with the string of the weirwood bow Robb Rivers gave to his grandson which his grandson had elected to take with him in the carriage, a prize he was unwilling to part off physically, whilst his great-granddaughter Jaehaera was asleep sitting on Helaena's lap, who played with Jaehaera's hair, a faint distant looking smile on her face.
"Helaena, will you get your son to stop pulling at the string?" Jaehaerys the Elder exasperatingly asked as he peeled the boy of three namedays off of the strings, his patience having finally run out.
Otto watched as Helaena glanced at Jaehaerys the Younger, pausing for a moment in her playing with Jaehaera's hair. "It's a very nice bow, brother." Helaena said with a hum before she played with Jaehaera's hair again. "From it fly arrows that catches a blue eye and two souls." Heleana murmured to herself before she hummed quietly as she began to braid Jaehaera's hair.
"I know it's a nice bow and what does that flying arrows bit even mean?" Jaehaerys the Elder asked a little baffled.
"Enough Jaehaerys." Otto's tone of voice was firm and two sets of eyes came his direction and Otto sighed heavily before he smiled a strained smile.
"Not you, little Jaehaerys." He said as the quiet boy bobbed his head and Otto found that acceptable enough to return his gaze to his grandson.
"If you are so concerned about your bow, give it to one of the guards riding with us." Otto said firmly at his grandson who ended up having a face of distaste as he clung a little tighter around his bow. "Otherwise, you can suffer a little more of your nephew's interest in your bow."
The look of resignment made Otto roll his eyes but he said nothing else as he looked out of the carriage, watching the buildings move by as they made the journey towards the Red Keep and he was comforted in the silence.
A silence that didn't last too long when the childish voice of Jaehaerys asked about his father. "Where papa?"
Otto glanced at the boy before he looked back out through the window of the carriage.
It was Jaehaerys the Elder who answered the boy. "He's gone flying with Dreamfyre."
"Dreamfy?" the butchered name of the dragon made Otto wince slightly. The boy was not the brightest of the line of dragons, that much was clear even this young.
Three namedays and innumerable times of correction on correct pronunciations, the boy still butchered names on a frequent basis.
"Dreamfyre." Jaehaerys the Elder corrected with patience. "You remember her, don't you? Big blue dragon with big old teeth. Prettiest dragon there is, just like your father." Jaehaerys said with clear amusement in his tone of voice.
Otto glanced at Jaehaerys the Elder who wore a grin on his face and at Otto's look, he lost it slightly before it regrew as he spoke further and looked at Helaena.
"Of course, that is after your dear mother and her Summer."
"Thank you brother but you were right the first time." Helaena's waifish voice rung out before she looked at young Jaehaerys the Younger with a smile on her face. "Aegon is prettier but he is also a lot more irritating."
At that Jaehaerys the Elder laughed which made little Jaehaera stir in her sleep.
"Don't be so loud. You'll wake her." Helaena scolded, or at least what passed for scolding in his granddaughter.
"My apologies dear sister." Jaehaerys the Elder said, his grin now fully stretched out on his face and Otto looked away from the children, and looked out of the window once more, doing his best to hide his smile at the interaction of his grandchildren.
'If only Jaehaerys or Daeron had been born first…'
That Eve...
A knock on his door interrupted his train of thought and he furrowed his brows slightly as he gazed at the door. Rarely did anyone knock at this hour of the day.
All knew better.
"Come in." Otto declared, wondering who could want to disturb him now and when he saw who was walking into the Lord Hand's Chamber, he struggled to keep his eyebrows from raising.
The Princess shuffled into his Chamber with a fixed look, her hands clasped in front of her as she walked in. She was clearly not happy being here.
Yet she was here.
"Princess." Otto greeted cautiously, the momentary surprise buried away, and cautious interest took root in his mind.
"Lord Hand." Rhaenyra returned with a stiff nod and Otto leaned back in his chair as he gestured her to sit.
"I'll stand." Rhaenyra stated with a strained smile that was far too obvious and Otto nodded only at that as he eyed her intently.
There was a few moments of silence where neither said anything and merely stared one another, and Otto's curiosity was peaking. He was coming to an inkling of an idea of why she might be here, now.
"What may I do for you, Princess?"
At this, Rhaenyra thinned her lips as she looked away from him and took to look around in the candle lit chamber.
"The last time I was here, Lord Strong was still Lord Hand." Rhaenyra stated, taking Otto slightly aback by the comment. She continued. "I see that you have removed all that was his."
"It felt inappropriate to hold onto anything that belonged to House Strong." Otto answered as he took her in as she walked by one of the cabinets he had brought over. It had been the same cabinet he had in his first spell as Lord Hand.
"Yes…" She trailed off as she stopped touching the cabinet and took to look around once more. "I wonder what you did with it all."
"I returned it to Lord Larys, of course." Otto said simply and it wasn't even a lie. The man had said he wanted to…remember his father well.
Otto had thought it strange, naturally, given the man had helped arrange the death of his own father and his brother, for they needed the help as Harrenhal was a different prospect to arrange a fire compared to a small keep in the Dornish Marshes…and had gone out of his way to arrange the death of all of his brother's children.
They'd only wanted the death of Lyonel Strong, and Harwin Strong if the opportunity presented itself so that they could have remove any ardent Rhaenyra supporters from Harrenhal, but it had gone far beyond that.
He'd have thought the man had at least some scruples about killing his brother's children, but it seemed that his daughter misrepresented the man in her letters.
He was a cold-blooded opportunist that they would have to dispose of when it was more convenient.
"Yes, of course." Rhaenyra said as she levelled a look at him once more, and once more there was a pregnant pause in their dialogue.
"The Bastards."
Otto tilted his head, inwardly satisfied that he guessed her reason to visit correctly.
"Duncan and Aelor Waters."
Rhaenyra's lips thinned and he could tell their very name insulted her.
Or rather, insulted Baelon and his mother.
It was bad enough with two female bastards of Daemon that Aegon had taken in himself and married to his children but that was a problem that could be easily ignored, a slight on Rhea Royce that could be forgotten, but these two bastards?
That was a whole different matter.
"What do you plan on doing with them?"
"Nothing more than what the King has commanded of me." Otto stated simply as he watched her, wondering what she might have in that wretched mind that could have convinced him that they had some kind of strange unimaginable common cause.
Rhaenyra's nostrils flared as her eyes narrowed. "Have both bastards sent back to their island. They have no place here."
Otto would have laughed if he had been so unrefined.
The fact that she recognises that he has the authority to do, finally, and speak it so loudly, finally, was amusing to him.
Though, as amusing as it was, it was also clear affirmation that his presence and authority, was the reason why she and her husband retreated from Kings Landing.
As unfortunate as that was, for it made trapping her when the time was right difficult, it was still satisfying to hear from her very mouth.
Though he doubted she would ever have the spark of intelligence to recognise her foolish admittance.
"I agree." Otto said with a faint smile, one he kept as he continued on speaking.
"Bastards have no place amongst royalty. You will find no resistance from me should you orchestrate their departure, Princess." The twitch of her eye made it clear that she was not fooled by his comment.
Rhaenyra was many things. Airheaded, a fool of a girl, unworthy and undeserving of the throne, but unfortunately not as much as a fool as he'd hoped her to be.
The last decade under the guidance of Daemon's widow, of all people, had put paid to that.
Forcing the bastards away would only invite Viserys' wroth and though he was infirm, he was still King and a King's wroth was a terribly dangerous thing.
"I am rather surprised that this is your response. Given how much the Faith matters to you and your daughter. I would have thought you would not suffer the presence of bastards, particularly the ones of my late uncle, especially with one who is so similar to my uncle in looks…and in personality."
Otto stretched his hands. "As I said…I agree. I would be more than happy to see the last of the bastards and send them back to the hole they crawled out of." Otto said calmly as he met Rhaenyra's gaze. "Unfortunately, the King sees differently. Perhaps you can convince him otherwise. The bastards have lived away from Kings Landing before…perhaps they shall again."
Viserys would never permit it.
Not after he'd seen Duncan.
And from the look Rhaenyra was giving him, she knew it too.
"I see." Rhaenyra said stiffly and Otto frowned at the way she was looking at him though he could not dwell on it for long as she began to move. "Good day." She said, equally as stiffly and lack of warmth as before.
Otto only inclined his head slightly and he watched her go and he tapped his finger on the table, musing on the odd interaction with the would be Usurper.
'I wonder…'
Rhaenyra was not the fool girl of before. Why seek him out? Especially on a matter that he would have no control over, not when Viserys, who still possessed his wits for the most part, would over rule him in an instant?
Did she really think that they could join hands…unless…unless she wanted to see his reactions to the bastards?
He'd only shown that he cared not for them but his refusal to help might have appeared as something else…as convenient.
"It is fortunate Baelon undoubtedly hates them…" Otto murmured to himself.
Especially since the two bastards look more like Daemon than he does, a fact that he found most convenient in his ploys to bind the bastards to Aegon's cause.
Of course, it helped that the Usurper's side had most of the large dragons on their side, negating the threat the bastards possess, which they were undoubtedly aware of.
If Baelon and his grandchildren could bond with dragons, hatch dragons, then the bastards, who though born of whores and impure blood, but still borne of Daemon, well…it was clear that the blood, however tainted with that of whore's blood, would be strong enough to allow two more dragonriders.
But for Rhaenyra and her supporters…the use of two more dragonriders were non-existent. There was only Sheepstealer and the Cannibal remaining of the large dragons and both were wild dragons.
And Sheepstealer, which was said to be a much milder disposition than the Cannibal, which was not saying much given the reputation of the elusive dragon, was still far more dangerous than Ghost, the wild dragon Daemon the Younger had matched with after moons of effort.
For them, two more potential dragonriders on dragons that were unlikely to ever be matched with by any Targaryen, was no use…and they likely thought the same for his family.
And they would be right…
If he did not have a plan to ensure that they would have some use for his family.
"Forgive me old friend…but you have refused to see sense." Otto murmured to himself with no small amount of sorrow.
He hated the necessity of it but they had come too far for too long to be denied what was rightfully theirs.
Otto shook his head and began his work again, and forgetting his ploys had come easily to him, as he fell into his work once more.
The Next Morn…
"My Lord." The servant said as she curtsied as she entered his chambers. "The King is now free. The Princess has now left his chambers."
Otto stood up from his seat. "You may leave." Otto instructed as he began to close up his documents and it wasn't long before he was out of the office and made his way towards the King's bedchambers.
The Kings Guard stepped aside as he arrived and he walked in without a further word, and he was greeted by the sight of the maesters tending to the King's wounds. Otto suppressed a grimace as he took in Viserys' face.
It was marred with scars, terrible thick scares, and a cloth was wrapped around his right eye. His body, once full, was now a gaunt thing similarly marred with scares and wounds that missed an arm and could well lose another with short suddenness.
"Otto…" Viserys rasped as he looked upon Otto. "Have you come to dissuade me too of taking in young Duncan and Aelor?"
"Your Grace." Otto said with a bow of the head before he straightened. "No, Your Grace. I have not. Though it is unusual, I am aware that these two young men are kin to you."
"Perhaps only to myself." There was a bitter note to Viserys' tone of voice. "Rhaenyra will not see them as family." Viserys winced as the maesters dressed a wound on his back.
Otto neared Viserys. "Perhaps the betrayal of Rhea Royce makes it too hard for her to acknowledge them." Otto said reasonably.
Viserys laughed and Otto knew then that she likely used this argument when she was inevitably forced to backtrack.
"The fault of the father is not with the children."
Otto inclined his head in agreement. 'That should be the way, what the Seven teach us but rarely do we have such forgiveness in our hearts' Otto mused to himself.
Sons inherited the faults of their father, nearly always. The Blackwood-Bracken feud was the singularly utmost example of this fault of men.
"There's so much of Daemon in them…especially in Duncan…" Viserys smiled wanly at that, and it almost seemed blissful in a strange way.
"I hope not too much." Otto said with a faint smile and Viserys struggled not to laugh.
"I do not think the Realm could handle a young Daemon again so soon." Viserys said with a genuine smile on his face and Otto couldn't help but wonder at it.
Loss truly did enhance the virtues of the departed.
The times that Viserys had agonised over his brother were far more than he'd ever cherished his brother's presence, and the times that Daemon had been close, Viserys had always been more short and moody than at any time Daemon wasn't close.
The only times that rivalled the lamentation Viserys went through was when his youngest brother had been the cause of discussion. Otto might not have been around for those instances, but Alicent had told him enough about it.
So truly, it was a wonder to see Viserys smile at the headache that was Daemon.
"If you wish for you, your sons can take the young men under their wing. I am sure they would be interested to know their cousins who are closer of age."
Viserys stopped smiling and looked at Otto. Really looked.
He briefly wondered if he mis-stepped…
"I would have thought you less keen on them given…"
"As Your Grace said." Otto said with a light bow of the head "The fault is not with the children. Who can control from whom they are born…and how."
Viserys remained silent for some time and Otto wondered what he might be thinking at this stage. Was Rhaenyra smart? Did she warn him of the possibility of his interest in the bastards?
"Yes…yes…I had thought to do so as well. To have them know each other as cousins should." Viserys said finally. "I had not yet brought it up with Alicent yet."
"She might not approve." Otto conceded, mingling in truth. "However I shall speak with her and remind her that their origin is not something to be blamed on them."
"You would?" Viserys asked as he looked at Otto and Otto nodded firmly.
"I would. As I would speak with my grandsons." Otto said and he softened his face slightly. "I am aware how much they mean to you, Your Grace. I would help ease your burden by ensuring that their wellbeing is looked after as much as possible."
Viserys sighed heavily. "Thank you Otto. At times, I have wondered if I did the right thing in keeping a distance. I see now it was another mistake of mine. I should have had them raised with my sons. They could have been as close as brothers then."
"There's time yet." Otto remarked and Viserys softly chuckled.
"Yes, there is."
There was a lull in the conversation, one that Viserys broke. "What was it that you wished of me, Otto? You did not come to see me to speak to me about Duncan and Aelor, did you?"
Otto nodded slightly. "I wanted to see if you were able to see to the last Tourney."
He knew very well that Viserys wasn't but it was the excuse he had prepared for when he learnt that Rhaenyra had entered Viserys' bedchambers.
Viserys grimaced before he shook his head slightly. "No. I do not have it in me." Viserys said with a sad smile. "It might just kill me if I attempt it." He said with a laugh in his tone of voice and Otto grimaced at that.
It wouldn't be disastrous if Viserys did die this very instance.
In all honesty…he'd even consider orchestrating it when he learnt that Rhaenyra was going to be in attendance with Daemon the Younger.
The death of Rhaenyra and Daemon the Younger in the wake of Viserys' death was an enticing prospect, especially with Laena in attendance, but it had only been a vague thought, one that he hoped he would not regret.
The main matter that stayed his hand was that though Rhaenyra's death, and of course her heir, along with Laena who of course would not be killed but instead imprisoned to ensure Vhagar could not be used, would be a bitter blow to the legitimacy of the Blacks' cause, it was not one that changed matters enough into their favour.
Not enough to overcome the poisonous narrative that would come from the quick succession of deaths of Viserys, Rhaenyra and Daemon the Younger.
It might well cause enough of a stir that it would cause their support to fall apart, especially if Baelon championed Viserys the Younger as the new heir to the Iron Throne, whose symbolism accompanied by the acts of treachery could sour up any support they presently have…along with those who were undecided.
No, it was not the right move to obtain victory.
"Do not look so concerned, my friend." Viserys said warmly to Otto, drawing him out of his thoughts. "I will live for a while longer, thanks to the good maesters here."
"Your Grace honours us." One of the maesters intoned with a light smile.
"May you live for as long as possible, Your Grace, for there has been no finer champion to peace." Otto said as honestly as he was able. For all that he was looking out for his family, the peace Viserys garnered was one to be admired.
There were few of his kind in House Targaryen that earns such admiration.
Viserys smiled at that before he winced once more as the maesters wrapped fresh cloth around him. "I will not attend, Otto. However, I would like there to be a meal with the rest of the family, including Duncan and Aelor, this eve."
"Of course, Your Grace." Otto said with a bow of the head.
A few days later…
He stood at the gates of the Red Keep, waiting as Aemond rode towards the gates.
"Aemond." He greeted his grandson as the boy of seven and ten namedays dismounted and walked towards him in his now familiar confident stride, adorned in night-black attires, his face set in an impassive cold look.
"Grandfather." Aemond greeted back with a stiff nod, none of the warmth of his mother or the mocking of his elder brother present in his tone of voice.
Otto turned his body to the side and gestured his second eldest grandson to walk with him, which Aemond acquiesced to.
"How is your brother?" Otto asked, asking about Daeron who was being fostered with his brother and the rest of House Hightower.
Initially, the plan had been for Jaehaerys to go but after Daeron had been born, the choice had been made instead for Daeron to go as the youngest of the family.
Jaehaerys had instead been planned to foster with the Baratheons but Viserys had denied that, much to their surprise though he understood why. Fostering, whilst no equal to a marriage alliance, was still an effective means to create bonds.
And Viserys, though he preferred to be blind to those around him, was not so blind to know the consequences of such bonds, and it had also been why the man had offered instead that Jaehaerys be fostered with Baelon, something that Alicent had rejected and summarily ended any further attempts of fostering – and marriages – to Great Houses. Daeron fostering with his kin was the sole exception to this.
"He is well." Aemond allowed a light smile to form though it soon gave way to one of dark amusement. "He's taken well to the Hightower, so much so we might not recognise him as one of us."
Daeron had been sent earlier in the year and after it was known that Rhaenyra would be coming, with Daemon the Younger in heel, Otto had suggested that Aemond take to visit his brother until at least Rhaenyra had left.
Rhaenyra had left yesterday and the response had been quick, and the return had been quicker than expected.
"And yourself? You have returned quicker than expected. Did you not enjoy your mother's home?" Otto questioned, and there was genuine curiosity there.
Aemond…
Aemond was…different.
He was hot-tempered, wilful and had a harsh nature to him. It was true irony that the man Otto had hated for so long and opposed so strongly had ended up having a terrible mirror in Otto's own grandson.
The dragon Caraxes had only emboldened that irony.
"It was pleasant enough but it is not my home." Aemond remarked as he stared directly into Otto's eyes. "And speaking of my home…what is it that I hear that my home has been invaded by a pair of bastards? Daemon's no less?"
Otto sighed heavily as he looked around to doubly ensure that the guards that surrounded them were the ones that were loyal to him.
He'd sent back word to his brother the moment Viserys had decided on his course of action and kept him up to date. The last letter he'd sent about the bastards, he'd asked Hobert to make sure Aemond was at least aware of it. It would save time.
"Your father has taking a liking to them." Otto said with a thin smile. "They resemble your deceased uncle quite so. Particularly the one named Duncan."
"And what does mother think?" Aemond asked with amusement on his face, though there was some eagerness there too, undoubtedly eagerness to hear the wrath of his mother on the matter of bastards, which Alicent likely made sure her sons would be to know.
"Your mother has the same opinion on them as I do." Otto said as he looked Aemond before he looked towards the gardens of the Red Keep where he began to walk towards, gesturing for Aemond to follow.
"Oh?" Aemond asked and Otto glanced at the boy and he saw Aemond looking at him intently with a disturbing glint in his eyes.
"And pray tell, what is your opinion of them?"
"That they are your cousins and that you would do well to form a bond with them." Otto said quietly as they arrived on the steps that led to the gardens.
Aemond laughed. "What?" he said disbelievingly before he shook his head. "You're having me on, grandsire. This might work on a dullard like Aegon but it won't work on me." The arrogant boy said with a smirk on his face and Otto rounded around at Aemond, his eyes narrowing.
"Do not speak of your elder brother that way, grandson. Not in my company, not in any company." Otto said warningly as he stared up at his grandson. "I do not know, and I do not care, what your childish issues are with your brother but you will respect him, even if only because he is your elder." 'Because he will be your King' was left unsaid but Aemond understood that well enough. "Is that understood."
Otto watched Aemond clenching his teeth and breathing in and out through his nose but finally, after a long few moments, he stiffly nodded his understanding.
Otto remained looking at him for a moment longer before he nodded too and resumed his walking. "They are your cousins and they have a place of honour bestowed to them by your father. Despite their origin."
"I am sure I have plenty of other bastard cousins by Daemon running around. What's that now? Four cousins? What's another half dozen or so? That doesn't mean we should be inviting them in." Aemond said seriously, his face wearing some offense at the thought.
"There will be no more." Otto stated after he looked around to make sure no one was around to overhear as they entered the gardens.
They had searched all of Kings Landing for more of Daemon's bastards, even paid the whores to let them know of even a whaff of a rumour of royal bastards born from Daemon but they had heard of no other, fortunately.
At this Aemond looked quite interested.
"The four are the only one it seems." Otto said annoyed at his grandson. Truthfully, why were their fortunes so hampered that the most important grandsons were also the ones who were the most unreliable and dangerous?
"Nonetheless" Otto began as he turned around and faced Aemond, his expression grave. "I want you to befriend the two bastards. Train with them. Make them as tied as possible to our cause. It is imperative that you do so, Aemond."
At this, Aemond startled before he narrowed his eyes at Otto, though it was not one of anger but one of calculation. "You want me to train with bastards? Befriend the bastards? Daemon's bastards?"
"Yes." Otto said simply and the simplistic answer took Aemond aback and Otto sighed long-sufferingly.
"I do not have to tell you of our…difficult circumstance." Otto said with thinned lips and Aemond narrowed his eyes once more before he sharply nodded.
Good. His brother had no doubt made sure to drill into the boy's head of the situation they were in. The war that was coming if things did not align themselves to allow them to get rid of Rhaenyra and her brood in swift move.
"I can understand why you might want to use them but there are no dragons for them to claim. At least not here and somehow I doubt my half-sister will permit the bastards from attempting to tame Sheepstealer." Aemond surmised.
Otto's lips thinned at those words. Yes, they wouldn't be able to go to Dragonstone and even make the attempt. He was quite sure an accident would sooner befall the bastards.
"Mayhaps you would use them to entreaty with their bastard sisters married to our heretic cousins but I cannot imagine even you would want to antagonise the Faith." Aemond surmised further, a trace of a smirk growing on his face and Otto grew irritated at the boy.
Otto was not above choosing pragmatism over morality and had things been just a bit different, he might well have sought out an alliance with the heretic.
The Dornish or the Manderlys were both sects of the Faith that were disapproved off but still begrudgingly accepted, after all. But unfortunately the heresy was too severe. Changing the very book of the Gods, claiming Elamaerys as a piece of the Seven Heavens, proclaiming Aegon as prophet…no…no, it was all far too many bridges too far and no argument would see the Faith change their mind.
Besides, it was clear that the heretic supported his brother's choice of heir, even if Otto was incredibly doubtful he would come to defend her rights.
The acknowledgement was no more worth than the paper that it was written on, especially given that Rhaenyra, or Baelon, had done nothing to endear themselves to their uncle.
If anything, their denouncement along with Viserys had ensured that very instance and he doubted that the heretic would not have heard about it.
So that could only mean that the heretic nor his children would come to defend the rights who had disavowed them in the eyes of the realm.
This Otto was sure off.
And Otto was content to leave them be where they are for as long as possible, and he could only hope that his brother would fall dead before his idiotic desires of taking Elamaerys for House Hightower could take root in his nephew's ears.
Aemond eyed him intently. "So that means you're planning something else." Aemond said slowly, his eyes narrowing. "You and granduncle. Tell me."
"Watch your tone." Otto warned irritated and Aemond stiffly nodded but kept his sharp eyes on Otto.
Otto shook his head as he considered letting the boy know more of their plans though before he could think too much on it, Aemond spoke up.
"Who else are you going to confide in, grandsire?" Aemond asked and Otto met his grandson's gaze.
"Mother?" Aemond scoffed and Otto's brow twitched at the disrespectful tone the boy used about his mother. "She tries but she is no more capable than Helaena is."
"Aegon?" At this Aemond's expression took on a darker look. "My older brother cannot be relied on." There was more he wanted to say but he did not.
Aemond looked around before he spoke further. "And if you want him on the throne, you will need me." Aemond said confidently as he stepped closer to Otto.
"And not just my dragon. You will need a Prince who can fight. Who can lead battles. Who can make the hard choices we both know Aegon would not want to do."
"Enough." Otto said sharply and Aemond ceased his chattering and Otto looked around at the gardens and saw at the far end some of the servants.
Nothing to be concerned about.
Otto rounded back around to face Aemond and decided to give the boy some information. "There are plans afoot that will allow us to…even out the numbers, should it be needed."
Aemond narrowed his eyes but the boy remained quiet for a few moments as he considered that. "Even out the numbers…" Aemond murmured and his eyes turned sharp as he looked at Otto.
"Do not say what you are thinking. It is clear you understand." Otto said irritably as he tugged with the edge of his sleeves, his gaze looking around. "We will speak no more on this." Otto raised his hand. "Not here, not now."
Aemond didn't look pleased but nodded nonetheless.
"Now." Otto began, tiring quickly and losing his patience. "Will you do as you are required to do and befriend them?"
Aemond pursed his lips and Otto was going through an exercise to keep his patience but finally, the boy nodded his head.
"I'll befriend them."
"Good. And make sure it is as true as possible. The bastards are not dim-witted." Otto said harshly. The last thing they wanted is for the bastards to grow suspicious.
"It's why you came to me and not Aegon or Jaehaerys, is it not?" Aemond said with an arrogant smirk. "Don't worry grandsire, I will make them loyal to us."
Otto clenched his teeth minutely before he stiffly nodded. "Good. Now let's go and see your father." At this Aemond's arrogant smirk fell off and a dark sour look passed instead. Aemond had never forgiven his father for what happened on Driftmark…nor the chastisement that had followed after claiming Caraxes.
It was the worst trait of his. His inability to forgive, or even have the want to forgive. The boy carried ever little slight. He was worse than the heretic Aegon the Elder was in this regard.
"Very well." Aemond remarked, a lot quietly and a lot broodier and Otto only sighed inwardly. 'Aegon may be a drunk but at least he is easier to control. The realm will be far better off with him as King than Aemond. If only Jaehaerys or Daeron had been born first…'
-Break-
Late 126 AC – Kings Landing, the Red Keep
Aelor (Bastard Son of Daemon Targaryen) POV
He groaned as he woke up and he blinked his eyes for some time before he felt awake enough to turn and face the light from the windows, windows that were made of glass almost as clear as the skies.
"Still not a dream, is it?" Aelor murmured to himself as he looked away and stared at the ceiling. To think less than a moon ago they were in their small home, on harder beds in smaller rooms with open windows with only wooden shutters…
And now they were here, in the Red Keep, in the royal apartments!
Aelor sat up in his bed and shook his head. It still did not feel real.
Aelor washed his face with the bowl of water before he dressed himself and it was during his dressing that the doors to his chambers opened.
"Milord." The maid greeted as she curtsied, her hands full of fresh bedding.
Aelor fixed her with a smile. He would have corrected her, to call him just Aelor for he was no lord and he was no ser, but she would not respond and just leave, only to address him once more as milord the next time. Like the others did.
He stood away as she did the bedding and soon left his chambers, making his way towards his brother's apartment which was just a few paces away.
As always, he kept on looking around, looking at the red stones of the halls. It was nothing, just stone, but each time he walked on the stones, gazed upon the red stone walls, he was reminded how much he didn't belong here.
'Mother…Lora, Bartholomew…father…' Aelor thought of his family back on Claw Isle with a tang of guilt in his heart and Aelor had to forcibly shake his head at the thoughts of his family. Even if he wanted to return…they would not let him.
He opened the door to his brother's room and he was amused to see his brother still knocked out, sprawled out on his bed, not even stirring one bit at the sound of the door opening…or his steps.
Aelor glanced at the bowl of water and for a brief moment he contemplated dosing his brother with it but he would rather not antagonise his brother when they were set to train with the princes, lest his brother seek to embarrass in front of them as payback. Duncan had a mean streak in him, after all, one that made him act before thinking.
Instead, Aelor dragged one of the chairs against the stone floor and the sound did made Duncan stir but not enough to wake him and Aelor lifted up the chair before he set it harsh against the ground, a loud bang that did make Duncan jump slightly, his eyes shooting wide.
"Wha-…" Duncan managed as he looked around until he saw Aelor standing behind a chair by his bed. At the sight of Aelor, Duncan got most of the drowsiness to fade away. "Aelor…" Duncan growled.
"You wanted me to make sure you wouldn't be late." Aelor said with a raised brow and Duncan turned to have a look of distaste before he fell down on the bed, grunting his acceptance of Aelor's actions.
"You could have been gentler." Duncan groused.
"You sleep like a rock." Aelor deadpanned. "Nothing short of a rock crashing can wake your lazing arse up."
"I'm many things brother, but lazing I am not." Duncan said as he threw one of the pillows at Aelor and Aelor caught it.
Duncan sighed before he sat up on the bed and looked around. "Did the maids come already?" Aelor looked around and it did look like the room had been cleaned. "Why didn't they wake me?"
"It's not their job to wake you." Aelor said tiredly.
"You don't have to say it like that." Duncan murmured as he threw aside the duvet and stood up in his full nakedness.
"If I don't, you might just think that this is all normal." Aelor murmured a bit louder than he wanted, loud enough that Duncan heard him, at the words Duncan had stiffened for a moment before he relaxed, likely with great effort, and washed his face with the water from the basin.
Aelor would have felt bad if it wasn't for the fact that his brother was indeed getting far too comfortable with this…circumstance.
They were bastards.
They were not Princes.
They lived entirely on the charity of the King, who saw in them his brother, their true father, and only him.
The amounts of time that the ailing King had called Duncan Daemon…
"Brother, if you keep on being so sullen, I might just beat you into the ground until you spring out of it happy as our Griefswind." Duncan said as he turned around whilst he dressed himself, an unamused look on his face.
Griefswind was their donkey. It was a happy donkey that loved affection and did these short noises that sounded like it was laughing. Only when they were older did they learn that there was something seriously wrong with their donkey as none of the other donkeys of the families around them behaved in the same way.
Mother once said that Griefswind, a name made in jest by their father, had been born from the earth instead of from a womb, which was why it was so happy.
It took them some time to realise their mother had been jesting with them.
"I doubt even that would work. Unless you hit me over the head and make me lose my sense." Aelor half-quipped and it garnered him a long sufferingly sigh as Duncan looked at the ceiling and Aelor turned serious at the sight.
"Dunc…"
"No Aelor." Duncan interjected sharply. "I don't want to hear it. You've said it plenty of times already since we've arrived here."
Duncan walked over to him, a heavy serious look on his face and his brother and his best friend took hold of his shoulders.
"You know how Gerren has always looked at us, brother." Duncan said seriously as he spoke of their father…their step-father. "Remember? We always used to wonder why he looked at us like that when he didn't look at Lora like that."
It was true. Gerren had this…look, one that was without much warmth. He often used it in a stare against them. Whenever they did anything wrong or even when they were simply out in the stables with the horses…he'd give them that look.
When Lora, their sister, was born, Gerren hadn't look at her like that. Nor did he thin his lips when she called him father or papa.
At the time, children as they were, they thought perhaps it was because she was a girl, and perhaps because she was loud. Duncan had hated Lora for a while and Aelor was ashamed to admit that he had too and that they'd taken it out on her.
Gerren had come the closest to hurting them that one day, when they'd pushed Lora into the ground, only their mother's warning stopping him from doing so.
And later, when he learnt of their origin, he'd remembered that look, the moment when he'd stopped. It had been a look of fear.
"Or when he didn't look at Bartholomew the same way either." Duncan continued.
"He isn't our father, Aelor. Accept it." Duncan finished as he tightened his hands around Aelor's shoulders and Aelor felt a fury grew from within and he swept aside Duncan's hands.
"Do you think that this is about, Dunc?" Aelor said with anger in his voice.
"Not completely but at least part of it." Duncan said with a careless shrug that angered Aelor more. Duncan continued. "You don't want to accept that this is where we belong. Where our father came from."
Aelor couldn't help it, he laughed. "Dunc…we're bastards." Aelor stressed and he could easily tell that Duncan was hurt by the reminder. Good. They'd always be known for being bastards now.
"We're no longer Aelor of Claw Isle. Duncan of Claw Isle. Son of Gerren of Claw Isle. Instead, we are bastards of Prince Daemon."
"For now." Duncan said with a set jaw, anger long brewing in his eyes. "Orys Baratheon was a bastard too but he rose to become a Lord. A Great Lord." Duncan then smirked though that anger remained. "I would settle for just for becoming a Lord however."
Aelor gaped at his brother's audacity. "What?" Aelor asked disbelievingly.
Duncan sighed before he shook his head and walked away from Aelor. "Brother, I know you're smart but sometimes…" Duncan trailed off before he picked up his belt and wrapped it around his waist, turning around to face Aelor as he did so.
"The King wants us because we look like our father. And only because of that." Duncan said to his brother before he continued. "But the princes? Particularly Prince Aemond and Prince Jaehaerys? They are friendly…too friendly."
"Oh." Aelor could only say and he realised he hadn't really asked what his brother has been thinking, truly thinking, about the whole situation.
"Yes, oh." Duncan said with a roll of the eyes. "As you say…we're not…like them." Duncan said with some discomfort, obviously unwilling to voice out what they were with his own voice and words.
"But they seem to be ignoring it. Why?" Duncan posed.
"I'm not sure." Aelor said with a furrow of the brows though deep inside him, he knew. He knew as everyone else knew.
Duncan rolled his eyes again. "Of course you're not sure. Now who is pretending?"
Aelor pursed his lips before he nodded slowly and Duncan returned the nod.
"So you see?" Duncan said as he finished doing his belt and returned closer to Aelor. "This is our chance." Duncan said lowly. "I don't care that Daemon is our father. From what we've learnt over the years, it's likely we would never have met him anyway."
"He would have likely had us killed before he would have acknowledged us." Aelor stated grimly and Duncan's eye twitched before he nodded stiffly.
"He probably would have." Duncan paused for a moment and a softer look came across his face. "Do not think I do not care for Gerren. He was our father in the ways that counted the most. He made sure we were well taken care of. For that, I, we, owe him a debt, but he is also the past." Duncan said as he stared directly into Aelor's eyes.
"And you need to see that too. Yes we're not like them but we can be more. This is our chance. We only need to seize it." Duncan stated passionately as he took hold of Aelor's shoulders once more.
"But will they?" Aelor murmured, as fear seized his heart. They might not have been educated as the Lord's children of Claw Isle, but they were taught enough. They knew that bastards were highly looked down on. And to see bastards rise…
Duncan's expression cycled through a number of emotions before they settled on determination. "They will because we will do whatever it takes for them to let us seize it. They want loyal dogs…they'll get loyal dogs."
Aelor saw it better now, clearer. His brother had been acting with Prince Aemond, behaving in a way that alien to him. He'd known that his brother was doing it to get the Prince to like him but now…he knew the wider scope of it.
"And our…brother?"
At this, Duncan's expression turned into stone coldness.
The King had told them that Baelon had been told of their existence and that they might receive a letter from him. They had not. And they had not asked any further on him, especially with the way the King had avoided talking about Baelon at all.
Their half-brother had no interest in getting to know his bastard brothers.
"He had his chance." Duncan only said and Aelor grimaced before he sighed and nodded.
It seems like they'd wed their fortunes to those who had want of them as loyal dogs.
Duncan then smiled and tapped Aelor's shoulders though he took on a ponderous look, which confused Aelor.
"Clawwyrm or Firewyrm." Duncan stated and he seemed to tasting the words on his tongue.
"What?" Aelor asked confused.
"The names I'm thinking of taking when I get a Lordship." Duncan said with a grin and the words cleared up any confusion Aelor had.
Aelor snorted. "Neither. They're terrible names." And entirely too close in meaning with the Bloodwyrm, Caraxes, which was of course his brother's intent.
"Firewyrm. Duncan Firewyrm." His brother declared and he looked inordinately pleased with the naming before he grinned at Aelor and swept him into a one arm hug. "Duncan and Aelor of House Firewyrm." He said, his grin widening. "Come on, brother, surely you can admit it sounds great."
"It sounds like a name we'd make when we were children." Aelor deadpanned though there was a smile on his face.
"Oh? Why don't you come up with something then, arsewipe?" Duncan challenged with a laugh.
"Bloodclaws." Aelor said with a serious expression and Duncan laughed louder and Aelor continued. "Bloodbones. Bloodtwines"
"Enough, enough!" Duncan laughed "And you dare say that I am terrible!"
"I did not say my names would be much better." Aelor said with a laugh of his own and the two brothers laughed themselves silly before they finally left the apartment and made their way to the training halls, together.
And though neither would know it, it would one of the last times the two brothers would laugh together so carefree in the years to come.
-Break-
The Dance of the Dragons
The Years before the Dance
The Tourney of 126 AC marks the arrival of one of the most infamous actors in the Dance of the Dragons.
Duncan Waters.
Some would claim him to be the Rogue Prince reborn.
From accounts of that time, Duncan Waters did exhibit some of the traits Daemon Targaryen had been known for – ambitiousness, moodiness and charm – however one must be warned that such comparisons are likely inflated due to the striking resemblance of Duncan Waters to his sire.
Most accounts of the time suggest that Duncan Waters was, above all else, an opportunist, and his accounted crimes during the Dance of the Dragon suggest it to be true….