Serpent and Blood

The great hall of the Red Keep buzzed with quiet anticipation as Prince Daeron Targaryen made his return to King’s Landing. The youngest son of Alicent and Viserys arrived with an air of polite resignation. His mannerisms and face betrayed little of the emotions churning inside him. Alicent had arranged a warm but intimate greeting which included her own father, Otto Hightower, in courtyard.

“Mother,” Daeron said, bowing low before Alicent as he approached. His voice was soft, yet it carried an underlying firmness.

“My son,” Alicent replied, stepping forward to clasp his hands. She studied his face carefully, searching for any hint of change. “You’ve grown much in your time away. Tell me, how was your fostering?”

Daeron smiled faintly. “The Celitgars are kind hosts. I learned a great deal about diplomacy and the governance of smaller holdings. Lord Bartimos is an astute ruler and has a way of making one feel at home.Their loyalty to the Crown. Their respect for the traditions of Old Valyria. Their admiration for King Viserys and his wisdom. Were all the focus of my stay.”He tilted his head slightly. “I listened, as a good guest should. But my loyalty is to my family, as it has always been.”

Alicent’s smile was tight, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. “Good. You’ve returned to us at a crucial time, Daeron. Your place here will be important in the days to come.”

Daeron inclined his head, his politeness impeccable. “I am here to serve, Mother. Whatever you and Father need of me.”
*******************
Later, Daeron found himself alone with his father, King Viserys, in the royal chambers. The king looked older than Daeron remembered, his face lined with pain and weariness. Yet there was a warmth in his eyes as he gestured for his son to sit.

“Come, Daeron,” Viserys said, his voice hoarse but welcoming. “Tell me of your time with the Celitgars. You always were my most curious child—what did you learn?”

Daeron settled into the chair opposite his father. “Much, Father. They have a great reverence for the history of our ancestors. They shared with me tales of Old Valyria, especially the women who ruled before the Doom. Did you know there were queens who wielded power equal to kings, guiding their people through times of peace and war?”

Viserys chuckled weakly. “I know of them, though I confess it has been many years since I studied those histories. But you are right to bring them up—Valyrian women were formidable. They were the strength of their houses.”

Daeron nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It reminded me of Rhaenyra,” he said carefully. “Her governance of Dragonstone has been remarkable. She’s improved the fortifications, established better trade with Essos, and even started schools for the children there. It is said she rules with both wisdom and strength, much like those queens of Valyria.”

Viserys smiled faintly, pride flickering across his face. “Rhaenyra has always been her mother’s daughter. Aemma would have been proud.”

Daeron leaned forward slightly. “Father, I must tell you something. While at the Celitgars, I had a… vision. A dream, I suppose you could call it. Tessarion came to me. She spoke to me—not in words, but in feelings, in light. She showed me a path, one I believe I am meant to follow.”

Viserys’ brows furrowed. “What path is that, my son?”

Daeron hesitated, then met his father’s gaze. “To become a priest of The Fourteen Flames. To dedicate my life to the old ways, to the preservation of our history and traditions.”

Viserys sat back, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he sighed deeply. “You have always been guided by your heart, Daeron. But this path you speak of… it is not one your mother would understand. You must keep this to yourself for now, until we can determine how best to proceed.”

Daeron nodded. “I understand, Father. I will wait. But know that my heart is set on this path. Tessarion showed me the light, and I cannot ignore it.”

Viserys reached out, clasping his son’s hand. “I believe in you, Daeron. You are a true Targaryen, no matter what path you choose.”

The two sat in quiet understanding, the weight of their shared secret settling between them. For the first time in years, Daeron felt truly seen.

**********************************

The clack of boots echoed through the halls of the Red Keep as Otto Hightower strode purposefully toward the council chambers. A chill had settled in his chest ever since the news reached him: Daemon Targaryen had been reinstated as Commander of the City Watch. It was a move Otto had long feared, and one he knew would tip the balance of power further in Rhaenyra’s favor.

When Otto arrived, King Viserys was seated at the head of the table, his expression weary but firm. He seemed more resolute than usual, perhaps bolstered by recent treatments from those Essosi healers his daughter had summoned. The sight of Viserys’ improved health was almost enough to shake Otto’s composure—almost.

“Your Grace,” Otto began with a deferential bow, the measured tone of a man choosing his words carefully. “I understand you have reinstated your brother as Commander of the City Watch.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow but didn’t look up from the document he was reading. “Yes, Otto. I have. The gold cloaks served well under Daemon’s leadership before. The streets were safer then than they’ve ever been.”

Otto forced a thin smile. “Safe, perhaps, but at what cost? Your brother’s methods, while effective, have been… excessive. Surely you remember the violence of his so-called ‘cleansing’ of the city.”

Finally, Viserys looked up, his gaze sharp. “I do remember, Otto. I also remember that the people slept easier in their beds. Daemon may be unorthodox, but he gets results. And he has assured me his priority is the safety of our people—of our family.”

“Your Grace,” Otto pressed, his voice soft but insistent, “Daemon’s return to power could be seen as a threat to the stability of the realm. His temperament—”

“Is not yours to question,” Viserys interrupted, his tone icy. “Daemon is my brother. Whatever his faults, his loyalty to this family is unwavering. That is more than I can say for some.”

The words struck Otto like a blow. He straightened, clasping his hands behind his back to hide the tension in his knuckles. “I would only counsel caution, Your Grace. Though I am no longer your Hand, it is my duty to protect you and your reign.”

“And I appreciate your counsel,” Viserys said curtly, turning his attention back to his document. “But the decision has been made. Daemon stays.”

Dismissed without ceremony, Otto bowed and left the chamber, his mind racing.

********************************************

Later that evening, Otto sat with Alicent in her solar, the glow of the firelight casting long shadows across the room. She listened quietly as her father recounted his failed attempt to sway the king, her hands twisting anxiously in her lap.

“You must speak to him,” Otto urged, leaning forward. “He listens to you, even when he will not listen to me. This decision—Daemon’s appointment—it undermines everything we have worked for.”

Alicent frowned, her brow furrowing. “Father, you know how difficult he has become. Since the incident with Rhaenyra’s bastard son and their departure to Dragonstone, his mood has changed. With every new gift and piece of news from them he becomes more stubborn.”

“Stubborn or not, you are his queen,” Otto said firmly. “Remind him of what is at stake. Appeal to his sense of duty, to the stability of the realm. He must see reason.”

The next morning, Alicent found Viserys in his solar, surrounded by scrolls and maps. He looked up as she entered, a faint smile softening his face.

“Alicent,” he greeted warmly. “What brings you here?”

She hesitated, smoothing her skirts before taking a seat across from him. “I wished to speak with you about your decision regarding the Gold Cloaks. Do you truly believe that Daemonis the right person to lead them? I would think that someone more…even tempered would be more suitable for the role. Perhaps mine own brother, Gwayne. He has been within their ranks for sometime and would better understand what the city needs.”

Viserys’ smile faded. “Ah. I should have known this would happen after your father’s visit.”

“It is not just my father’s concern,” Alicent said carefully. “Daemon’s methods… they are not suited to a peaceful reign. The people fear him, Viserys. And fear breeds unrest.”

Viserys sighed, rubbing his temple. “Alicent, I value your advice, truly. But this is not a matter for debate. Daemon has assured me he will act in the best interest of the realm. I believe him.”

Alicent leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And if he does not? If he oversteps, if he—”

“Enough,” Viserys said, his tone final. “Daemon is my brother. He will not fail me. Keep going and both your brother and father will be sent back to the Hightower posthaste.”

Realizing she would get no further, Alicent stood and bowed her head. “As you say, Your Grace.”

As she left the solar, her frustration was palpable. Otto was waiting for her in the corridor, his expression expectant.

“Well?” he asked.

She shook her head. “He will not be moved.”

Otto’s jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Then we must be prepared for what comes next. Daemon’s presence in the City Watch strengthens Rhaenyra’s position. We cannot afford to let this go unanswered.”

Alicent nodded, her resolve hardening. “Then we will find another way.”

***************************************

The clang of steel against steel echoed through the training yard of the City Watch barracks, a sharp rhythm that matched the steady bark of orders coming from Prince Daemon Targaryen. Dressed in his black leathers, Daemon cut a commanding figure as he strode between the rows of gold cloaks, his presence a storm cloud looming over the yard.

“Discipline!” Daemon snapped, his voice carrying across the yard like a whipcrack. “You are the shield between this city and chaos. If your blade is dull or your reflexes slow, then you might as well hand your helm to the next man and walk away now.”

The gold cloaks snapped to attention, sweat dripping down their faces as they moved through the drills Daemon had personally designed. He stopped behind one recruit whose shield arm was faltering and knocked the man’s shield hard enough to send him stumbling.

“Pathetic,” Daemon growled. “The people of this city are not sheep to be abandoned to wolves. If you cannot hold the line, you’re as useless as a sheep yourself.”

Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon stood at the edge of the yard, watching their uncle with rapt attention. Jace folded his arms, his brow furrowing as he took in the scene.

“Uncle Daemon doesn’t do anything halfway, does he?” Jace remarked.

Luke grinned, his younger face alight with fascination. “He’s terrifying. I like it.”

Jace shot his brother a wry look. “You like it because you don’t have to deal with him yelling at you.”

As the brothers spoke, Daemon caught sight of them and waved them over. The gold cloaks parted as the prince’s nephews approached.

“Well, if it isn’t the young heirs,” Daemon said, a rare smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Come to see how real men train?”

“Something like that,” Jace replied, his tone carefully measured.

Daemon gestured to the yard. “Watch closely. These men will be the first line of defense for this city. And for your mother’s throne. They’ll bleed for her if I tell them to—but only if they’re worth a damn. That’s why we train.”

Luke tilted his head, curiosity evident in his expression. “Why train them so hard, Uncle? Aren’t they supposed to already know how to fight?”

Daemon laughed, though there was no humor in it. “Knowing how to fight and being ready to die for something greater are two very different things, boy. Most of these men haven’t faced a real enemy. They’ve grown soft under Hightower influence, too busy lining their pockets or spying for Otto or the queen to care about the people.”

Jace’s eyes narrowed. “You’re rooting out Otto’s spies?”

Daemon gave him a sidelong glance. “Always the clever one, aren’t you? Yes. Quietly. Can’t have men loyal to a snake guarding the city.”

Luke grinned. “Doesn’t seem that quiet to me.”

Daemon smirked, ruffling Luke’s hair. “Careful, lad. You might find yourself with a shield and sword one day.”

Over the coming weeks, Daemon’s presence in the city began to show. The gold cloaks, once known at their lowest point for their corruption and brutality, were now patrolling the streets with vigilance and purpose. Crime rates in Flea Bottom dropped, revenue in the Streets of Silk and Steel increased and the people of King’s Landing, long accustomed to fear, began to feel a cautious sense of relief.

A washerwoman standing at the corner of a busy street whispered to her neighbor, “Did you see him? Prince Daemon himself, walking the streets like he owns them.”

“Of course he owns them,” the neighbor replied, shaking her head. “You think anyone else could get the city watch to stop shaking us down?”

A fishmonger leaned over his stall to join the conversation. “And do you know why he’s back? His niece, Princess Rhaenyra. They say she heard about the lawlessness all the way on Dragonstone and demanded he return.”

The washerwoman crossed her arms, nodding in approval. “A true queen, that one. And her uncle? The Rogue Prince might be rough, but at least he’s on our side.”

Daemon stood at the top of the barracks steps that evening, overlooking the bustling city below. Jace and Luke joined him, both watching the flickering torches of the gold cloaks patrolling the streets.

“You see?” Daemon said, his voice low and almost thoughtful. “The people love a strong hand. But they need a reason to believe in it. We have been able to convince them that your mother is the reason for my return and their renewed sense of safety.”
Jace nodded slowly. “And if they love her, they’ll fight for her.”
Daemon smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Exactly.”
Luke looked between them, his youthful curiosity shifting to something more serious. “What happens if we can’t make them love her enough?”
Daemon’s expression hardened. “Then we give them someone to hate more.”