Chapter Text
Daemon pauses at the base of the stairs. A step above him Rhaenyra has gone stiff. Frozen. Her shoulders roll back, chin rising even as she pales. Brow furrowing, Daemon listens as her lips twist into a proper scowl.
“You’re a disgrace!”
The voice of Otto Hightower is unmistakable as it echoes off the stone around them. As is the crack of skin hitting skin. A slap. It is quickly followed by a low whimper and a thud. Daemon’s brow furrows and he watches Rhaenyra’s eyes narrow.
“You have the name of a conqueror, yet you act the fool!”
Rhaenyra’s eyes widen quickly. She looks back at him, mouthing her brother’s name. There is fire in her eyes and Daemon quirks a brow. His hand moves to rest on the pommel of Dark Sister, strapped to his waist.
With a nod from his niece, Daemon flies up the stairs. He shoves Otto Hightower away from the figure curling against the wall. He places himself between his nephew and the boy's grandfather.
The boy’s head is pressed to the wall. There is no doubt in Daemon’s mind that a welt is already forming, a bruise on the crown of his head to match the red mark on his face. His eyes are ringed with red and he’s shaking.
Aegon Targaryen. He has the look of his father, of Viserys, when the king had been young. The same long face and sharp features that Daemon had seen each day as a boy, smiling at him across dinner tables and behind maester’s backs.
“Where is your kingsguard?” Daemon asks the boy, ignoring Hightower’s sputtering. Aegon looks up at him. Eyes wide. Throat bobbing. He doesn’t manage a single word. His eyes shift to the turn in the hall nearby. Still wide. Still trembling.
Still afraid.
Hightower raises his voice, “How dare you cast m–”
“How dare *you* lay hands on the eldest son of your king?” Daemon cuts him off, eyes narrowing on the man. His hand twitches toward Dark Sister and Hightower takes a step back.
A servant appears from around the corner. That’s when Daemon catches sight of the white cloak, standing sentry – watching, listening. Daemon seethes.
“You! Ser! Why did you not step in to defend your prince?!”
The knight snaps to attention, eyes flicking towards Otto. Daemon’s lips twist into a sneer.
It is timely, that this is the moment that Rhaenyra comes up the stairs. She stays his hand with a sharp look. This is what saves the man when he answers.
“I- Lord Hightower is his grandfather, the Hand of th-”
“Being blood, or Hand, does not give him the right to strike a prince, a member of the royal family,” Rhaenyra says coolly. Her chin high and her eyes narrowed. The kingsguard swallows thickly.
The servant clears their throat, “My apologies, princess, but… there’s been an incident.” Their eyes flick from Rhaenyra to Hightower and back, “…with the other princes.”
Daemon lets the two of them rush ahead with the servant. He takes the moment to survey his nephew. The tears on his face have slowed, but they’re still streaked across his face.
More importantly, he’s still shaking. Trembling like a startled animal. Gaze cast low to the ground, watching Daemon through his lashes. Wary. Uncertain.
“Are you alright?” Daemon is slow to reach for him. Aegon flinches regardless. Dropping his hand, Daemon nods his head in the direction Rhaenyra had gone. And Hightower. “Come. Let us see what’s happened, hmm?”
Leading the boy slowly, Daemon keeps a hand hovering just behind Aegon's back. He pauses to scowl at the whitecloak as they pass. Aegon’s steps slow and he looks back over his shoulder to watch Daemon threaten the man.
“I will deal with you later,” Daemon assures him, voice sharp. Aegon blinks and he does not flinch this time when Daemon touches his back to prompt him forward.
Progress, even if it is born of shock, is a good thing. He assumes.
There is great excitement when they enter the Hall of Nine. The whole of the room is divided into two camps. Daemon clocks Rhaenyra nearer the door, crouching to inspect the bloody faces of her boys on one side. Across the room beside the fireplace, Alicent is fretting over her own boy.
Aemond. The middle son, Daemon recalls. He sits in an armchair, facing away from them all as a maester sees to him.
Between the two sides, Daemon finds his own girls. They are dirty. Bruised. No blood. They stand at the base of the stairs that lead up to the rooms of House Velaryon, above the hall. He makes eye contact with Baela, arching a brow. She nods minutely and Daemon remains by the door.
Rhaenys comes down the stairs and his girls turn to their grandmother immediately. They are swiftly enveloped in her arms. Corlys is soon taking a defensive stance between them and Rhaenyra’s boys. Prepared. Scowling.
In the confusion, and the chaos of the accusations being hurled, Daemon nearly misses the fact that Aegon has slipped around to stand beside his siblings near the fireplace. He half-hides himself behind servants, avoiding eye contact with his grandfather. Otto stands in the opposite corner to Daemon’s, nearer to the Driftwood Throne. Beside it even.
The distance, the hiding. Daemon frowns at it. Hightower has only recently been made Hand, only recently returned from Oldtown to King’s Landing. Aegon barely knows the man in truth. Barely had the time to develop a relationship of any sort. Yet, the boy is afraid of him. Daemon watches Aegon hunch behind his sister, making himself smaller. Less noticeable.
The letters his goodbrother had sent to Laena had mentioned Aegon a time or two. A prankster, a jokester. There is nothing of that in the Aegon Daemon now tracks from across the room.
“Where were you?!” Alicent suddenly turns to her oldest. Her voice is shrill as she shakes his shoulder. Aegon is startled. His eyes flutter.
“Me?” He blinks at her and then he gasps when she slaps him across the face. Hard. “What was that for?!” Daemon’s hand twitches and he scowls at the woman as she shouts at her son.
“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!”
The boy flinches at his mother’s words. Daemon cannot stop himself this time. He clears his throat, stepping forward, “It was not wine that had your son occupied elsewhere, Alicent.”
Eyes turn towards him. Aegon’s amongst them. Daemon smiles sadly at his nephew before turning a sharp gaze on his brother. Viserys meets his gaze with an arched brow.
“It seems both your sons have been dealt a poor hand this evening, brother. I returned from a stroll to find your eldest being beaten by your dear Hand, in clear view of his kingsguard.”
Daemon’s gaze flicks briefly to Ser Harrold. The man is frowning, brow furrowing. Good. He’ll know which of the white cloaks had been assigned to Aegon.
“I do wonder just what’s become of your knights in my years away, your grace. Turning a blind eye to one son being abused and failing to break up a fight amongst children before it escalated to bloodshed.”
Clicking his tongue, Daemon glances towards Corlys. The man meets his gaze and Daemon nods to his girls.
“Remind me to bring my own guards for the girls, should I visit the Red Keep in the future, Lord Corlys,” Daemon sighs, head shaking as he crosses his arms. "Obviously, Ser Harrold has enough to deal with."
Corlys smirks and he bows his head just slightly, “I’ll happily provide you a few, to protect my grandchildren.” His gaze turns to Rhaenyra, “Perhaps I ought to discuss such an arrangement with my son as well, for his boys.”
Viserys has colored, face flushing brighter with rage and embarrassment at every word. Daemon looks back at him, smiling. He prefers his brother like this. The kingly persona dropped. The scholar retreating. This is the true Viserys. The dragon within.
“You’re blaming the kingsguard,” Alicent huffs, stomping towards Daemon. Behind her, Aegon relaxes, stepping back behind his sister as he hunches smaller once more. Alicent is too busy shouting at him to notice, “Your girls helped their cousins attack my son! He lost an eye, Daemon, an eye!”
“Yes, exactly!” Daemon hisses, eyes flashing. Alicent falters. He pushes forward, “Children squabble. They fight. Emotions are high. I do not expect them to stop themselves at such an age, too young to know the line, but their knights?"
Scoffing, Daemon gestures out. His nose wrinkles as he nearly growls.
"They know it. They know better than to allow such a thing to come to bloodshed." His gaze rises from Alicent to Cole, to her swornshield. "The moment weapons were picked up, a rock, a knife, they should have stepped in.”
Once more, Daemon looks to Ser Harrold. He raises his chin and Ser Harrold lowers his. The only white cloak in the whole room who looks even the tiniest bit remorseful, and the only one with a legitimate reason for not being involved.
Cole makes an excuse. Viserys snaps at him. Soon, the whole room has exploded in to shouting once more. Mostly from the children, but not entirely.
There are details that Daemon catches, words and phrases that he files away to ask his daughters about later. In private. Something Viserys might have considered for this himself, were he not rubbing at his temple as Alicent hissed at his ear.
Her rage is visible on her face. Her father has clenched his jaw tightly. Daemon frowns at them both. The voices rise higher, becoming a chorus. A choir, pure chaos in the round. A horrid melody that the king finally shouts in to silence a moment later.
Daemon gives his nephew credit. He is certainly no fool. Aegon has managed to acquire a goblet, likely full of wine, in all the nonsense. He sips at it beside his sister.
Helaena. Daemon vaguely recalls meeting this niece once before. Just a babe then. Now she stands, nearly a woman, with a face that has Daemon recalling the few memories of his childhood that had included his late mother. His lashes flutter and he swallows thickly.
The girl is not Alyssa Targaryen, by any stretch of the imagination. She is far too quiet for such a comparison.
Her eyes are glazed over, not seeing either of her brothers even as one uses her as a shield against their mother and she stares directly in to the face of the other. Helaena moves with Aegon as he sets his goblet down on a nearby table, blocking his hands from view as their mother turns her head towards them briefly.
Quiet. But not meek.
These children. They have a system. Instincts. They protect each other.
“Vile insults were hurled against them,” Rhaenyra’s voice is sharp and Daemon’s eyes snap back to her.
Rhaenyra is standing in front of her boys, hands pushing them both behind her as her chin rises. A she-dragon protecting her clutch. There is no greater danger in the world to man than such a beast.
His niece now has the attention of the entire, now silent, room. Her father especially.
“What insult? Viserys asks, brow furrowing as he leans forward on his cane.
“The legitimacy of my sons’ births were put loudly to question,” Rhaenyra spoke with precision. Her words chosen carefully. Legal terms. A smart decision. Calculating even.
She had been prepared for this. Daemon’s eyes flicker over the two boys. Their dark hair. The square jaws hidden beneath their youthful, round faces. Yes. She’d prepared long ago, he was sure of that. Had known this day would come.
There is a look to her oldest’s eyes, a shimmer of emotion, of nerves, as he speaks, “He called us bastards.” Jacaerys knew the truth.
His words had been soft, but as every eye in the room falls to him, the boy does not shrink away. He does not cast his eyes to the floor. A Targaryen, despite his coloring. A dragon.
Rhaenyra puts forth her request to have Aemond questioned and Daemon watches her siblings. They have the Targaryen look for sure, but not the spine. Their faces go ashen.
Aemond leans out of his chair, staring at Rhaenyra with an open gaze. The stitches and bruising on his face are stark against his pale skin.
Helaena is wringing her hands together. The fog has lifted from her gaze, if only slightly, and there is now fear trembling in her wide eyes. The same as Daemon had seen in Aegon's in the hallway. The same as he still sees in the boy now.
It is Aegon that has the starkest reaction. He has not just paled, but greened. His lips purse tightly. Daemon’s frown deepens.
“Over an insult?” the words tumble from Alicent’s lips, her mouth hanging open, “My son has lost an eye.”
Viserys ignores her. He turns to Aemond, “You tell me, boy, where did you hear this?” Alicent makes excuses as her son looks from his father to his mother and back. Persistent, Viserys forces his gaze, voice calm, firm, as he leans over the chair, “Aemond… I asked you a question.”
Even his wife’s comments about Laenor, though they distract the rest of the room, do not pull the king away. Her words have no effect on Viserys at all. He ignores her entirely. Daemon might have been proud of such focus, such attention to his son, were it not for his brother’s next statement.
“Aemond, look at me.” Viserys says and the boy does so. “Your king demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?” That is the moment Viserys lost him. Daemon knows it the second the boy’s gaze flicks to his mother. His one eye focusing on her worried face. Her pinched expression.
It would be difficult to choose between loyalties to your parents, but what is a king to a mother’s love, to her fearful gaze. Viserys turns narrowed eyes on Alicent and Aemond straightens.
“It was Aegon,” Aemond chose his mother. For that, Daemon cannot fault him, but his brother is startled at the accusation.
“Me?” Aegon blinks, mouth falling open as he stares at Aemond. The boy does not meet his brother’s gaze and Aegon does not have time for further questions as Viserys moves on to him.
With Aemond, the king had been calm. Gentle even. Not so with his older boy. Daemon scowls as Viserys steps immediately in to the boy’s face.
“And you boy?” Viserys snaps at him, harsh. Quick. He gives no quarter, “Where did you hear such calumnies?” Viserys shouts at his flinching child, “Aegon! Tell me the truth of it!”
“Viserys!” Daemon snaps, stepping forward a single step. Ser Harrold does as well and Daemon raises his chin. He swallows back his anger. Or tries to. “The boy has been through his own trauma this evening, at the hands of his own blood,” Daemon reminds him, hands fisting at his side. He does not approach, though he longs to pull his brother away from his son.
It is not just his queen the king can ignore. Daemon twitches as the silence stretches. Aegon’s eyes flick to Daemon, his lips trembling.
A hand grabs Aegon’s chin and his gaze snaps to his father’s as Viserys holds him still, “Now, boy, where? Who said it?”
“Otto,” Aegon blurts out. His eyes flutter as Viserys drops his hand.
The room goes silent. Eyes turn to the Hand. Aegon’s voice is stripped bare of any emotion. A near monotone. Resigned to his fate.
“I heard grandfather say it to mother.”
Alicent swallows, eyes wide. Aegon’s gaze is focused forward, on Daemon. Straightening beneath his nephew’s eyes, Daemon listens. He nods to prompt him forward as Viserys begins to shake with rage.
“She told him not to say such things. That it was treason. He scoffed.”
Aegon may as well have swung the sword himself. Viserys looks at his Hand, his best friend, with betrayal haunting his eyes. To his credit, Hightower merely straightens, throat bobbing.
“We ought to send the children to bed,” Rhaenys speaks up before Viserys can blow, before Hightower can launch his defense.
Daemon hums, nodding as he looks to his daughters with a pointed look, “Properly this time.” He waves them up the stairs, to the safety of their grandmother’s chambers. Rhaenys will not let Laena’s children out of her sight, of this Daemon is certain.
His gaze turns next to his brother’s younger children. Of their safety, he is considerably less certain.
“Corlys, can you spare some guards this evening?” Daemon asks, meeting Aegon’s eyes as his younger brother stands up. Aemond closes the gap between the two of them swiftly. They do not touch, but both Aemond and Helaena now stand on either side of Aegon, tense as a trip wire. Fingers twitch towards Aegon’s hand, but Aemond does not take it. Not until Aegon reaches for him.
“I can,” Corlys is shouting for two of his knights. He flashes the Targaryen children a quick smile, “I will not allow any further harm to come to you under my roof.” Aemond nods stiffly, but Aegon is staring at Daemon. He squeezes Aemond’s hand in his. Lips tremble. Pupils shake.
“There is no vow greater than that of the Sea Snake’s promise,” Daemon assures his nephews. He nods towards the door, “Go, Aegon, take your siblings to your room, hmm?”
No move is made. Only his girls have left, with Rhaenys.
Rhaenyra looks torn. She glances at her sons and then at her father several times. It is only when Corlys stoops to pick up Lucerys that she straightens. Shoulders roll back, her chin rises. Behind her, Jacaerys mimics the movement before he follows his grandfather up the stairs.
“Come,” Daemon steps towards the door, gesturing with his hand for Aegon to follow. He moves then. Aemond and Helaena are quick to meet the guards Corlys has just commanded to protect them, practically fleeing from the room.
Their eyes are wide when they look back at their mother. Fearful still. Aegon lingers by the door, shaking as he waits for Daemon. His hands twitch in the folds of his cloak.
“Daemon,” Viserys calls out, commanding, “Stay. I may have need of you.” The king is focused on his Hand. His queen is clinging to his arm, already begging for his mercy. Little attention is given to the boy in the doorway with red cheeks and a bump on his head hidden beneath frizzy curls.
“Go on, boy,” Daemon whispers to him. He cups his cheek for a quick moment, smiles, “I promise to check on you after hmm?” Aegon tilts his head. Daemon squeezes his shoulder, speaks even quieter, "You have my word, you are safe, I will ensure that."
The two knew each other not at all. Before the funeral, Daemon had not seen this boy since he was a toddler, but in a few short hours he seems to have earned his trust. Aegon nods slowly, pursing his lips. He glances once more to his mother.
“Go Aegon,” Viserys finally turns, snapping at his son. Aegon darts away, following his siblings at a run. Daemon looks at his brother, eyes narrowing.
It takes longer than Daemon would like for the matter to be settled. Otto Hightower has been a poison in the House of the Dragon for decades. Despite Alicent’s pleas, her father does not see morning. He is excised from their family swiftly. Like a putrid infection requiring amputation to stop the spread.
Dark Sister in his hand and the Hand’s pin on his chest, Daemon does the deed himself. The act brings him none of the pleasure he had always assumed it would. His thoughts are consumed with the man’s grandson instead. With purple eyes ringed red and shaking with fear, desperate for help.
“Good Morning, nephew,” Daemon opens the door of the boy’s chamber to find his younger siblings curled up on the bed together. Aemond's head is pillowed on his sister's chest, good eye down. Aegon himself is sat on the floor beside them, his back against the bed and a goblet of wine in his hands.
“You… you came,” Aegon croaks, eyes fluttering as he looks up at Daemon. The violet in his irises is swimming beneath tears and a haze of drunkenness. Perhaps he’d overestimated the trust the boy had in him. Perhaps it was an overestimation to think the boy could trust anyone.
Daemon kneels beside him, “I promised I would check on you, and so I am.” He waves out. His brow furrows as Aegon hiccups, a teary little sound that soon has him wiping at his eyes.
There are many questions that Daemon wants to ask, many worries he fears will be confirmed with them. Aegon is shaking again. He drinks desperately from his cup. Deeply. As if the wine might save him somehow. Might hide him from the truth.
“Tell me, Aegon,” Daemon sighs, squaring his shoulders. He knows it is necessary even before the question leaves his lips, before Aegon whimpers at his words, “Who else are you afraid of?”
Aegon’s throat bobs and his eyes widen. It’s a brief moment, and a backwards glance at his siblings, before Aegon speaks. He sets the wine down. By the end of Aegon’s rambling, and his sobbing, Daemon wishes he hadn’t made Hightower’s death so quick.