Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons

Barristan:

"Did my father say why he wanted to see me?"

"He did not, my prince."

Prince Daeron tried to hide his discomfort at that truth, but the worry remained beneath his eyes.

Barristan did not know what to say, so they walked in silence. All he knew was that a messenger had come to the training yard where the Prince and his friends had been sparring. He wouldn't forget the silence that fell over the friends who just minutes ago were loud and laughing. Their joy snuffed out in an instant. Robert and Jaime had suggested they could attend as well, but the messenger repeated the king's words: Prince Daeron was to come at once and alone.

What does it say about a father that his son walks to him with trepidation? He frowned at those insidious thoughts.

Targaryen guards stood at the door to the Great Hall. They bowed at their approach with one opening the doors for them.

The prince nodded and walked in.

"He's to come alone," the guard insisted when Barristan moved to follow Prince Daeron.

"Prince Daeron is my responsibility," Barristan reminded him, leveling a glare in the guard's direction.

He wilted, bowing his head, and did nothing when Barristan followed the prince into the Great Hall.

The cavernous hall was empty. Their footfalls echoing as they moved. The braziers were lit casting the dragon skulls above them in flickering sights of awe and horror. There standing at the foot of the throne were Sers Alliser Thorne and Jonothor Darry. They did not move or react to their encroaching presence.

"My son comes at last," Aerys Targaryen the second of his name sat atop the Iron Throne. Disheveled and frightening, he looked down at them beneath unkempt hair and suspicious eyes.

"Your Grace," Daeron went to a knee, bowing his head. "Forgive me if I kept you waiting."

Barristan stopped a few paces behind Prince Daeron. It was difficult for him to take his eyes off the king. He looked worse now than at Duskendale where he had freed him from a half year of captivity.

"Rise, my son."

Daeron obeyed, but stayed quiet. He seemed wise enough to know to let his father speak first.

"Do you take me for a fool?" His voice cracked like a whip.

"I take you for a king, Your Grace," Daeron kept his head down.

"Do you know its treason to plot against your king," Aerys' voice was sharper than any one of the swords upon the Iron Throne.

"F-father?" the Prince faltered.

"King," Aerys corrected harshly, looking down at him with contempt.

"King," Daeron repeated, "I serve the Crown and House Targaryen."

Aerys laughed. A wheezing, cruel sound, spittle could be seen dangling from his chin. "Did you hear that, Lord Varys?"

The Eunuch appeared as if conjured out of thin air by the side of the Iron Throne. "I did, Your Grace," His voice softer than the silks he wore. His bald head gleamed in the torchlight. His hands kept beneath the folds of his brightly colored robes. "My birds say differently, my prince."

"Lies!"

Barristan could only see the back of the prince's head, but he was certain the young man was glaring at the Master of Whisperers.

"My birds sing all sorts of seditious things," Varys tittered. "They sing of lions and stags, and wolves trying to take down a dragon."

"Lies!" Daeron snapped again. "I should cut you down where you stand, Varys." He spat out the eunuch's name.

"Lord Varys is a servant to the crown," Aerys clicked his tongue. "While your loyalties are not so certain."

"They are to you, Father."

The spittle remained on the king's chin, dripping down. "We shall let him prove himself," he decided, "You'd follow my orders?"

"Yes."

"So if I asked you to die in the name of your king, you'd follow them?"

Barristan flinched. He looked to see Ser Alliser frown, shifting in his stance, but not Jonothor. He remained still and stoic, as if he was carved from marble.

"I-I," Daeron stammered, uncertain what to say at such a ridiculous order.

"Silence," Aerys waved a hand, "I would not like to be lied to." He squirmed on the Throne careful to keep his arms from resting on the blades. "I could kill you where you stand. Do you understand that, boy?" As if to prove his point, "Ser Jonothor?"

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"Bind my son," Aerys ordered. "He is a threat to your king."

Jonothor moved forward with only slight hesitation.

Barristan found himself mirroring the knight's movement.

"Stand down, Barristan," Aerys saw him. "You are a sworn member of the Kingsguard not the Princesguard."

Barristan obeyed. His hand clenched into a fist at his side. His legs felt bolted to the ground, weighed down by his vows. All he could do was watch helplessly as Ser Jonothor reach Prince Daeron, who offered no resistance. He seemed more frightened and surprised as if unable to truly comprehend what was happening to him. The knight bound Daeron with no protest.

Aerys looked down, smiling in satisfaction.

Barristan looked around for anyone. Surely this could not be happening. Where was Lord Tywin? Where was the Queen? Where was Lord Commander Hightower? Surely one of them would stop this madness. Wherever he looked, all he saw was shadows or darkness. It was him. There was only him.

"Your Grace," A part of Varys' face remained in the shadows. "He is a traitor. He is too dangerous to be kept a prisoner."

Barristan's heart stilled at the underlying meaning to the Eunuch's words.

"Ser Jonothor," Aerys called down to the knight.

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"Kill him," The King of the Seven Kingdoms ordered.

Ser Jonothor did not move at first as if trying to understand the orders he'd been given.

Barristan felt hope in his chest. He was relieved that his brother-in-arms saw this for what it was-madness. Then Jonothor drew the dagger from its sheath before he could move or shout, the knight plunged the blade into Daeron's chest.

The Prince gasped, crying out. Jonothor released his hold on him. Daeron collapsed to the ground with a thud and to the sound of his father's laughter.

Barristan rushed forward. "What have you done?" He didn't spare Jonothor a look as he knelt beside Prince Daeron, "My Prince?" He picked him up. The wound was red and ugly, blood seeping on to the prince's black tunic.

Daeron's eyes were unfocused, a sheen beneath his lilac gaze. He opened his mouth, blood gurgled out but no sound.

"My Prince!" Barristan was unsure what to do, "Get a Maester!" He shouted, looking to see Jonothor remained where he stood, over them. He watched helplessly the last flicker of light behind the prince's eyes before his chest stilled.

The prince and his squire died in Barristan's arms.

He felt arms pulling at him, but Barristan resisted, fighting them as he kept his grip on his dead prince. "No, release me!" He shouted, "Release me!"

"Ser Barristan."

Barristan woke to a start. A tight grip wrapped around his arm, but he tried to break free.

"Barristan!"

"What?" He shook his head, weariness clung to his mind. "What happened?"

Ser Gwayne Gaunt was holding Barristan's arm which brandished the knife that Barristan kept concealed in his bed. "You were asleep." He didn't loosen his grip on his arm. "I came to wake you. Your shift is to start soon."

"A dream?" Barristan muttered. It couldn't have been. It was too real. I was there. I watched him die. "And the Prince?"

"Prince Rhaegar is on Dragonstone." Gwayne was openly frowning. "Prince Viserys is in his chambers."

Barristan felt his heart plummet at that. It was as he feared. Dream or not, the truth remained, Prince Daeron was dead. He did nothing to stop it. It was in this self-inflicting haze that he barely heard what Ser Gwayne said next.

"And I just left my post outside Prince Daeron's chambers."

He blinked. "Prince Daeron?" He sat up, "Is alive?"

"Of course," Gwayne's mustache twitched, "Do you suspect something will befall him?"

He was so delirious with joy that it took him a few seconds before realizing that he had accidentally implied that the Prince's life was in danger. "No, Ser Gwayne, Prince Daeron is fine." He assured him, relief coloring his tone, he sagged back into his bed. "It was a dream." He said more to himself then to his fellow kingsguard, "Nay, a nightmare."

Gwayne studied him in silence for a few heartbeats before nodding. "You are expected shortly." He looked pointedly at the dagger that Barristan was still holding before the knight left his chambers.

It wasn't real, he sheathed his dagger. It wasn't real, he repeated, trying to calm the nerves that gnawed at him. As he got himself ready for his post, he couldn't help but think, dream or not , it felt real.

The dream would slip away in time, but not the cold truth gleaming from it.

It was Aerys' growing unpredictability, coldness, paranoia.

And that frightened him more than the nightmare itself.

The laughter of the Prince and his friends was a welcomed reprieve for the weary Ser Barristan. He stood from his spot in the Small Hall in the Tower of the Hand. Prince Daeron was at a table with Lords Robert Baratheon and Jaime Lannister. The three friends were breaking their fast together.

He deserves this, Barristan thought with a smile. He could still remember a time when Daeron was younger. The boy was shy and lonely. He would only be seen with whatever guards or knights were tasked with watching him.

His father who had once been overjoyed at having a second son and spare to the Crown Prince Rhaegar began to grow resentful of him. He would openly ponder to court why he was given a son when he needed a daughter, a sister and a wife for Rhaegar. While the rest of court was relieved at the prince's birth. They feared had he been born a girl, that their chance at pushing their sisters and daughters for a possible betrothal with the Crown Prince would be thwarted. When that did not happen, and he was born a boy and the spare. They largely ignored him while the court moved to jostle themselves to win the king's fickle favor.

Now look at him, he was watching him with his friends. He's turning into a good man, and a formidable warrior. Barristan felt a sense of pride at the young prince, who was also his squire.

The wound was red and ugly. Blood seeping on to the prince's black tunic. Barristan pushed that harrowing image away as quickly as it had come. No, It was not real, he told himself. He stepped forward as if wanting to put it behind him. When he moved a bit closer it allowed him to better hear their conversation.

"You're in good spirits," Robert Baratheon's voice easily carried throughout the hall.

If I had not taken my vows, he'd be my lord. Barristan thought wryly, reflecting on the life he could have had as the Lord of Harvest Hall. I left behind my home and a betrothal for this, he reflected without regret.

Aerys flickered in front of him, disheveled, and sneering, but Barristan refused to let it linger. He took a calming breath and the King was gone. I will not forget my oaths because of a bad dream.

Jaime Lannister was grinning from where he sat across from the Lord of Storm's End. "I am getting married in a few weeks."

A fine swordsman, Barristan had watched the Heir to Casterly Rock spar with Prince Daeron more times than he could count. Those two were practically brothers. He believed it was the young lion who helped turn the Prince into the man he was becoming. Before the Prince was shy and quiet. He had kept mostly to himself and only lingered in a few places throughout the Red Keep, mostly his quarters and the training yard.

It was painful to see a young boy so despondent. Barristan had always tried to help the prince when he could, which included making him his squire. He had wanted Rhaegar's attention and affection, Barristan noted, like any younger brother who looks up to the elder, but the Crown Prince gave him little.

The prince preferred books to brothers, he frowned at the cold, blunt truth of the matter. He will still be a good and wise king. Barristan was certain of the greatness that awaited Rhaegar when he would ascend to the Iron Throne. That is who I will someday serve, and gladly.

"Still?" Prince Daeron's words brought Barristan's attention back the playful banter amidst the friends. "I would've thought the princess would've come to her senses."

Robert guffawed into his tankard.

"Very amusing," Jaime remarked wryly, poking at his eggs, "With friends like you two who needs enemies?"

The prince smiled. He was holding his glass in one hand. "It appears I do not need a sword to wound my friend's pride, Cousin."

"To wound me, you'd have to be able to touch me," Jaime rubbed his chin, feigning to be in deep thought, "And if I recall from our last bout, you did not," He grinned when he added, "I also did it without a special valyrian sword."

Daeron took his friend's words with a chuckle. "That is because Princess Elia gave me specific instructions to not scar you before the wedding." He leaned forward, "She did not want her beloved-bruised or cut." He shrugged, "Your betrothed is not a lady to anger so I heeded her warning," He took a sip, "or should I say, her threat."

Robert took a bite out of a piece of bacon, not waiting until he was done chewing to speak. "A good bruise would have showed her you can fight and survive."

"Like how you're showing me what you're eating?" Jaime was brushing away the specks of food and crumbs that Robert left in his wake.

The Lord of Storm's End laughed, shaking his half piece of bacon at Jaime. "I wasn't aware lions had such sensitive stomachs."

"Indeed," Jaime remarked dryly, turning his attention away from Robert and onto Prince Daeron "Do you think Ned reached Winterfell?"

Barristan was there when the Prince and his friends saw off Eddard Stark at the docks in King's Landing. It had been more than a fortnight passed when he set off by ship to return to his family's ancestral seat at Winterfell. The second son of Lord Stark had been tasked to escort some of his family to the wedding between Houses Martell and Lannister at Casterly Rock.

The Prince thought it over before he nodded, "Aye, he should be there." He then took a sip from his glass, "I considered joining him."

"I was not aware you were invited." Jaime observed.

Daeron smiled at that, "One of the privileges of being a Prince. I am a welcome sight wherever I travel." He leaned back into his seat. "They fall over themselves for my family. And it is my humble duty as their prince to accept their warm hospitality."

"You have my sympathies for such a struggle, my prince ."

Barristan could only shake his head while the Prince and his friends laughed with one another. He looked out at the young men sitting before him who were sharing mirth and fellowship. Thank the Seven the Prince found them. He is a better man because of it.

"Why would you want to go north?" Jaime asked once the laughter subsided. "It's all cold and frozen and," he waved his hand, "nothing."

"You're not the least bit curious about the Wall?"

"I've seen walls before," Jaime did not look impressed. "And why is a frozen one more impressive than one made of stone?" He shrugged. "You know besides protecting us from the grumpkins and snarks."

"I'm not sure they are since I'm sensing some snark at this table," Daeron smirked.

Jaime chuckled, "You have me there."

"And what stone walls do you know that are seven hundred feet tall?" The Prince raised his eyebrows at the impressiveness of the structure. "Besides, Winterfell is said to be a great castle to behold."

"It is," Robert rejoined the conversation. "A good land and a good people, if you ask me." He sounded wistful in his recollections from his visit there.

"Good people?" Jaime shared a look with Prince Daeron. "Do not tell me you fathered another bastard when you were visiting, Robert."

"No," Robert actually sounded flustered, "I did not." He crossed his thick arms over his chest, upset at the accusation.

"How is your girl?" Daeron seemed to sense his friend's souring mood and decided to move on.

It worked in an instant. Robert's eyes flashed with pride with a growing smile. "Mya is growing," he laughed. "She's willful and loud."

Barristan could detect the sincerity in the Lord of Storm's End voice and expression when referring to his young bastard daughter. He looked to be a proud father, bastard or trueborn it did not seem to matter to the young Stormlord.

"Will she stay in the Vale?"

At the question, Robert's smile only grew. There was a gleam in his blue eyes. "Our time in Dorne inspired me," he revealed. "I've written to Prince Doran and when the time is right, she and her mother will travel to Dorne where they will be the Prince's guests and reside at the Water Gardens."

"Truly?" Jaime could not hide his surprise at the choice.

Robert took satisfaction at his friend's reaction. "Are you surprised that your future good brother did not tell you or that I can come up with something sensible."

Jaime took the good natured jape with a smile. "Clearly the latter, my friend."

Robert laughed. "Your honesty is as refreshing as ever, Lannister."

"Well done, Robert," Daeron praised him. "She could have a good life in Dorne."

Barristan understood their shock as well as their happiness with their friends' decision. It was a surprising move by the stormlord. A show of maturity and wisdom that he seemed to hide behind bawdy japes and drinking songs.

Robert looked pleased, "Thank you, Cousin." He bowed his head, "You were right to challenge me." For a flickering heartbeat he looked like a scolded child. "I am not certain she will stay in Dorne all of her life despite the Prince's assurances she and her mother were more then welcome to stay." Robert hesitated, "But I hope it to be a good life for her while she's there."

"She will be thankful," the Prince assured him. "And that will be because of you, Cousin."

"Thank you," He looked touched at the Prince's thoughtful words.

"The Prince is right, Robert," Jaime echoed the agreement. He then raised his glass, "To Mya."

Daeron looked approvingly of the gesture. He raised his glass and the friends chorused it before clanging their glasses against one another and drinking to the health and happiness of Robert's young daughter.

Arthur:

When he had been told by the Maester that he had received a raven. Arthur was not certain who it was from. His sister who use to be a constant writing companion had drifted a part these past few months. Her messages to him now were terse and brief, with an inky veneer of politeness.

It hurt to receive them, to know that his sister's bitterness still lingered.

I am a knight, not a lord, Ashara.

He had written to her when the rumors began to swirl between a betrothal between herself and Prince Daeron.

I've done nothing, said nothing.

He wanted her to understand that this was not his doing.

Arthur would not forget how she had responded to him.

That is right, brother. You did nothing.

The disappointment and sadness in her letter had cut Arthur deeper than any sword.

The Sword of the Morning, and I'm disarmed by my sister's quill.

A year had passed and there was still no arranged match between his sister and Prince Daeron, but the divide remained between the siblings.

He sighed.

Dragonstone's grim and dreary design did nothing to chase away Arthur's dark thoughts.

The island fortress had received some cosmetic changes from the Princess. Her friends and family had taken up rooms and posts within the castle. They turned it into a buzzing hub of activity, that more resembled a bee's hive.

More ships than ever visited the island from all over. Arthur suspected it was more than just cargo that was bought and traded, but information. Rhaegar was relying on the influence of his good family to bring and spread what they heard across the Narrow Sea from the Free Cities and to the other parts of Essos.

Arthur has spent years living and visiting this island and had never seen it so active and crowded. The Princess entertained guests from all over Westeros and Essos. Now, that she was pregnant, she was seen more often, not shying away but instead parading the growing swell of her belly. She wanted all to see that she and the Crown Prince's marriage was fruitful. She glowed. She was a fine jewel that dazzled and awed all who came to see and speak with her.

The real reward to life at court on Dragonstone would be when the Crown Prince would make an appearance. When he did, he would have his harp and would play to the adulation of the court. He captivated them with his talent, and converted them to his cause, with little more than a look and a song.

This truly was the Prince's court.

He was impressed at how Princess Laela handled the attention and the gossiping. She was the Crown Prince's wife, but she was from Volantis. Despite having the Valyrian blood, she and her family were often seen or sneered as outsiders. It had been one of Arthur's primary concerns when his friend and wife took up at Dragonstone. He wondered and suspected that not all would be pleased or welcome a foreign princess to their shores. Arthur had made the appropriate observations and preparations in rooting out those who could possibly mean to harm the Princess and her family.

"Ser Arthur."

He looked up to see one of the Maester's acolytes hail him. "Twas a raven arrived from the capital, Ser." The acolyte was young and pake marked. His eyes were unable to hide their awe when they spotted the sheathed Dawn .

"Thank you," Arthur took the message, recognizing the kingsguard seal. This had come from Lord Commander Hightower. He opened it with his thumb and read its contents, and then reread them to make sure he hadn't misread any of it.

"Shall I send a reply?"

"Not yet," Arthur closed the letter. "I shall need some time."

The acolyte bowed his head, "Of course, Ser."

Arthur thanked him and left, reflecting on the orders from Lord Commander Hightower. He knew before he could send any message that Rhaegar must be informed.

He found his friend and Crown Prince at the Chamber of the Painted Table. The round room at the top of the massive Stone Drum Tower.

Prince Rhaegar was dressed in black silk with dashes and sashes of red here and there. A Targaryen brooch pinned to his chest. His silvery hair fell past his shoulders. He leaned on the famous table commissioned by his ancestor and the first Targaryen King to rule Westeros, Aegon the Conqueror.

Arthur quietly approached as he heard his prince speaking to the assembled men.

"There are those lords who we can be depended on, if they are called on," He looked down at the massively carved table that depicted Westeros. He was sitting at the raised seat that was positioned near Dragonstone allowing him to view the entirety of the table and the room itself.

"Lords Derry and Whent in the Riverlands are considered friends to our cause. While the Freys can be bought." He pointed to each of their castles on the table when the families were said. "Elbert Arryn has told me that many houses in the Vale will support us." That was when he looked up to see Arthur. He tilted his head in acknowledgement, but continued to speak.

"I am reasonable," He told them. "I will try to entice Lord Hoster with a new match," He turned his attention to where Jon Connington was sitting. "You will make a good offer to the Tullys for his youngest daughter."

Jon Connington gave a tight nod, "Of course, my prince."

Satisfied, Rhaegar turned away, unable to see how much Lord Connington hoped that betrothal would fail.

The Crown Prince stood from his seat. "It is vision. That is what separates my family from all the others." He looked out at them, "It was the vision of Daenys the Dreamer that spared my family the same cruel fate that took down the greatest empire the world has ever seen." He put his hand forward, gesturing to where Dragonstone was on the map. "It was the vision of Aegon the Conqueror that unified the warring kingdoms under the banner of the Three Headed Dragon. That vision brought Westeros peace and prosperity it had never seen when they were separate and squabbling."

"It was the vision of The Conciliator, King Jaehaerys the First that would solidify my family's rule and place on the Iron Throne to help us govern Westeros for the centuries that would follow." He held up a finger. "That is what I'm asking all of you and our allies to trust. That vision, my vision."

Arthur watched from the corner seeing how his friend's words had a way of enthralling those he came into contact with. He could see it in their expressions. In their eyes as they followed the Crown Prince's word and movements. All of them ensnared by his charisma and confidence, devout to his cause, believers to his vision.

"We are with you, my prince," Lord Connington was the first to stand and speak about loyalty. "I know many in the Stormlands who are loyal to the right dragon regardless of the stag's preference."

"You are a good friend, Jon," Rhaegar thanked him.

The Lord of Griffin's Roost looked pleased, dipping his head.

"That will be all," The Crown Prince dismissed them as he moved to retake his seat.

Arthur watched them leave, and waited for the doors to close before he approached his friend.

"And dragons."

That got his friend to look up. "Pardon?"

"You said it was visions that separated your family from the rest, but you forgot the dragons."

"Yes, dragons too," Rhaegar agreed.

Arthur was pleased at the small smile his jape received. Knowing how difficult it was to elicit such a response from his friend who was prone to melancholy.

"I've received a raven from Lord Commander Hightower."

The Crown Prince did not look surprised at the news. "Hightower's Raven but my father's words."

Orders, Arthur wanted to correct his friend, but he did not. I serve the king. He clenched his right hand, The man before me will be king, my friend, he repeated the words he told himself whenever his gut wavered. I've already made my choice: Rhaegar will be king, and that is who I serve.

"I imagine so," Arthur made sure to convey none the inner struggle no matter how brief it had been. "I've been summoned back to the capital by your father." The King .

"I am certain the Spider has been whispering in his ear," Rhaegar looked unbothered. "He will send another knight of the Kingsguard to Dragonstone." He met Arthur's eyes. "I suspect that my father is changing the rotation of his knights to uproot all loyalty save for those due to him."

He is not wrong to be suspicious, Arthur stamped down those words as soon as they sprouted.

"He will likely take Ser Barristan and Ser Gwayne away from my brother."

"Your brother still serves as Barristan's squire."

"My brother will have little time for his duties in the coming weeks."

The wedding, Arthur understood, Many who came to the island spoke of the pending wedding between Jaime Lannister and Princess Elia Martell. The union of two great houses, hosted by the wealthiest family in the Seven Kingdoms. The gossiping of how lavish and splendid it was going to be was the talk from the docks all the way to the keep itself.

"I believe Ser Gwayne will be coming to Dragonstone," Rhaegar's soft spoken voice did not betray his thoughts on the matter or manner of the knight. "And you will be assigned to either my father or my brother. If I am correct, then I ask for your help, my friend."

Arthur felt something inside him twitch, "My help?"

"Yes," Rhaegar answered. "I need you to keep me informed on what it is my father or brother are doing while you are away with them."

"You'd have me spy?" Arthur's mouth instinctively twisted. How can I act like something I am not? To deal in shadows and secrets? I am a soldier, not a spy. Give me a sword and I will give you my service, but a scroll? He did not know how to do that.

"I-I," He tried to form the words to reject his friend's offer. To tell him it was folly or that it should not be done, but when he met the Prince's eyes, he could not. He bowed his head, "I will try."

"Thank you," Rhaegar turned away from him, and out of his his seat, "My ancestor died at this table," his fingers skimming the veneered surface of it. "The passing of Aegon the Conqueror eventually forged a bloody conflict that nearly brought down the Targaryen reign before it could be solidified. Maegor fought against his own nephew, the rightful heir to the throne. He took the crown for himself, blood betrayed blood," He said softly.

"Our family's greatest threat, Arthur, has always been ourselves." His eyes shone by the light of the brazier, "Only a dragon can topple a dragon."