Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons

Arthur:

The Great Hall smelled like charred meat.

Scorch marks darkened parts of the tile, the last residue of the man who had been sentenced.

His stomach riled. The Sword of the Morning was still not used to the King's new form of justice. Aerys had dismissed his headsman and abandoned the gallows to those deemed traitors to the Crown. They were now given over to wildfire.

He will not be the king forever . He focused on the rhythm of his footsteps to move forward. He'll be an unfortunate footnote, he continued, ahead of him was the reason why he held such confidence.

The Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Aerys' eldest son and heir to the Iron Throne walked calmly towards where his father was perched.

Aerys will be lost in Rhaegar's light, a bright reign that will banish any darkness Aerys may have caused. Arthur believed it with every fiber in him. Rhaegar is the light.

A light that should be shining now. He stopped instinctively when his friend slowed.

There atop the Iron Throne sat Aerys Targaryen, the Second of his Name.

"Father," Rhaegar bowed.

Arthur did as well from where he stood.

Rhaegar's show of obedience only brought a sneer to the king's lips. "You're late." He waved one of his hands. His fingertips were long and gnarled.

Arthur followed the direction to see that others were in the Great Hall. It was Prince Daeron. He stood with Ser Barristan behind him. The two princes eyed each other in silence, but neither looked to give any form of acknowledgement to the other.

At the foot of the Iron Throne stood Lord Commander Hightower and Ser Jonothor Darry.

"Your brother came promptly when summoned," Aerys hissed between puckered lips. "Daeron understands his place, but you." He snapped his fingers, "I don't believe you do, Rhaegar."

"I am sorry for the delay," Rhaegar's voice was soft, but plain in tone. "I was seeing to Aegon."

Aerys made a face at the mention of Rhaegar's son and heir. "Aegon is not the king." He spat. "I AM!"

"You are Father," Rhaegar intoned.

"You do not like that, do you?" Aerys' lips pulled back to show yellow teeth within a dirty, stringy beard. "You think you should be king."

Arthur felt a cold drip down his back at the king's tone and words. He glanced to see his friend gave no reaction to his father's accusation. His eyes then moved to his sworn brothers who stood in the hulking shadow of the Iron Throne. They did not turn their heads.

"DON'T!" Aerys suddenly yelled, his high pitched voice reverberating over the walls of the Great Hall. "I do not wish to hear your lies." He stood from his throne. "You are a thief and a disappointment." He took a step down. "Mayhaps, we've put our faith in the wrong prince."

The implication hung heavy and thick in the air like smoke.

Arthur felt his face slack at what it was the king was saying. This time he saw his brothers in white could not hide their dismay at these words. The Lord Commander was frowning openly, but his expression could not be seen by their king.

"Do I have your attention now, Rhaegar?" He asked with demented delight. He never let his eldest son answer, as he turned to where Daeron stood quietly off to the side. "What do you say my son? Shall I name you my heir and the Crown Prince of Westeros?"

Arthus saw Rhaegar's shoulders tense. His friend's face betraying his surprise at such a statement.

He too could not believe what the king was suggesting.

To name another heir over his eldest, he wanted to shake his head. Madness. It's madness.

Thankfully, the Lord Hand was not present for surely that would be a dangerous idea that the lion would never release. If Lord Tywin knew of such a chance then Arthur dreaded to think what would happen to the Seven Kingdoms.

War. He felt his chest clench. He knew Rhaegar would fight for his claim and the rights of his son, and he had allies, but so too did Prince Daeron. Arthur did not want to admit it, but Rhaegar's brother's allies were strong and if called upon by the Prince would surely raise their banners for him.

Prince Daeron stepped forward, before he knelt towards his father. His form swallowed up by the Iron Throne's shadow. He did not look to revel in such a reward, but nor did he refuse it.

"I serve the Crown, Father." The Prince's voice was flat.

That seemed to please the king. "My son is a true servant to his King." Aerys clapped his hands together. "With one order, my boy, I could name you my heir. You would follow me as the next King of the Seven Kingdoms." Aerys spared Rhaegar a look, and did not hide the mean glee that shone in his eyes.

Arthur looked to Rhaegar to see his friend was watching this in stony silence, but his eyes were hard and his lips pursed together. However, it was not his father he was glaring at, but his brother.

"A King, my son is more powerful than any law," Aerys' words were spoken to Daeron, but the threat was to Rhaegar. "Your brother assumes too much of his place," Aerys' tone was as venomous as the Dornish snakes that Arthur had avoided in his youth. "He has grown content." Aerys was down to the last steps, "Do you remember what the Conqueror said of his role?"

"That a King should never sit easy," Daeron recited.

Aerys gave an imperious nod. "A lesson your brother has forgotten." Fresh cuts could be seen on Aerys' palms and wrists. He stopped on the last step. Behind him, the Iron Throne stood like a massive and ugly beast, scaled and poised to strike.

"To make you a king," Aerys surmised aloud, "would mean your wife would be the next Queen." His face scrunched up in sudden dislike of the notion. "A Lannister Queen?" He shook his head, "If I was denied one. It does not seem fair that you are to have one." He did not wait for Daeron to respond before turning back to Rhaegar.

"Do you understand me now, my son?" Aerys' mouth was cruel.

"I do, Father," Rhaegar dipped his head.

"Then make sure you do not repeat this disappointment," Aerys looked him over, eyes hooded with contempt. "I AM YOUR KING!" Spittle dribbled down his lips, "Do not keep me waiting for some brat again!" He rounded, his fists shaking angrily at his side. "Or Lannister Queen or not, I shall name Daeron, my heir." Aerys let out a shrill laugh, seemingly amused at the prospect of what that would lead to. "Now I have other matters to attend to," He turned to the Lord Commander, "Inform the Queen that I require her presence."

"Of course, Your Grace," Lord Commander Hightower gave a stiff bow and left.

"By your leave, Father," Rhaegar bowed, and with a sharp nod from his father dismissed him. He turned and left without sparing his brother a look. Arthur was quick to follow his friend, but even as he left the Great Hall, he could not escape the cold dread he felt form in his gut at what had just transpired.

Aerys would not settle for watching men burn, he realized to his horror, he'd let the Seven Kingdoms burn.

"You summoned me?"

Arthur found the Crown Prince in his chambers within the Red Keep. The table was covered by tomes, some open, some not. Two of the tall windows were open which allowed a soft breeze to come into the room, flickering some of the pages when there was a strong gust.

His friend, Rhaegar was standing by one of the open windows. He looked every inch a king, Arthur thought, dressed in his black tunic, rich embroidery and red laces with silver pins and a brooch of his family's three headed dragon.

"I did." That was when Rhaegar turned to him. He offered him a small smile but it did not settle on his lips. A look of contemplation soon replaced whatever happiness he felt upon seeing Arthur.

"You leave in the morning?"

"I do."

Arthur was headed to Storm's End for his sister's marriage to Ned Stark, the newly named Lord of the Rainwood. His brother had wanted her to marry Rhaegar while his friend had wanted her to marry his brother. In the end, his sister was married to neither prince but to a second son of House Stark.

The only one happy of this arrangement was Ashara, Arthur thought dryly. Aware of his sister's affection for Eddard Stark and how he had been the target of her desire from the very beginning. It had never been princes that she wanted, but him. He took comfort in knowing that this Eddard Stark felt just as strongly for her.

He was traveling with a retinue that included Prince Daeron and his betrothed Lady Cersei. Many guests had already gathered at Storm's End including Lord Jon Arryn, Jaime Lannister and his wife, Elia, Eddard Stark's younger siblings, Benjen and Lyanna. It was said that members of House Tully may be traveling too with Brandon Stark accompanying them as he was betrothed to Lord Tully's eldest daughter.

After the wedding, Prince Daeron, his betrothed and his retinue would be traveling to Summerhall, their future seat. They were to inspect the work that had been done this past year. And to judge of its condition, if it was in a good state and the king was pleased, a wedding would soon follow between the Prince and the Lord Hand's daughter.

"Our houses share common kin," Rhaegar remarked, pushing Arthur's thoughts away from Summerhall and back to his friend. "Targaryen and Stark have married into House Blackwood." He gestured to one of the open tomes in front of him. "There was a pact made between our families." He moved away from the window and towards one of his prized books. "It was called the Pact of Ice and Fire. " His eyes held a certain haze at those words. "It has yet to be fulfilled."

Arthur wisely stayed quiet. He was not one for diligent reading like his friend, and trusted the prince in matters of learnings and knowledge. He believed the crown prince studied more than most maesters.

"Aegon is the Prince that was Promised," Rhaegar reached for a pitcher of wine and without asking, poured two glasses. "It is foretold." He handed one of them to Arthur.

He thanked him with a nod, but did not partake. "How is your son?"

"He is well," Rhaegar answered simply. "He is with my wife and my mother." He looked down at his glass. "Aegon does not know the fate we are burdened with, but such innocence cannot last forever." His long fingers pulled the glass to his lips and he took a small sip.

"To Aegon the Sixth," Arthur prompted, raising his glass, "Let him be as fine a king as his father will be." He was pleased to see a flicker of approval come across his friend's face at those words, before he nodded and drank another small sip at Arthur's toast. The knight drank as well and was not surprised by the sweet vintage since it was one of his Rhaegar's favorites.

"I need your vow, my friend."

"What?" Arthur looked to see his friend's face set with resolved purpose.

"Are you my man?" Rhaegar asked quietly.

He is the prince not the king, a small voice whispered inside him, you are a knight of the kingsguard. He pushed down that reminder. Rhaegar will be king soon. It is in him we must trust and serve.

"I am, my prince," He put his glass down swiftly and gave the king he'd gladly follow a proper bow.

"Think carefully, my friend," Rhaegar said cautiously, "You must swear to me. To keep my trust and counsel in all things. To never share what is spoken between us."

Arthur still bowing, thought over his friend's warning, but he felt no hesitation. Despite the other vows he may have made, this one would overshadow them all. By following Rhaegar I can honor the vows I first swore as a knight and then a member of the Kingsguard. He told himself, The trials of Aerys' reign were wearing on him.

I've watched him burn men alive and stayed quiet, He thought sadly, I stood outside his door while the queen was raped. I did not move because the raper was my king. His stomach twisted, and he felt the familiar lash of loathing writhe within him. Rhaegar will change all this. He is what is good for the realm. He is what a king should be.

To serve Rhaegar I can set things right.

"I swear," Arthur knelt before his friend and Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. He felt Rhaegar's shadow fall upon him. He looked up to see Rhaegar had a small smile, but he was holding a sheathed sword. He understood, and clasped his hands around the hilt of said weapon and felt Rhaegar's hands atop his. Arthur made his vow a second time without hesitation, swearing himself to serve and honor Rhaegar above all things.

Aemon the Dragonknight, Duncan the Tall, Ryam Redwyne, his heart going over some of the greatest knights to have donned the white cloak and served the Iron Throne. Let them understand. He prayed quietly to both the Father and the Warrior. This is for the greater good.

"Rise, Ser Arthur," Rhaegar asked him after a few heartbeats of silence.

Arthur did.

"I had no doubts, my friend," he assured him, "Come with me," Rhaegar guided him to one of the balconies adjoined to his chambers. Arthur followed, taking his glass with him.

A few seats were out for guests to sit and bask in either sunlight or moonlight. A small table placed between two of the chairs. Neither man moved to take one of them. Rhaegar had settled for leaning against the railing, his glass beside him.

"My father is a difficult man," Rhaegar sighed, "But he is not the threat to my realm."

"My Prince?"

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow, something akin to amusement passing over his face. "You know it too, my friend."

"Your brother wants no crown," Arthur defended the prince, He just wanted a brother. His loyalty to Rhaegar stopped himself from adding. It was not his place to speak on such things. His friend had reason for doing what he did.

Rhaegar often said: My path is not an easy one to tread, but still I must walk it in order to serve this realm.

And with that choice to ignore his brother, Arthur noted, Rhaegar will never understand him, he thought of the two brothers and the strangers they've become to one another.

There was more he wanted to say, but he hesitated. Arthur was aware at how his next words could be construed, but for the future of the kingdoms he swore to protect he had to say them. "If your father-"

"No," Rhaegar's voice was suddenly sharp, and he raised his hand. "I cannot move against him."

"Why, my prince?" Arthur didn't understand.

"It is not the time," Rhaegar answered with a hint of impatience, "Only with the three heads can I act in that regard."

Arthur frowned, but did not speak. He mulled over his friend's mysterious words. They were not the first ones he heard from Rhaegar. The prince spoke cryptically of plans and prophecies, destinies and fate, and the terrible burdens that lay ahead of him that he must face. The meanings behind them were puzzling to Arthur, but the prince believed in them fully, and that confidence helped to ease Arthur's concern. And yet in this matter he could not understand his friend's refusal.

For the greater good, he reminded himself, and may the Seven understand and forgive me.

"The Lords see you as their king. The-" He stopped himself, he may be the utmost loyal to Rhaegar, but he still felt improper for insulting the king he swore a vow to protect.

And now I've given my vow to Rhaegar. Arthur would not let the voice plant any further seeds of doubt. I am loyal to the crown. Rhaegar is next to rule. He is destined to rule. He is the light the Kingdoms need.

With that in mind, he continued, "The King can be-"

"I said no," Rhaegar dismissed, a sudden burst of anger polluting his quiet and soft tone. "That is not the proper course." The anger had been replaced with an absolute firmness in his belief. "Regardless, it sets a dangerous precedent. If I'm to move against my father then what stops my brother from removing me?" Rhaegar shook his head. "No, my path is clear. I know what I must do."

"I understand," Arthur lied, but he found no alternative. He was not a man for debate and speeches. This was not his realm, but his friend's, and he had put all of his trust in Rhaegar. I cannot take it back now. And I do not want to.

Rhaegar studied him coolly for a few heartbeats, before looking satisfied. He then turned away. "My father's threat are shadows on the wall. His words are that of a wind blown on the last breaths of an angry, but dying storm. They do not concern me." He picked up his glass and took a measured sip. "What concerns me is my brother." Rhaegar looked him over closely, but Arthur was still in his stance. He did not even blink despite the discomfort he felt, a small, cold creep up his back at what they were discussing.

"A marriage between him and House Lannister cannot come to pass."

"Prince Daeron would-" But he quieted his protest at the sharp look from his friend.

"I have reason to believe that my brother is doing the very thing you're about to tell me he isn't."

"What?" Arthur was startled by this. It didn't seem possible. He did not know Prince Daeron well, but he knew him enough to know he was not an ambitious man.

"Indeed," Rhaegar sensed his dismay. "My brother has never forgiven me against these supposed slights I've inflicted upon him," his tone lacked emotion. "Now, the Lannisters use those grievances for their own greed."

"Treason," Arthur whispered, feeling a roiling in his stomach for what that single word truly entailed.

"Yes," Rhaegar's eyes showed nothing when they faced him. "Those I trust are gathering facts to show my brother's true intentions." He brushed some of his silvery hair out of his face, "Baratheon, Stark, Lannister, Martell," He listed them simply, but the hand resting on the railing curled tightly into a fist. "These friendships could not fool me. My brother plots and stews under delusions that he calls injustices," He gave a sad smile, " Daeron the Delusional," he recited, his voice taking on a lilt that the crown prince favored for when he sang with his harp.

"What will you do?" Arthur pushed down the foreboding that tried to coil itself around him.

"My brother's power must be cut, and his plot must be revealed."

"Prince Daeron would proclaim his innocence."

"He has that right," Rhaegar did not seem the least bit bothered by it.

"He will demand a trial by combat," Arthur pointed out, "And I cannot fight him. No one in the Kingsguard can."

"I am aware." Rhaegar watched him, but his face betrayed nothing.

"He could try to demand a Trial by Seven," Arthur argued, and he knew many of the Prince's friends would surely come to his aid. Jaime Lannister and Robert Baratheon among them, and Arthur could not name a handful of better warriors in all the Kingdoms that were not draped in white.

What force could Rhaegar call upon to fight such great warriors?

"There will be no trial, and my brother will not die," Rhaegar said in a calming voice as if trying to soothe his son to sleep. "He will be exiled. I am no kinslayer. I can be merciful and with this threat handled. My brother may live out in Essos without the burdens I must carry."

"Why won't there be a trial?" Arthur could not understand his friend's confidence.

"Because my father has picked a new champion for the Crown on the matters of treason," Rhaegar explained, "Wildfire."

Barristan:

He could not help but think on the King's words.

No, his threats, he corrected, on trying to bypass Rhaegar to make Daeron the next king.

Dark days are upon us, he feared.

They left the Great Hall in silence after Aerys' proclamations and promises. Barristan walked behind his squire, but in the glances he saw of the prince, Daeron showed no sign of his father's words having gripped him. There was no gleam in his eyes on potential kingship nor smiles of future triumphs of sitting upon the Iron Throne.

The only sound in the corridors were that of their footfalls, patting against the stone floor.

In this silence, Barristan wrestled with uncertainty. Should I say something? Should I do something? He kept walking.

This is not my place. This is not my role. A familiar voice played in his mind, one that has cautioned and consoled him more times than he could count these last few years, trying as they were.

You should've let the king die in Duskendale, a new and cold voice whispered inside him. All the spilt blood that follows is on your hands, Barristan Selmy.

"Ser Barristan?"

"My Prince?" He blinked and recovered to see Prince Daeron had stopped and turned in his direction. It only took him a heartbeat to realize his mistake. He had went down the wrong corridor and had stopped following his charge. "My prince," he said again, quickly coming to him. "My apologies," He bowed his head in shame, quietly berating himself for allowing such a distraction to blind him from his duties.

Prince Daeron regarded him before nodding, "it is alright." He assured him, his lips pressed as if he had more to say, but conflict lurked beneath his eyes. "My father has a way of distracting us, even our most loyal servants."

"I was remiss in my duties," Ser Barristan would not allow the fault to go to anyone but him. "It shall not happen again."

"Then I shall have you walk beside me," Daeron smiled, proving his words were a jest and not a reprimand.

"I would be honored," he was grateful for the prince in his understanding. I cannot be permitted such distractions. My role is to guard the prince. He told himself, trying to simplify what he could do so as to not allow his mind to wander in such dark turns in efforts to dishearten or distract him from the role he must carry as a knight of the Kingsguard.

I serve the crown. Four words that were once an honor to utter, but now… No, he stomped down on that treacherous thought more akin to a serpent before it could coil itself around him and sink its fangs into his heart.

He took his spot beside the prince as they continued in their steps through the corridor.

"Where are we off to, my prince?" He hoped a good conversation would give him a needed reprieve.

"To see the lady Cersei," He did not try to hide his grin at his answer.

"I should've guessed," Barristan replied dryly, pleased at the chuckle it got from his squire.

He was not too rehearsed in courtship having given up that life, that chance when he turned down the lordship and betrothed that awaited him at Harvest Hall. So watching it unfold between the Prince and the Lady Cersei had been an interesting, but challenging endeavor.

The two were adamant in spending time together, and etiquette demanded chaperones to be attending the couple at all times. Ser Barristan, as a kingsguard knight was one of many who had served as one and learned quickly enough that the two needed to be watched diligently. It was a more taxing ordeal than he expected. They seemed to conspire frequently to try to lose their chaperones to allow them privacy.

Kingsguard vow or not, he understood what fueled those attempts and what the two sought once they were alone. Their efforts at eluding the chaperones assigned to them by both the crown and Lord Tywin had never been truly successful, but that did not stop them from trying. If it wasn't his responsibility, Barristan may have found it a bit more amusing.

The Prince was young and his betrothed was a beautiful woman. He would not begrudge his squire such thoughts or temptations, though he only wished the Prince had a bit more restraint on them.

He's given me more headaches these last few months then he ever did in all his years as my squire.

"Prince Daeron," A servant dressed in Targaryen livery came forward carrying a sheathed sword. "It was delivered while you were with the king, my prince."

Daeron smiled, looking at the sword before the servant, "Well done." He took the sword from the servant whose head remained bowed. "Pay him," The Prince instructed, a Targaryen guard from his retinue stepped forward and deposited the coins into the servant's hand.

"My prince is generous," he stammered.

That was when the Prince turned his eyes away from the sword and onto the grateful servant. "I reward good service." He replied with a kind smile, "Thank you, that will be all."

The servant did not need to be told twice, clutching his coins, he scurried off, but not before giving Prince Daeron a deep bow.

"Come, Ser Barristan, look at this," He handed over the newly forged sword.

The sheath was unremarkable, but the hilt was not. Its crossguard was of a fierce dragon meeting a ferocious lion. The eyes of the dragon were amethysts and the lion were emeralds. "This is remarkable, my prince." Ser Barristan admired the work that had gone into the craft. He then pulled the sword slowly from its sheath, a soft hiss slipped through, the steel shimmered when the light hit it. "Well made, indeed."

"It is not valyrian, but it is a fine steel," Prince Daeron noted from where he stood. "It is shaped like mine," He placed a hand on the sheathed Dark Sister, the famous Targaryen sword.

"It is," Ser Barristan was not surprised by that given the recipient for the gift, as well as seeing the sword's slender blade and the design of its hilt. It was forged for a woman's hand. "It is a great gift, my prince."

The Lady Cersei did not practice as frequently as her betrothed, but she's progressed steadily in her skill. He had watched her train when she visited the capital. She had some talent, but he did not think she had the patience to truly excel. She was prone to get frustrated when she could not learn a move quickly enough, anger and annoyance made her words sharper than any forged sword.

Regardless, of his thoughts on her temperament, he thought she worked hard and had earned the challenge of practicing with real steel. Barristan was not sure who would be prouder, her or the Prince.

He sheathed the sword and made an effort to return it to the Prince, who shook his head.

"I wish to surprise, my lady," Prince Daeron's eyes sparkled mischievously while he smiled, "Will you hold it until it is needed?"

"Of course, my prince," Barristan answered, understanding the prince's intentions. "She will thank you for it." He did not miss a certain flicker that passed over the Prince's face at those words.

It never ceases, he thought wryly, prepared for his duties to chafe the Prince in his effort to observe propriety between a young couple who seemed more eager for scandal.

They picked up their pace in silence heading in the direction of the Tower of the Hand where Lady Cersei had her rooms.

Despite his struggles to insure the prince and his betrothed behaved themselves, the two were not without their problems. Barristan had witnessed them quarrel countless times. Her quick anger and the Prince's stubbornness, among their faults which when clashed formed a volatile reaction, but it never lingered over them for too long. He was not certain a spat between them lasted more than a day before the two were reconciled and eager to make amends for slights given.

Eager indeed, he smiled.

"Ser Barristan?"

"I am ready, my prince," He stepped backwards when Prince Daeron neared the Lady Cersei's doors. He made sure to hide the sword from the lady's view. Did Ser Aemon have to perform such antics? Barristan wondered in quiet amusement while watching the scene unfold in front of him.

The knocking was quick and loud.

It was not Ser Barristan's place to observe that the prince looked a bit anxious while he waited for his betrothed to answer.

"My prince," Lady Cersei was standing in the doorway in a simple red gown, but it did not diminish her beauty. The bright smile she wore at the sight of her betrothed made her stunning.

"My lady."

From where he stood, he could not see the Prince's features, but Barristan suspected the look he was giving his betrothed.

"This is unexpected." She did not look the least bit bothered by the Prince's unannounced visit.

"I hope this is not an inconvenience for you."

"Never," She said quickly to perish the notion. Her hand then curled around his arm. Before she could go further to assure her prince, that was when she noticed him for the first time, "Ser Barristan."

"My lady," He bowed his head. Aware that his presence was probably unwelcomed by them, but it was warranted nonetheless.

"I have a gift for you, my lady."

"Oh?" Her green eyes were curious, and her lips curved upwards in anticipation.

Barristan stepped forward and carefully handed the sword over to the prince to insure the hilt remained hidden from Lady Cersei's gaze.

He then watched silently at how she reacted to the gift. She first exclaimed loudly and happily, admiring the blade in equal parts dismay and awe. She rambled about its beauty and its brilliance. The Lady thanked her prince profusely for such a gift, promising to treasure it. She then leaned in and kissed him. Having decided that words were not enough to express her gratitude.

Not at all surprised, Barristan was lenient on his timing to intrude. He gave them a brief moment before he cleared his throat.

It was in this moment that he was grateful in knowing that he would not be attending them for the wedding in the Stormlands. They'll be Gwayne's problem, and Arthur's, and with that Barristan smiled.