Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons

Daeron:

The skirmish was over. Men were killed on both sides, and he had killed his first man.

A feat that evoked little within him. I felt nothing . When Dark Sister ended that bandit's life.

Why would you? That sounded like Father. A dragon is responsible to no man. Remember that, my son.

In that moment, it wasn't reflections of kills made that had spurred him through the field of carnage where horses and men were strewn about, dead and dying.

All that drove him was his betrothed.

Cersei.

With each speedy step he moved towards her.

Cersei.

Daeron had put Ser Arthur in charge of clean up and recovery now that Lord Buckler's forces had joined theirs and secured the area. He knew there were other matters to tend to and oversee such as the wounded and the dead, but it was Cersei, he needed to see.

It didn't matter that he already knew they were safe. It had been reported that the Lady Lysa had fainted, and Ser Gwayne had been injured, and those were things he needed to address, but they had to wait. It all had to wait.

Daeron needed to see her with his own eyes.

And then there she was before him.

Glorious.

He could not help but admire her. Once the uncertainty faded and relief filled him upon knowing she was truly well.

Her eyes burned like wildfire. Her golden hair fell about her, messy and loose, and not even the specks of enemy's blood upon her dress could deter his appreciation of the beauty in front of him.

That was when they embraced. She did not shake in his arms. She was still and certain. She did not weep into his shoulder. She did not lament. There was no doubt in her.

She was steel in silk.

He kissed her hair and held her. Thankful to have her with him.

She moved in his arms, but only to bury herself closer to him. He did not protest, the scent of blood, sweat, and wildflowers clung to her like some strange perfume.

"You saved me," She said softly.

"What?" He was confused by such an odd declaration. He had done nothing of the sort, and it was not something he'd forget. I was not there.

Cersei looked up at him. Her eyes glimmered like emeralds in the sunlight. "The sword, the training," She clarified, "If it wasn't for such things-"

He gave a slight nod and was thankful she did not continue. He did not want to think of such things.

"You would have still prevailed, my lady."

It was her who was now confused so he added.

"You are too fierce to do anything other than triumph."

A slow smile came to her lips. She put a hand to his cheek. "Are you well?"

"I am now."

She kissed him, a tantalizing kiss that had him holding her tightly to him. He could feel the slow stirring in his chest. A soft moan escaped her lips and heat burned through him. Daeron felt more primal then prince in those scant heartbeats.

"Prince Daeron." Ser Arthur's voice was an unwanted jolt that broke them apart.

A flash of annoyance flickered across her pretty face. Her mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Yes?" He kept his tone in check for the interruption, because he knew the knight was doing his duty, and Daeron too had duties that he needed to see.

"We've put the wounded on wagons," He reported, nearing them. "Lord Buckler will send more for the corpses."

"Very good," Daeron nodded, "How many did we lose?"

"More than a dozen, my prince," Ser Arthur frowned. "They were well coordinated. Further proof they were waiting for us was with those fallen logs."

Daeron remembered the trick. Their caravan had been stretched. That was further exploited with the fallen timbers onto the road to further divide and separate the two sides. That had been when they struck from the woods.

"They were mostly guards," the knight continued, "The only noble we lost was this ward for Lord Tully," Arthur looked to be trying to remember the name, "Petyr Baelish," He shrugged, unsure if he got it right.

"We shall take his corpse with the wounded," Daeron wasn't aware of a House Baelish or even where their holdings were. If he was a ward to Lord Tully, he suspected maybe somewhere in the Riverlands.

"Is is the Brotherhood?"

"It is," Arthur confirmed grimly, "We have two survivors."

He felt his betrothed's fingers interlaced with his. "Inform Lord Buckler that I will have need of his gallows."

"My Prince," Surprise spread across the knight's face, "They've surrendered to me, I accepted in the promise of mercy and the Black."

He and Cersei had already begun walking back to join the rest what remained of their party as well as Lord Buckler's. "They attacked a royal party, Ser Arthur." He turned back, "There will be no mercy. There will only be justice."

Daeron, you must reconsider-"

"Enough," Daeron cut in sharply. "Have a care, Ser Arthur," He raised a finger in warning. "Your words may be well intentioned, but you are speaking to a Prince." Unhappy at the knight's tone and manner of address. "You gave promises you could not keep. That was your error not mine," He observed coolly. "If you will not follow my orders then ride back to King's Landing and send me a knight who will."

"How is he?"

"Ser Gwayne will recover," Prince Daeron found his betrothed in the Bronzegate's hall. He took the empty seat beside her.

He had just returned from visiting his sworn shield in one of the guest chambers that Lord Buckler had provided for them. The Lord of the Bronzegate proved to be a gracious host to the prince's surviving retinue, surrendering all the available rooms he could give them as well as food and ale for the weary and hungry.

Lord Buckler had also sent a raven to Robert to inform him of what transpired. Storm's End had wrote promptly back that more men and supplies will be arriving in the company of Robert and the rest of his party.

"I am glad."

A servant was quick to present him a plate and a filled glass, he nodded his thanks.

Gwayne had been smiling and joking, though laughter did seem to make him wince. The maester for Bronzegate said the knight would need more rest in order to recover and suspected it would be months for him to be ready to return for duty.

A diagnosis that Gwayne tried to dismiss at once, until he grimaced from the sudden movement he made. He then quietly and discreetly lay back down.

"You've given him quite the story."

Cersei looked up from her plate where her food looked mostly untouched. "He is not upset?"

"Upset?" Daeron shook his head, "He'll be pleased to tell it! You know him. How he loves his stories. He'll endure it and embellish it." He chuckled, and was pleased at the small smile that came to her. "He'll add that you were fighting a dozen men while he fought wounded with four arrows in him."

Cersei laughed at that. "Is that right?" She asked amused before she drank from her glass.

"I'm sure his exaggerations will be even grander," He had finished the warm bread and moved to wash it down with the strong ale that the Stormlands liked to boast of. "Besides," Daeron put down his tankard to give his betrothed his full attention, "There is nothing wrong with you saving him," Wondering if he properly guessed her odd mood. "Aegon the Conqueror himself was saved by his wife."

"Visenya," She muttered.

"Yes," He agreed, "And you are my Visenya." He knew Visenya's sins and her chilly relationship with her husband, Aegon, but to Daeron he hoped his betrothed understood what he truly meant with his declaration.

Mayhaps, I've erred, he realized to his growing trepidation in seeing his words seemed to only further cause her inattentiveness and distance. It had been briefly lifted with his earlier japes, but it returned swiftly enough.

Is she upset about that bandit she killed? He did not think that was it.

Suddenly one of Lord Buckler's men at arms came running in. "My Prince," he greeted him with a hasty bow, "Lord Robert arrives!" A loud cheer went up from the men, "And we've spotted the banners for Stark, Lannister, and Arryn too."

"Very well," He stood up, turning to her to see the news of Lannister banners caused her to look up, and a smile was on her lips, but there was little of it in her eyes.

"Shall we go meet them?" He offered her his arm which she duly took for her answer.

"I would like that," she replied with a warm smile that helped to alleviate his concern.

And with that, he and his betrothed left the hall to greet their friends' newly arrived party.

Burn them! His father's cackle pricked inside him like hot needles. Burn them!

The bandits who had thrown down their swords in surrender were now being marched to be executed. Lord Buckler having prepared the gallows for the criminals. Lord Buckler deferred the task of the punishment to him as he was a Prince. The entire castle had gathered, servants and guards as had those brought by his cousin, and his friends, Jaime and Ned.

In the backdrop on the walls the banners for Targaryen, Baratheon, Stark, Lannister, Tully, Arryn, and Buckler swayed gently in the breeze.

He would not forget how when his friends had heard of his distress and they had come urgently to his side. Or in seeing not just their relief that he was well but the anger on an attack against his person.

Robert's rage was loud and booming, Ned's was simmering but silent, and Jaime's was hidden behind a smirk, but it was just as potent. His words and frustration were sharp and cutting.

They were all standing behind him. Ser Brynden and his squire Denys were there. The former remained troubled and upset with himself for having failed to have protected the Tully ward. He had lost sight of him in the heat of battle.

Ladies Catelyn and Lysa Tully stood with their uncle, quiet and poised. The two sisters were mourning the loss of their friend, the Tully ward. The Lady Lysa had recovered from her distress that had caused her to faint. She had since thanked his betrothed several times, and seemed to look at her differently in the aftermath of the attack.

Cersei was standing beside him. Her eyes were hard when they looked at the criminals. The men who dared to attack them.

Feed them to the flames! The voice returned. Let them feel the dragon's wrath, let them burn in it!

A small part of himself began to waver.

Why shouldn't they suffer? Vengeance stirred within him like a waking dragon.

They attacked me. They tried to kill me.

His mind then cruelly hinted what would have befallen his betrothed had their raid been successful. The dragon roared to show its displeasure, it was a burning intensity.

The order was on his lips to rescind his decision. He'd send them to his father. That would please him. A show of my fealty to him as well as allowing a fitting punishment to these rogues, who dared attack their party.

Images flickered across his vision of the men burning in the great hall and he could not deny the deviant satisfaction he felt upon watching it.

What of your mother? A new voice made itself heard through the thick haze of his growing wrath.

He knew what happened to Mother when Father burned men alive. He visited.

It was a sobering chill that cut even deeper. It began to lift that manic grip that had latched onto his heart, poisoning his blood with such a demented taste of vengeance.

So what? His father's cruel voice returned. They would've raped your betrothed. They would've killed her.

That was the kindling to the dying fire inside him which suddenly sparked and crackled, growing hotter and brighter.

Cersei, your pretty betrothed, naked, bruised, and bloodied, The voice hissed, with a red slash across her pale throat.

You're a dragon so let them burn.

For one long second, his heart was armored by indifference. He was ready to change his mind. In that heartbeat, he put aside any thought or concern for anything or anyone else so that he could have his reckoning.

Let them burn.

It was her that pulled him away from those poisonous chains. Cersei had touched his hand, bringing him out of his thoughts and onto the foreground where the headsmen was waiting for his orders. There was a solemn silence in the air as the crowd watched and waited for him to give his verdict.

"Hang them."

He watched the men die in stony silence.

The bodies twitched and turned on the ropes.

Daeron felt sick. It was not for ordering or overseeing their deaths.

No, it was that lapse, no matter how brief that had so thoroughly consumed him.

Who am I?

Jaime:

The wedding between Ned and Ashara had moved forward without delay once the Prince's retinue had arrived to Storm's End.

Northern weddings were often held at night, which allowed several hours to prepare and make ready for it, and the Prince would not hear of further impediments to their union.

Robert had unsurprisingly readily agreed with his cousin at the chance for a feast and celebration.

Jaime quietly noted Ned's protest seemed more show then sincere. He knew Ned was quite eager to marry his betrothed. The Lady Dayne did not even bother to hide behind bland words that were expected of ladies of high birth in regards to their life and virtue. She openly voiced her agreement with the Prince and Robert, and that was that.

What followed was to Jaime the fastest wedding he had ever been apart of.

It had been dark and eerily peaceful. Jaime had just settled himself for the ceremony, resigned to what followed. He suspected it was on the Old Gods and their ways and why they should be followed or obeyed, then chanting and prayers and songs to praise them, but to his surprise none of that had happened. It was suddenly over before he could realize it.

One minute, Lady Ashara was being escorted by her brother to the weirwood tree where Ned stood waiting, quiet and smiling. A short exchange followed and then Ned was carrying his new wife into the hall for a feast.

The solemn wolf was anything but with his wife in his arms.

Jaime was left to follow the guests in disbelief at the quickness of it all.

"Why didn't we have our wedding in the godswood?"

"We don't follow the Old Gods, dear," Elia reminded him, her voice barely carrying over the noise.

The Round Hall was raucous and loud for the wedding feast.

Robert had provided the food, drink, and entertainment for his friend's wedding. He saw it as his duty as his liege lord, though Jaime doubted Robert was this generous or even generally aware of his other bannermen.

Jaime saw that as a minor snag. "Had I known how swiftly they conducted weddings I may have reconsidered," He scratched at his chin, pleased at the sound of his wife's laughter. "In fact, I think I may have converted."

"That's blasphemy, Jaime," she patiently pointed out with a light tone rich in mirth.

Jaime dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "You didn't have to endure all that singing and praying," He rolled his eyes at all the theatrics and gimmicks that were coated in their ceremony.

"Are you saying that the wait wasn't worth it?"

"Never," he spluttered, realizing that he was dangerously close to saying or implying a very wrong and bad thing he'd never say. His concern for such an offense was short lived as his inward panic stilled upon hearing Elia's lovely laughter.

"I am glad," She squeezed his hand. Her eyes shimmered in the candlelight.

He leaned forward to meet her lips. She welcomed it with a hum, but before he could begin to truly savor her lips against his, they were interrupted.

"The lion pounces!" Robert's booming voice brought up a great cheer from the other onlookers.

Jaime made sure to send a pointed look and a gesture towards his friend. The latter earned him a mild rebuke from his wife and roaring laughter from Robert and others.

He looked towards the bride and groom, noticing how lively the two were together sitting alone at the high table.

Robert had put himself as close to Ned as he could and had Ned's sister on his other side. Then it was Ned's brother Benjen with Lord Arryn and his heir, Denys, with the Tullys beside him.

They had found themselves on Ashara's side due to the sisterly bond between his wife and the bride.

Prince Daeron had given leave for Ser Arthur to have the night off. The knight was not receptive to what he saw as a dereliction of duty. So the two compromised, Arthur had given himself an hour to eat, drink, and celebrate with his sister before insisting he returned to his duty. Jaime understood and respected the knight's insistence Ser Gwayne was injured and went back to King's Landing.

The Sword of the Morning proved true to form and tale.

His wife sat behind the contemplative knight who seemed determined to make sure everyone saw his struggle at having to stray from his duty. Jaime sat to her other side. His sister was on his other side and then his friend and Prince sat beside her. Robert had put his brothers at their table and they sat on the Prince's other side as well as their niece, the bastard born, Mya Storm. It was not seemly to seat a bastard so high, but Robert didn't really care and would hear no argument.

There was only a few Stormlords in attendance. It seemed Robert didn't give it much thought to invite all of them. Lord Buckler was here, but Jaime suspected he was only here because Robert had just visited his castle, and a few of the other closer seats to Storm's End had also joined and were spread out at the tables in front of them.

In seeing it all in front of him, he couldn't help but fondly recall their own wedding which had happened only last year, but felt so long ago which prompted him to joke. "We're now the old married couple."

"Old?" Elia picked that word from Jaime's earlier remark.

He was quick to clarify. "Well, I meant me."

"I'm older than you."

Jaime realized he should just quit before the hole gets any deeper. He then looked towards her in hopes of seeing her smiling, but he saw something else.

"Are you well?" He moved closer to her.

"I think it is the wine."

"You're not drinking it," Jaime saw her glass was still full and he had never seen any of the passing servants refill hers. "Which is strange since you always drink when I talk." He japed, and was pleased at the small smile that came to her face.

"That is true," She replied with equal charm.

He moved to take her hands, tanned and warm. "What's wrong?"

"My stomach," she confessed, "I do not want it to distract you."

"I want to be distracted when my wife is unwell."

She kissed his cheek. "Then I shall see if Maester Cressen can give me a few minutes." She rose from her seat.

Jaime moved to join her, but she put her hand on his shoulder. "You will stay and drink."

"I should go with you," He didn't like the idea of celebrating while his wife was being seen by a maester.

"You will stay," She repeated, "And if I'm truly unwell then I'll have a servant come to fetch you." She suggested as a compromise.

Jaime nodded. He didn't like it, but he knew she would insist on him staying and if he didn't relent she may not see the maester at all.

"Thank you," She showed her appreciation with a brief kiss that only made Jaime want to follow her more.

He watched her seek out the Maester who was gracious and looked unbothered at having to leave the feast to see her.

"What is wrong with Elia?" His sister's voice pulled him back to the table where she had taken Elia's empty seat and he noticed that his friend, Daeron had taken hers.

"She thinks it a bad reaction to the wine."

Her face was marred with genuine concern for her good-sister.

They had come along way, and that observation returned some of Jaime's good cheer. "She ordered me to stay and drink."

"What a cruel wife," Daeron replied dryly.

Jaime snorted, "We all suffer my prince." He drank to that and to his friend's laughter that followed.

He had been so worried for them when the news had come to Storm's End that their caravan was attacked. When he learned they were well then that relief crumbled into anger and at such a bold offense towards his family. He could only imagine his father's wroth when the news came to him in the capital.

An attack on a Lannister would not be treated lightly.

It was later when he arrived at Bronzegate was when he learned of how she handled herself in the skirmish and had actually killed a man.

She had wet her sword before him.

It seemed such a strange and ludicrous truth he nearly laughed thinking this some clever jape thought between the prince and his sister. When it was repeated as an actual truth and not a prank, Jaime's mirth had slipped away.

He was surely proud of her for taking such an action. Jaime knew of the Prince allowing her to spar and encouraging it, something Father had not been keen on, but Mother had a way of convincing him to let it lie, so he did not intervene.

Still for her to fight and kill someone and to do so before me.

How often did a sister beat a brother in such a thing?

It was a strange and hollow feeling, but he did not wish to express it aloud and tried his best to keep it hidden. A good jape can be just as good as a shield to hide behind.

"So sister will you be knighted before me?" Jaime grinned.

There was something else. He did not like it, but he could not deny its existence. This seedling of something ugly that moved within at the news of his sister's triumph and how she had bested him at something he never expected. He'd quashed it whenever it stirred its sour discontent.

"I think not," she replied with a small, but faint smile. "I wouldn't wish to steal all your glory."

"There is a matter I wish to discuss with you, Jaime," The Prince spoke softly, but it was his tone that captured Jaime's attention before he could reply to his sister.

He felt the warm mirth begin to deflate. "Of course," He assured his friend.

"I've received a raven," Daeron revealed, "Ser Barristan is coming to Storm's End to replace Ser Gwayne and with men and orders." He straightened up in his seat. "My father, the king has ordered me to find and destroy this Brotherhood. I would ask if you would like to join me?"

"I will," Jaime readily accepted. "I would be honored."

Daeron looked relieved. "Good, I'm glad to have you at my side. I hope to speak to the others."

"Do you even need to ask Robert?" Jaime joked.

That got some of the solemness that was set on the prince's face to thaw. "No, I suppose not."

"Do you not think it wiser, Jaime, to ask or at least tell your wife of this adventure you are set to go on."

Cersei's reminder was a bucket of cold water on his unbound excitement.

"I will tell her," Jaime did not think she would have a problem with it. Yes, they were going after armed men, but they were certainly going to be better prepared as well as informed this time around after that attack on the caravan.

"Tell who?" Elia had returned, looking radiant.

"What did Cressen say?" Jaime got out of his chair to greet her, relieved to see she looked renewed.

"It was nothing," she sat down beside him. His sister vacating her seat and moved to the empty one. "Cressen supplied me with a tonic."

"Good."

"Now what and who was it you were going to tell?"

"That's a little confusing," Jaime pointed out.

Elia did not find that as amusing as he hoped.

"It was you," He decided it was better to be quick and blunt then draw it out any further, "And the Prince has been assigned to take down the Brotherhood and has asked for me to join him."

"And you accepted." It wasn't a question.

"Perhaps."

"Very well," she acquiesced, "As long as you don't do anything foolish."

That was when Prince Daeron leaned into the conversation. "Then I guess you can't go."

"Uncle Jaime."

He looked down into the very blue eyes of Mya Storm. Robert's daughter had somehow found her way to him. He'd blame the revelry for that as the feast and celebration of the wedding was still in full effect.

"Up, Uncle Jaime," She pulled on his sleeve.

As any good uncle would, he complied. Jaime lifted her up and into his lap where she was quite delighted to squirm around this way and that watching and mimicking the dancing guests in front of them.

His wife was beside him. They had returned to their seats after a few dances themselves before Elia asked for a reprieve which he gladly gave.

"Papa!" Mya was pointing across the room to where Robert was.

"That's right," Elia said sweetly, making the girl preen with pride.

Robert was talking to Ned and Ashara.

He then moved away to where most of the guests had gathered to drink and dance. He let out a very loud whistle that cut through all the din of the hall and brought every eye in the room on him.

Robert greeted their gazes with a large grin. "Who thinks they can beat me?" He raised his hands as if to flame the fervent voices that rose to meet his challenge. "Drinking or fighting," He held up one of his arms and flexed a rather impressively large muscle that caused more than a few of the women to blush and smile in their admiration.

The dancing was forgotten as was much of the conversing. They began to move their way to where the Lord of Storm's End was. He was sitting and waiting and drinking. "There be a fine reward for the one who is able to beat me."

That had brought the rest over forming a large crowd which circled around Robert, buzzing in anticipation to the first challenger. Nobles, knights, and the servants were all drawn in by Robert's boasting and easy charm.

It was only from his seat at the table did Jaime notice Ned and Ashara slip away. The guests all had their backs turned, focused on Robert and were unable to see the couple exit.

"I wonder how they'll react when they finally notice," Elia had noticed too. Her mood had steadily improved throughout the night.

Whatever tonic Cressen had given her had been very effective. He'd have to thank him the next time he saw him. He loved to see his wife in such high spirits.

"He didn't do that for our wedding." Jaime felt a little offended. It was mostly for show, but still, the bedding was not a pleasing experience in his opinion. "I just don't think its fair," Jaime turned away after Robert had soundly beaten his first opponent, a knight in Robert's service.

"I mean if I had to be stripped down and pinched by a bunch of women then Ned should too," Jaime gave a dramatic shudder. "It's been very hard to hold a conversation with Lady Crakehall now that she's glimpsed certain parts of me. Or Lady Swyft who helped to rip my trousers off."

Elia snorted, but did not sound the least bit sympathetic.

"Our bannermen, and the guards and servants seeing me nearly naked," Jaime added the last word in a whisper. Mya was still on his lap, but her attention was on her father who was continuing to defeat challenger after another. "How are they suppose to take me seriously?"

He didn't get an answer because that was when Mya turned around to face him. Her smile was bright and infectious just like her father's. She was fascinated by the golden lion brooch he wore on his doublet. And began roaring to it.

With one arm still holding her in place, Jaime could only laugh.

"Isn't this a father's responsibility?" He asked in an utterly unserious manner.

"I think it suits you rather well."

"Is that right?" He turned to his wife.

She was smiling and her eyes shone with a warm hue. "It is."

"Well," Jaime drawled, "I'll never protest trying to have them." He winked at her.

Elia laughed and shook her head. Her raven colored hair beginning to slip out of their braids.

Mya then decided his chin was more interesting, clasping it with both hands and then began to explore the rest of his face with her small hands which included poking his nose. When Jaime tried to stop her, she giggled thinking it was a game and that only further encouraged her.

Jaime remembering his time with Tyrion at this age decided the best tactic was tickling. It was swift and effective. She burst out giggling and her face began to redden. She squirmed and protested, but her small hands couldn't deter him.

"No fair!" She squealed in between her laughter.

"I can no longer tell who's the child," Elia observed.

Jaime decided to give the girl a respite. She sagged against his chest. Her breathing was still a bit haggard, but she had quieted. He assumed she was tired out by all of the excitement as well as the late hour.

"You handled her rather well," Elia had moved closer to him. One of her hands going through the girl's dark curls. "That is good to see," She kissed his cheek before her mouth went to his ear, "Because I'm pregnant."