Disclaimer : I Own Nothing
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
96 AC
It took some time for me to regain my wits as I leaned on the mirror, staring at my reflection. Whoever was responsible for my being here had not simply cast me into this world through some crude transmigration.
No, they had made me live this life, shaping my very soul, and only now had they awakened my memories—memories that came like a dragon dream.
I felt the warmth of a mother's love from Alyssa Targaryen, the firm guidance of a father from Baelon Targaryen, and even the fierce devotion of my uncle Aemon, who cherished me as if I were his own son.
When Rhaenys claimed Meleys, the sting of betrayal cut deep. I had trusted her, and yet, in my eyes, she had taken something that should have been mine.
I refused food and water, wallowing in my wounded pride. It was Uncle Aemon who pulled me from my misery, taking me atop Caraxes.
The moment we soared into the sky, I felt it—the raw exhilaration of dragon flight. The air rushing past, the world stretching infinitely below—it was intoxicating. From that day forward, I rode with him whenever he was free, embracing the skies as my true home.
As for Viserys, I was his protector, his shadow. I was the one who always stood by him, fought for him.
Now, King Jaehaerys had announced my impending marriage to Rhea Royce. A year from now, I would be wed.
At fifteen, I was already a well-built man, proficient in swordplay and weapons, and—most importantly—I had finally bonded with Caraxes.
After the Great Council to determine the heir, Rhaenys had left without a backward glance. That hurt me more than I cared to admit.
On top of that, Queen Alysanne, in her endless smothering of her last child, Princess Gael—my only friend in this castle—had ensured that she was kept away from me since her return.
So I indulged. Blood, wine, and whores—what else was a man to do when his family had cast him aside? When he was still, at his core, a boy?
But now, with my newfound awareness, I understood why Daemon Targaryen became the man history remembered.
He had been Viserys's most ardent supporter, yet Viserys discarded him time and again, treating him as little more than an afterthought. The only time he wielded his power as king was against his own brother.
I refuse to be his lapdog.
I can already see my father's manipulations. He is convinced I will serve as Hand to Viserys.
A bittersweet smile tugged at my lips. I know my brother. He would never keep a man by his side who was more popular with the people, an accomplished warrior, and, most importantly, a dragonlord. Daemon realized this in the original timeline, and he left with Laena Velaryon.
After all, by most accounts, his marriage to Rhaenyra turned him into a mere shadow of the man he had once been.
As I brooded, examining my newly honed muscles in the mirror, my door swung open.
"Prince Aelon Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne."
"And King Jaehaerys, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."
I snorted at the seven kingdoms when it is only six.
As they approached, curiosity flickered in their eyes.
"Share the joke with us, Daemon. We would also like to laugh," Jaehaerys said pointedly.
I turned back to the mirror, a smirk playing on my lips. "Your Grace, I am sure you would, but it would be most inappropriate to utter before a king."
Ignoring their scrutiny, I began styling my hair. I had learned early on that I could rely on no one for such things. Grooming and all the luxuries of court would mean little when I no longer had a place in this family.
The king and my father were clearly taken aback by my blatant sidestepping, but Jaehaerys quickly regained his composure.
"Daemon, you will cease this debauchery and start behaving. That is final."
I let out a dry chuckle. "Zȳhon Grace, nyke issa daor ao buzdari." (Your Grace, I am not your slave.)
"What did you say?" Jaehaerys's voice was sharp with disbelief.
"Father!" My father interjected before turning to me, his face lined with exasperation.
"Daemon, my son. Does this rebellion of yours never end? Can you not accept your duty? It is our responsibility as the royal family."
"How convenient duty is. As far as I am concerned, everyone in this family who tried to do their duty has either died or been exiled. So forgive me,
ñuha prince, lo nyke va sagon gevie bē zȳhon."
(" my prince, if I am not particularly enthusiastic about it.")
"And why do you even push for my marriage when there is no need for it? You have an heir. My brother is my father's heir.
And let's not forget the debauchery he so easily committed with a ten-and-three-year-old as soon as she flowered.
At least I make sure the whores I sleep with are women and do not father bastards."
"All the marriages arranged by Queen Alysanne have been failures of such epic proportions. Why would I subject myself to it? As for being disowned, I would be very happy if you did. Because in the last five years, I have realized this family does not give a rat's shit about me. My uncle died, then my cousin abandoned everyone after the council.
The queen took away my only friend, my father is mired in the duties of an heir, and my brother spends his time either performing his marital duties or flattering the lickspittles who surround him.
When I speak to him, he so easily assumes that as a second son, I should simply bend over for him and not make my own place in life."
After donning my riding leathers, I left them standing speechless. My father's brow furrowed, his lips parting as if to call me back, yet no words came.
Jaehaerys' face remained impassive, though his fingers curled slightly against his robes—a flicker of displeasure, or perhaps something deeper. I met their gazes one last time, and in that moment, I saw it: shock in my father's eyes, anger simmering beneath the king's calm veneer, and something dangerously close to resignation settling in both.
Then I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving them to wrestle with the weight of my words.
I donned my riding leathers and left them standing there, speechless.
The Red Keep loomed behind me as I rode through the streets of King's Landing, my mind turbulent.
At the Dragonpit, I whistled to the keepers and spoke in High Valyrian, "Naejot jorrāelagon Caraxes's saddlon." (Prepare Caraxes's saddle.)
When Caraxes emerged, I approached his snout, placing my forehead against him.
"Valzȳrys, (Brother)
Hāedroma sȳz. (Let us fly well.)
Ñuha valzȳrys, nyke gōntan nīþir tymagon hen bisy dōrī gūrēñagon."
(My brother, I have grown sore of this mundane world for the day.)"
He roared enthusiastically.
Once saddled, I climbed atop him and commanded, "Soves."
We ascended into the sky, the wind rushing past, my heart soaring with the thrill of flight.
"Is this not beautiful, my brother?" I laughed. "Fly to your heart's content today, but let us also test how long I can remain in the air."
We dove, we climbed, we twisted and turned in the sky, reveling in the sheer freedom.
Yes, this power beneath my legs, the boundless sky above—who would not feel invincible?
After hours of flight, we stopped in a remote area where Caraxes hunted a lion and a deer. I took a small portion of venison and let him feast on the rest.
When we returned to the Dragonpit, I gave the keepers a final command.
"Naejot ivestragī. Hen bisy tolvie, ziry ēza jelmazmo." (Do not chain him. From this day forth, he shall be free.)
Turning to Caraxes, I whispered in High Valyrian,
"Ābrar se se hāedrȳ, kostilus syt daor ēza vali arlī pȳdas. Soves sȳz, ñuha jorrāelagon."
(Find a home near the city, where no men will disturb you. Fly freely, my friend.)
And with that, I left, knowing that for the first time in a long while, something in my life belonged solely to me.