Disclaimer : I Own Nothing
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jaehaerys POV
Jaehaerys sat in the dimly lit chamber, the weight of his years pressing upon him as the words of his grandson echoed in his mind.
Daemon's derision had been sharp, his defiance unwavering. The brazenness of it, the sheer lack of deference—it had been galling. Yet, what unsettled him most was not the insolence but the truth woven within the boy's accusations.
He had dismissed them in the moment, but they had clung to him like smoke, lingering in his thoughts long after Daemon had stormed away.
Queen Alysanne sat opposite him, her expression unreadable, but Jaehaerys could feel the tightness in her posture.
To her left, Septon Barth, ever the measured counselor, studied the flickering candlelight as if seeking answers within its dance. And beside him, Baelon Targaryen, his son and heir, leaned forward, jaw clenched, a storm brewing in his violet eyes.
"He is out of control," Baelon finally said, his voice measured but taut with frustration. "Drunkenness, whoring, insolence to his elders. He flaunts his disobedience as if it were a badge of honor."
"Perhaps because he sees no honor elsewhere," Septon Barth murmured, his eyes lifting to meet the king's. "You heard him, my lords. He believes himself abandoned."
Jaehaerys exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. "Abandoned? He is of my blood, raised in the Red Keep, given every advantage a prince of House Targaryen could ask for."
"Every advantage," Barth acknowledged. "Except love."
Baelon scoffed. "That is nonsense. I have been there for him. Have I not, Mother?"
Alysanne, silent until now, finally spoke, her voice cool and edged with something uncharacteristically bitter. "And yet he has no place. No role. He is neither heir nor spare. He is a boy with no future except what is dictated to him, and you expect him to accept it gladly?"
Baelon's lips pressed into a thin line, but it was Jaehaerys who absorbed the weight of her words.
Daemon's mockery, his bitter accusations—they were not entirely unfounded. He had been cast aside, a loose piece in a game of cyvasse, shuffled from one square to another without thought.
Even Alysanne, who had once doted on all her grandchildren, had kept him at a distance.
He thought of Daemon's words again. Everyone in this family who tried to do their duty has either died or been exiled.
"I will not have him destroy himself," Baelon said after a long silence. "If he continues down this path—"
"Perhaps a path should be given to him," Barth interrupted gently.
"The boy needs purpose. If we do not give him one, he will find one himself, and we may not like what he chooses."
Jaehaerys steepled his fingers. "And you have a suggestion, Septon?"
"The Stepstones remain a problem," Barth began, choosing his words carefully.
"Pirates harass our fleets, and Lord Tarth has requested aid once more. Daemon is young, yes, but he is already a warrior, and he has a dragon. A dragon can do what ships and swords cannot. It would put him to use."
"No." Baelon's answer was immediate, his voice like steel. "He is fifteen. He is my son. I will not send him to war against pirates."
Jaehaerys considered it, though.
The idea had merit. Daemon had fire in his veins, a restlessness that would not be sated in the courts of the Red Keep. Alysanne, however, gave him a sharp look, as if reading his thoughts.
"You cannot solve this by casting him aside, Jaehaerys," she warned.
"That is what he expects. That is why he mocks us. Because he knows it will happen."
Baelon sighed, his frustration palpable. "You would have us do nothing then? Let him roam the streets, staining our family's name with his debauchery?"
"There is a difference between doing nothing and giving him a reason to stay," Barth replied. "Daemon needs a challenge, something worthy of his ambition. He is not a boy content to play the dutiful son. If he does not carve a place for himself within the family, he will carve it outside of it."
Jaehaerys remained silent. Because, deep down, he knew she was right.
Even now, as they discussed Daemon, his mind kept returning to the venom in the boy's voice, the scorn in his eyes.
His own grandson, viewing them all as if they were the plague and he the only healthy man in the room.
And perhaps, in some way, he was.
Jaehaerys leaned back in his chair and exhaled. "We will not send him to Tarth," he said finally. "But something must be done. If we do not give him a place, he will take one for himself."
And that, he feared, would be far more dangerous than anything else.
Daemon's POV
Daemon left Caraxes in the Dragonpit, letting the great beast coil and settle, his scales shimmering in the torchlight. With a final pat along the dragon's snout, he turned and strode towards the stables, where his black courser awaited.
The ride through the streets of King's Landing was familiar, the sights and smells of the city washing over him like an old melody. The tavern he frequented was not far, nestled between crooked alleyways, a place where his name was spoken with reverence rather than contempt.
As he entered, a roar of welcome greeted him. His knights, loyal men of the city, raised their cups, and the smallfolk, ever eager to fawn over the prince who walked among them, rushed to greet him. He smirked, reveling in the adoration. Here, at least, he was not a ghost. Here, he was seen.
He ordered drinks for all, his coin exchanged for cheers and laughter. Yet even as the ale flowed, a whisper reached his ear.
A loyal citizen, eyes darting nervously, leaned in. "Your Grace… it is not safe for you in the streets anymore. The city guards—they've stopped their duties. The Gold Cloaks are ghosts. No one enforces the law."
Daemon's amusement faded, his smirk turning into a scowl. He downed his drink, then rose, the room quieting as he did. With a glance at his knights, he strode out, his steps filled with purpose.
The city was his to protect. If the guards had abandoned their posts, then he would remind them of their duty.
The barracks of the City Watch were in disarray, men lounging about, some too deep in their cups, others too idle to notice his arrival. Daemon's lip curled in disgust as he took in the filth and disorder. This would not do.
"Gather every man in the Watch," he ordered, his voice carrying through the chamber. "Now."
His knights moved, and the lazy guards scrambled, sensing the storm that was about to break.
Daemon Targaryen would not allow the city to rot. Not while he still drew breath.
If the so-called Watch had abandoned their duty, then he would remind them who truly commanded the streets of King's Landing.
"I have come to find out that you are not performing your duties. I understand that you do not know whom to ask for your wages. Everyone here serves a powerful lord, and so, I have decided—whoever wishes to stay may stay, and whoever wishes to leave may do so by giving their name to the scribes. They will see to your departure, with no repercussions.
Any takers? No need to be afraid. I am not the ruler of this city, nor do I hold a low opinion of you."
Still, nobody moved.
"Good. Since you have chosen to stay, I will be taking command of the Watch until you can function properly. I will pay you double what you were previously paid. I will commission armor, cudgels, and daggers for you with my own money. I will divide you into five groups, each responsible for patrolling a section of the city. Your duty is to ensure the safety of the people—to make sure they are not afraid in their own home. You are permitted to use force against any dissenters.
Now, are you ready to live and work for yourselves and your families? Or would you rather be known as lazy and corrupt fools who would do anything for coin?"
A tense silence followed.
"Oh, and if I find any of you taking advantage of the smallfolk after I have doubled your pay with my own money—"
A deafening roar echoed through the city. Caraxes.
"I am sure there won't be any, isn't that right?"
"YES, MY PRINCE!!" they shouted in unison.
"Good. Every morning, I will train with you, along with any knights who wish to join.
After that, we will act on information regarding criminal activities.
We will go there ourselves and see to it that such matters are put to an end. Then, I will establish a patrol schedule.
I am sure some of you are already thinking of ways to take advantage of this situation. But let me tell you this—if you abuse the people of this city, I will find out. And when I do..."
I let out a chilling laugh.
Some of them gulped.
"Good. I will see to it that the armor, cudgels, and daggers are prepared for you.
All of you will report your names to the scribes so that your wages are properly recorded and paid at the start of each moon. You will be divided into teams, and I will shuffle them—so if you do not trust someone, weed them out by tomorrow. Your names and equipment will be counted then.
And let me be clear—only the truly corrupt, those who encourage the suffering of the smallfolk, should be dealt with. Not those who merely took easy coin out of desperation. That is my duty to judge. I am sure you will enjoy the next fifteen days."
I gave them a chilling smile and left with the knights in tow.
"Is this wise, my prince?" Ser Harold asked.
"No, Ser, it is not wise at all," I admitted. "But the situation is this—the people are worried for my safety in the very city where the royals reside.
And yet, the royals themselves are not safe.
I do not know what the Small Council is doing, but the people still call me their prince. Despite all my antics, they treat me as their own.
This is something I can rectify easily. And as for the money—it is my own. I will use it as I see fit.
Now, shall we?"
-------------------------------------------------------------
You can support me on
P@treon/LUCIFER482(replace the @ with an "a").
Tier Benefits:
Free Members: Access to one chapter ahead of all other platforms.
Grunts : 2 chapters than other platforms
Barons : All Chapters available
Originals : All Chapters available
can decide which fic i will focus for the week and also suggest what plot lines they want to see