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123 AC, Dragonstone
Daemon Targaryen gently petted Caraxes as the great Red Wyrm landed with a thud. He had gone on a flight to clear his head before taking the girls back to the fortress to get to sleep. Things had been… wrong for quite some time, since the Potters came to their island, perhaps even before it, and he had not realised it.
He stared at the Potters' Manse, as if it was taunting him, and every single impulse was telling him to burn it to the ground, to take back what they had taken from him, but it was the laughter that stopped him. Well, the foolishness of the action had a hand to play, but it was the sound of his daughters laughing that truly made his simmering rage disappear. Rhaena and Baela had not laughed like this for years, not since Pentos, truly. Or perhaps it was since Laena perished.
A balm to his soul, it might have been once, but now it was a reminder of what he had lost with Laena, with his dreams of a son or heir. And now, married to Rhaenyra, he had two glorious sons, perfect in every way, but a dark corner of his mind always asked if they were simply the twisted products of Laena's sacrifice, to have finally what he once craved for, at the cost of something that he should have treasured more than he had ever imagined.
Gods, they sounded so much like Laena, and it killed him that his daughters were more at ease with the Potters' company than his own. And as much as he wished he could protest it, to ask Caraxes to burn them, he knew that he could not. He still remembered that day in Harrenhal, the day when the largest fortress in the Seven Kingdoms had been turned to rubble, and he imagined the same happening to Dragonstone or even King's Landing. The thought always sent a shiver down his spine, and this time was no different.
Perhaps he wouldn't have been as frustrated if he hadn't had to rein in Rhaenyra and stop her from doing something reckless against the blasted sorcerer's wife. She was quickly growing obsessed, something about the woman being a great threat to her that she needed to eliminate. It was taking much of his time trying to stop her from flying on Syrax and burning the manse, though, because it would likely achieve very little in terms of harming the Potters in any way. It was only Daemon claiming that Viserys would personally investigate the Potters' death that stopped her from acting rashly, but he knew that this excuse would not deter her for long, especially when she believed that her children's lives were at stake.
To make things worse, Corlys had completely washed his hands of it all, focusing mostly on the girls. It unsettled Daemon greatly. The man had been obsessed with his legacy, with his remembrance, and he desired, more than anything, to have his blood on the Iron Throne, or more accurately, his name. Then again, should Jacaerys be king and Baela his wife, he would achieve it in a very convoluted way.
The fact that he did not press things now that Rhaenyra seemed inclined for some mad reason to make choices that could, in many ways, destroy her claim to the throne, and with it, Corlys's precious legacy. The Sea Snake's attitude did not make sense, unless he and Rhaenys were plotting something, something that should have worried Rhaenyra immensely, instead of this useless fretting against the Potters.
There were far greater issues to fret about, starting with Viserys's invitation to the so-called 'Grand Tourney'. He had read the letter addressed to Dragonstone, and it was more akin to a summons than an invitation. He wished to announce something before the entire realm, one that he could not take back, and the fact that he did not know what it was unsettled Daemon immensely.
This entire affair, celebrating the 'One-Day Winter', a ridiculous name in his opinion, felt like an excuse to gather the realm. After all, even the useless rats in the Citadel did not know what exactly happened. An act of the gods, they called it, one that affected all of Westeros and even beyond. No, Viserys was planning something, likely involving the Velaryons as well, and Rhaenyra seemed fully convinced that it would go in her favour, that she had very little to worry about.
The Rogue Prince was confident that Otto had felt the same before he was all but banished from the capital. Loathsome roach that he was, the man knew how to play Viserys well and had done so for years. His banishment meant that something was changing, and that Rhaenyra was blind to the danger this presented to her cause.
Daemon turned to look at the sea, which reflected the moon's silver light, hoping that it would, somehow, give him the answers that he sought, or perhaps just a moment of reprieve from his worries. Alas, he was disappointed by the silence.
No. He had had his fill of Rhaenyra's foolishness, and he would instead decide to focus on his daughters. He was losing them to some foreign sorcerers, and Daemon gritted his teeth for every moment the girls begged him and Corlys to allow the Potters to bring them to another 'adventure'.
Was Daemon not adventurous enough?
He was the rider of Caraxes, the bane of the Triarchy. He had once been King of the Stepstones. He was a Conqueror like his ancestor before him, a true dragon who protected his house, his family, from the rot that was the Hightowers. Daemon's presence alone elevated tourneys, and he had seen things in Essos with Laena, before the girls had been born, that very few would ever believe. He could easily regale them with his adventures or even share a few with them.
Now, that was an interesting idea. Daemon remembered his 'adventure' with Potter. Gods, he thought that he would likely never forget. Perhaps he could arrange for something similar with the girls. If the sorcerer spoke correctly, Valyria had been rid of its disease, and there were many places near the Basilisk Isles that he wished to visit alongside Laena, but her pregnancy with the twins stopped their journey short before they settled in Pentos. He remembered a seemingly cursed isle with some toad-people. That could be interesting. Or perhaps, they could reproduce the feat of Jaenara Belaerys and fly to Sothoryos.
He could cement his name into history alongside his daughters. The world would remember Baela and Rhaena Targaryen for centuries for their feats. Wouldn't that be a grand gift for his daughters, a symbol of his love for them, to forge them a legacy that would never be forgotten? A legacy that they themselves would not forget.
Yes… This could work. Daemon had not truly found himself, nor understood his purpose, until his time in the Stepstones. These wretched islands had forged him, honed him, into the man he became, and he could not imagine a finer gift to share with them than that.
This would be an adventure worthy of their blood, something only he could give them. Something that would prove he was not being replaced.
Caraxes shifted behind him, rumbling softly, as if looking forward to excitement, perhaps even battle, once more.
A voice spoke up behind him, "A coward dies a thousand deaths, but the valiant taste of death but once."
Daemon almost jumped in surprise as he took in the man behind him. Of course, it was him. Harry Potter, the man whom he would have likely killed long ago, if only he knew how he could.
The sorcerer remained there, staring at the sea, almost ignoring Daemon despite the interruption, "Shakespeare always did have a unique way with words. Even centuries later, his words are strangely… fitting. Though I doubt he ever met a man like you, Daemon Targaryen."
Daemon suppressed the urge to flinch at the man's soft expression, but he steeled himself quickly enough, unwilling to let the sorcerer have his victory. It was only then that he remembered the man's words, and rage enveloped him, and it was only his self-preservation that stopped him from grabbing Dark Sister and running it through the man's heart.
However, he would not let the insult go unanswered: "You call me a coward, and yet, you would never face me without your magic and your trickery. I am not the craven here, sorcerer."
The man turned towards Daemon, raising an unimpressed eyebrow, "On the contrary, on the battlefield, I do not think that there are many that would be your equal. It is where you are comfortable, is it not, where you feel the most alive, a man with no fear. And yet, I can't help but wonder what bravery has to do with it. I've always thought that courage is not defined by doing something that you are not afraid of, but of doing it despite being afraid. You, Daemon Targaryen, are a man who has never learned what to do when the fight is not one you can win with fire and steel. And that, I think, is where your fear lies."
Daemon did not know what to make of the man's words. They seemed overly convoluted for what was essentially the sorcerer calling him a craven, but in longer words. He gritted his teeth and uttered, "I fear nothing."
The sorcerer did not seem to mind Daemon's tone and instead looked back at the manse, "You only need to speak with them. Rhaena and Baela adore you. There's no need to resort to drastic measures to earn their love, not when you already have it, just because you fear interacting with them."
Daemon bristled. "My relationship with my daughters is none of your concern. My legacy, their legacy, is mine to shape. It is my duty to ensure they rise above the mediocrity of the court, above the pettiness that drowns our line. I will not have them remembered as footnotes in another's tale."
The sorcerer shook his head in disappointment, but then turned back to the sea, staying silent. The Rogue Prince almost assumed that the man had decided to stop talking. It took a few minutes for the man to finally open his mouth and speak up once more, "Do you want to know one of the saddest things I've seen in my youth? It's funny, the things one forgets, tucks away in the corner of their mind, only to return after so long."
Daemon did not have the time to answer before the sorcerer continued, "Before I learned to use my magic, before I met Daphne, before I became what I am today, I was but a lonely child, raised in a home without love or care. I was alone, and so, naturally, I looked for a friend. I found one in the shape of a dog. He was an old thing, a hound, chained in one of the neighbour's gardens. They did not like him much, I think. He was too noisy, barking at the cat across the street all of the time, tugging at his chain every time he saw it. Sometimes, at night, I would sneak him treats, just sit down and play with him. For a few beautiful months, I did not feel as alone. Unfortunately, one day, the neighbour's son forgot to chain him up after going on a walk. I still remember it to this day. It was a beautiful day, sunny without a single cloud in sight. And so, like he had every day, the dog spotted the cat, only this time, he was not chained."
The Dragonrider stood silent as the man seemed almost in his own little world, reminiscing about a memory that he looked as if he had forgotten. "He ran. I had never seen anything as beautiful as that old dog running. Until at last, he finally caught it, and to the horror of everyone, he killed that cat, tore it to pieces. Then he just sat there, confused. That dog had spent its own life trying to catch that… thing. And now, it had no idea what to do."
It was strange to see the sorcerer speaking with his youth. As much as he liked to talk about anything and everything, he very rarely spoke of his personal history. But as interesting as that might have been, Daemon scoffed, "That is hardly relevant to…"
The sorcerer interrupted him, "But it is… I've always thought that you Westerosi are strange people, so willing to risk your lives, to wage wars, for no particular reason. Even this Iron Throne, I cannot think of anyone since Aegon the Conqueror who has sat on it happily, and yet you all chase it, and gladly die for it, for this endless game of thrones, without actually having a plan on what you would accomplish with a crown on your head. I first thought that you were all blind to it all, to the truth of your ambitions, but I now realise that you see things very clearly, you all only treasure something far above the price you pay for it. For it is not power that you seek, not truly, but to be remembered, to have a legacy, to leave a mark on the world, that would stay behind. A song, a crown, a monument, or perhaps just a story, that is the most honour one may ever have. Better to die trying to be remembered than live a long but unremarkable life."
That… struck nearer than Daemon liked. Legacy was all any of them ever truly had. The Conqueror. The Old King. The Sea Snake. These were names that the world would remember centuries later, men who were immortal by their own achievements, just like Daemon would be, one day.
It was their way of life, their truth, and yet, he would gladly set aside his legend for one more night with Laena. He shook his head, stifling the grief that he always felt when he remembered his previous wife, "I suppose you find issues with this, sorcerer."
"Not really. To each their own," Harry answered with a shrug, "What I do care about is the fact that you would get Rhaena and Baela killed, with that little plan of yours, just to chase that legacy."
The Rogue Prince's instinct was to protest the accusation, only to freeze in his tracks. How had the sorcerer known? It had been something that he had only just decided on, a spark of a plan that he still hadn't fully decided on or even broached with the children. Gods, he hadn't even said it out loud, just a passing thought in the privacy of his mind.
Daemon's blood ran cold, "How?"
The sorcerer let out an amused snort that was also filled with exasperation before he answered, "You Targaryens don't do things halfway, do you? I really hadn't planned on being involved much in your affairs, but holy shit, you always find a way to fuck things up somehow."
"Answer me, sorcerer!"
"I can't believe you have so little self-preservation that you're actually demanding something of me despite knowing what I can do," Potter answered while shaking his head, "But I suppose I can understand how unsettling this might be. Imagine the world as a calm lake, and doing anything is like throwing a small stone into it. The world reacts, creating ripples of a sort, affecting the present, the future, and, on very rare occasions, the past too. The strength of the ripple is dependent on how significant the action is, and thus how seers, or as you call them in your family, Dreamers, could sometimes see these ripples before they occur. And you, Daemon, had just created a tidal wave with that little plan of yours, enough for me to notice."
Daemon froze at that. He was not the most knowledgeable when it came to the Higher Mysteries, but he could understand the basics of his situation, and instead of feeling warned from his path, much like the sorcerer intended, all he felt was excitement and perhaps slight elation.
His plan with his daughters was significant; it would cement him, cement them, in the annals of history. And this was the confirmation he needed that it would work, that his plans would accurately result in what he dreamt of and more.
With the sorcerer's warnings, he would be careful with his daughters and ensure that no harm would come to them, and they would be immortalised just like him, a beautiful gift for his daughters, and a fine tribute to Laena's legacy.
He heard the sorcerer mutter, "Oh, for fuck's sake."
The Rogue Prince barely had any time to react before the sorcerer pressed the palm of his hand onto Daemon's forehead, and suddenly, the world shifted. He was flying above, in the sky, with a storm surrounding him. The storm itself felt alive, and he looked as the clouds took the general shape of a face, its features glowing in lightning barrelling towards him, unmaking him utterly.
Then, the world shifted, and he found himself on the ground surrounded by a sickly fog, with Caraxes crashing down in the distance, spewing flames around him, while strange demons with scales and webbed hands and feet skewered him with a black spear, and he felt himself twist in agony, as his skin began to harden. He looked to the side and froze as he saw his Rhaena and Baela's unmoving forms on the ground, blood pouring around them.
Once more, the world changed, and he was in the jungle, and he was being swallowed by a stifling darkness. He could feel it enter his lungs, Caraxes' crimson scale turn black, and to his horror, his daughters with black eyes, devoid of colours, screaming in agony.
The worlds kept changing again and again, and he saw his children each time. In most, they perished, but in a few, they were crippled, twisted into… things. Things that should never have worn their faces.
Daemon tried to breathe, but even that felt stolen with each vision. He watched as Baela was dragged beneath a tide of black water. Rhaena was turned to stone while screaming his name. Caraxes was thrashing in blind agony as fire devoured him from within. And always, always, Daemon stood powerless, a spectator to horrors that he dearly wished to unsee.
When the visions finally stopped, and the world settled back into the cool sea breeze of Dragonstone, Daemon staggered, took a deep breath, and uttered shakingly, "What… What was that?"
The sorcerer's voice was uncharacteristically serious when he answered, "That was the result of your little plan. What do you think? Quite the legacy, huh?"
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AN: That chapter was harder to write than I expected. It's supposed to show a bit of a summary of the affairs of Dragonstone since the royal family left. Rhaena and Baela visit the Potters, while Rhaenyra is terrified of Daphne for the paternity threat she had over her. Meanwhile, Daemon is stuck in the middle, trying to stop Rhaenyra from doing something stupid, while making sure that his daughters are alright.
Of course, that meant that Daemon is stuck being the responsible one, which really isn't a good look on him. He feels a bit of a distance growing between him and his daughters, and wants to be a good father, but in a bit in the worst and most sociopathic way possible, enough that it grabs Harry's attention. The initial plan was to have that 'adventure' happen, but I decided to leave it like this. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
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If you want to support me, check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr
I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions on them, so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.