Chapter 26
DAEMON TARGARYEN
The Red Keep had never been more empty in his life than it was now, and as he walked through the Halls, he saw but a dozen servants, all working tirelessly as the capital reeled from the devastation of the plague.
It had been more than two moons now, and now hunger had begun to seethe, and the people all grew disgruntled and angry. It was not only the people that raged, for lords and merchants and magisters had lost thousands, they had lost families, and if the rumors were true, the Crown was much nearer to losing some family of their own.
The Old King had taken to his bed a few weeks ago, and Mysaria had told him how the Maesters were rather fearful for his life for a few days now, and some believed that he just might pass in a few days, bringing down the number of Targaryens in the Red Keep from three to two.
Daemon had been banished from the court by his father, yet now, as the Stranger roamed through the city, his familial bond could not bear to keep his only son away from him, especially as the old King lay on his deathbed.
So, Daemon now found himself sauntering to his father's solar, ready to bring down that healer who had deluded himself with ideas of grandeur and royalty. The bastard thought that he could wed Gael. That he could become one of them.
The Gal!
The guards opened the door before he had knocked, and as Daemon walked into the solar, he noticed how different it had become since his last visit, when he had been almost exiled from this castle.
The once tidy table was now filled with parchments and books, and besides the table, a large map of the city had been drawn up on parchment with various symbols drawn over it.
Baelon Taargaryen had changed as well, and his once neat stubble had become uneven and misshapen, and those bright eyes had dulled, as the Spring Prince withered under the coming of autumn of plague and disease.
"Daemon," his father looked up and smiled upon seeing him, as Daemon gave a small nod.
"Father," he called out as the man motioned for him to sit down, and Daemon plopped on the chair opposite to him.
"How have you been?" he asked, and Daemon raised a brow as he saw his father put his quill down and rub his eyes.
"I believe I should be the one asking you that," he answered, and his father scoffed.
"If only you were so filial to care for your family," and Daemon was quick to retort.
"I care for my family," Daemon argued, for it was he who was left at the mercy of that Bronze bitch while he had ever done everything just for his family.
"Yet you dishonor us every day by forsaking your wife and marriage," and he had hoped that things would be different, and wanted to scream and rage, but that would get him nowhere.
"I married her out of duty, yet she refuses to treat me as her lord or husband," he argued, before taking a deep breath.
"Still, you should be thankful that I did not heed your words and leave for Runestone," and at that, the Spring Prince raised a brow.
"And why should I be thankful?" his father asked, refusing to acknowledge his worth.
"Because I believe I have uncovered a great plot against our family," and those amethyst orbs narrowed, as his father's interest was piqued at those words.
"A plot against our family?" his father questioned, as he leaned forward, the tiredness vanished from his gaze as Daemon nodded.
"Yes, a plot hidden so well that it was able to fool us all. A plot that if not stopped will end the Targaryen dynasty," and now he had his attention finally.
"Speak," his father uttered, as Daemon took out a piece of parchment from his pocket and passed it to the King.
"These are the names of the people all working for that wretched Healer," he began, as his father raised a brow at the list of two dozen people.
"All of these people are questioning the ill, and sifting through the homes of all those who this so-called plague has afflicted as we speak to find out the cause of the plague," and this was all thanks to Mysaria. He was able to gather this and all of the rest together in such a short time.
"I know about this already," he began dismissively.
"But do you know where all of them worked previously?" and he smiled devilishly as he named the family that posed the greatest threat to their family.
"High Tide," and now his father was interested, as Daemon leaned forward.
"Each and every one of them worked for Corlys Velaryon, and now they are here in the capital working under this Healer in the guise of eliminating the plague. A plague that has been the most beneficial for the Velaryons," and by now, his father must have heard about how the Velaryons had grown even richer with the ports to the capital closed.
They had seen their fortune nearly double in this little time as the Crown's coffers were depleted by the hour.
"The Velaryons have enriched themselves in this time, and even now Corlys gathers his fleet at High Tide, and while one could think that he is simply preparing the city for the plague, one could look at it another way as well," and at that, Daemon leaned back.
"War," and his father's head snapped towards him at that, as he raged.
"He wouldn't dare," he raged, but Daemon simply shrugged.
"The Bard, the one who wronged Gael. I had some men look into him, and they believe that he fled the city on one of his ships as well, and what a coincidence it was that as soon as the bard flees the town, after dishonoring a Princess, a strange healer emerges out of the blue to save her," and doubt was as powerful a weapon as any, and Galen had spent years to endear himself to the Crown. He had the trust of his family.
To destroy him, for taking what was his, Daemon needed to end that trust. He needed to paint him as an enemy, and with the Queen and Gael away from the capital, he would have no better opportunity to do that than right now.
"I don't see it," his father refused to believe him, but Daemon could see the doubt in his eyes.
"What would he gain by betraying our family?" he asked, and he had Viserys to thank for telling him about his heritage.
"Revenge," Daemon whispered, as his father's eyes narrowed.
"Viserys told me about his heritage, and how our grandfather wronged him and his mother," and that anger would corrupt anyone's heart.
"They were beggared and he nearly lost his life afterwards. Do you not think that he would bear our family a grudge?" and he could see the trust waning as doubt crept up in his father's heart.
"What son would not wish to avenge their mother's killers, and that is what our family is to him. His mother's killers. That is why he struck at grandfather first, and now he fights for his life while our city slowly starves itself because of a plague that may have been his own creation," and now he asked again.
"His own creation? What do you mean by that?"
"There are rumors in the city," some that he had not even started, but would serve him all the same.
"Rumors that this is a plague of his creation, for no other city apart from the capital is yet affected by it, and while initially doubtful, I tend to believe it," and for good reason.
"After all, when have you ever heard of a plague to decimate but only one city?" he argued.
"Never," for all plagues in their history always affected at least two or three cities, yet this one was only confined to the capital.
"I am telling you, Father, this is all a ploy. A dangerous ploy for revenge and power, one orchestrated by Corlys Velaryon to beggar our family so that he may rise beyond his station. I know not if this was a plot of Corlys's creation, or this damned Healer's, but there are too many coincidences here, and we cannot ignore them," he argued, and the King's Hand had no retort now.
His belief in the Healer had been shaken, and now doubt crept up in his heart. For if he were to deny Daemon now, then he would be the man responsible for the demise of the Targaryen family.
"What do you suggest then?" he asked.
"Let me investigate this Hospital of his with my own men in secret," he requested.
"Let me find you the proof that this plague is one of his own creations so that you can make an example of him, so that no enemy of ours shall ever dare to plot against us ever again," and the Spring Prince was silent for some time before he whispered his answer.
"Do it…." Yet just as he spoke that, a servant barged in through the door.
"My prince! My Prince…" and he saw his father's face turn pale at that.
"The King is dea…"
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ALYSANNE TARGARYEN
Alysanne felt her bones ache as she walked on the rugged mounds of Dragonstone. She was joined by Gael, who held her by the hand as she led her to one of the largest caves on the isle, and a slew of castle guards and dragon keepers all followed behind her.
"Years ago, I would have been able to run across this place," she lamented, remembering her past and how she and Jaehaerys would play upon these very rocks in her youth.
But now every step pained her very bones, as Gael looked at her with concern.
"Must you really do this?" her daughter asked, and she looked into her eyes and nodded.
"I made a promise," and in truth, it went beyond that.
"And it has been years since I have seen my dear, Silverwing," and apart from her children and her husband, Silverwing was the closest thing Alysanne had to a comrade. It had been years since she had seen her, and now she could wait no more.
So, in the end, they entered the cave, and after a few steps, it was only the light from their fires that guided them, as they walked through the seeping walls, until they reached the centre of the cave.
Even years later, Alyssane gasped at the sight of her dragon and could not help but smile as she saw the silvery beast coiled around the Bronze Fury.
"Silverwing," she whispered, and it was as if her words roused the beast from her slumber, as those pearly blue eyes opened and turned towards her at once, and the beast rumbled up.
ROAR!
She felt Gael still, as her old companion roared as if to rouse her lover in her welcome, as Alyssane stepped forward.
"No need to worry," she whispered to her daughter as she walked forward with little to no fear as Vermithor opened its eyes and gazed at her as well, and roared as if asking about Jaehaerys.
"They are just welcoming us," she told her, and it was a shame that Gael had no dragon of her own. As she neared Silverwing, the beautiful creature put her head forward, and Alyssane raised her hand to touch its snout, sensing the anguish from her old friend.
"I am sorry, I couldn't come sooner. But I had my own duties," she whispered as she rubbed its skin, the warmth of Silverwing ever so familiar to her, and her gaze turned towards Vermithor, eyeing the cave behind her in anticipation.
"Just as you did yours," and upon seeing no sign of Jaehaerys, the Bronze Fury let out a deep grumble that shook the very floor, and that roar unsettled the Dragonkeepers behind her as Gael screamed for her.
"Mother!" she spoke, yet she raised her hand.
"It won't harm us," she told them, as it turned towards her, expecting an answer for Jaehaerys's absence.
"I am afraid that he won't be able to visit you from now on," she whispered. The words felt like ash in her mouth as she repeated her greatest fear to Jaehaerys's oldest comrade,. The Bronze Fury's eyes narrowed, and Silverwing rubbed its neck as if to console him, as she walked forward and settled against her belly and let herself bask in its warmth.
"Bring me my harp," she ordered, and Gael brought forth the box, as Alysanne slowly took out her favoured instrument and lay it on her lap.
"Forgive me if my voice is not as beautiful as it used to be," and so she pulled on a string, and then another and another until a melody spread all around them, before she opened her mouth and began to sing.
It was abysmal by her own standards, and age had made her voice thick and frail yet she sang for Jaehaerys, for their love as Silverwing and Vermithor coiled their heads around her as if consoling her in her grief, and when the song came to a halt, she found her face wet, as a sharp pain tore through her heart, and in that moment she knew that the love of her life was no more.
That, she was now more alone than ever.
"Goodbye, my love," she whispered, and she was not the only one who felt the passing of her lord and husband, as Vermithor grumbled as it gazed at the skies before it opened its maws and let out a deep grumble as it shared her sorrows in the passing of Jaehaerys Targaryen—the Old King.
"Goodbye…."
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