Chapter 2: The King and the Rogue
Year 97 After Conquest.
King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, now in his sixty-third year, had ruled longer than most men lived.
White-haired, wise, and resolute, he had become the very image of the just monarch — the man who tamed the chaos that followed Aegon's Conquest and shaped a kingdom from warring realms.
It was said that Aegon the Conqueror forged the Seven Kingdoms with fire and blood — but it was Jaehaerys the Wise who bound them with law and peace.
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King's Landing bore his legacy in every stone.
He had paved the filthy alleys of Flea Bottom, built fountains for the poor, and ordered wells dug so even the lowest could drink clean water.
He had raised the great King's Road, connecting north to south, and decreed a codified system of law to end feudal chaos.
Yet for all his wisdom, even Jaehaerys could not tame his own blood.
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That day, disguised in a plain black cloak and hood, the King rode through the harbor and markets, as was his habit, speaking with sailors and smiths. His guards — cloaked Kingsguard knights — walked unseen among the throng.
When his route turned toward Flea Bottom, the oldest and filthiest quarter of the city, Jaehaerys intended only to observe how his reforms had endured.
Instead, he found chaos — and his grandson at its center.
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The crowd had gathered around the dice tables.
Blood stained the cobbles.
A young man — silver-haired, dagger in hand — stood over a cowering gambler whose cheek was split open.
The mob whispered, Prince Daemon.
Jaehaerys's heart sank. "Gods have mercy," he muttered. Then, in a voice that carried like steel through the square, he called:
> "Daemon! Must I always find you with blood on your hands?"
The noise died at once.
The crowd turned — and when the disguised guards shed their black cloaks, the white of the Kingsguard gleamed like moonlight.
Then came the murmur: "The King!"
And one by one, the people of Flea Bottom fell to their knees.
Daemon froze. His dagger slipped from his hand, clattering against the cobblestone.
Despite his soul being that of a man grown — wiser, colder — a child's old fear stirred in his chest.
So much for staying unseen, he thought grimly.
The gambler, still bleeding, crawled to Jaehaerys. "Your Grace, save me! I did naught to him — the prince struck me without cause!"
Daemon's jaw tightened. "He cheated. I caught him loading the dice."
Jaehaerys's gaze was flint. "And for that, you meant to kill him? Did the gods grant you the right to dispense justice?"
Daemon bowed his head slightly. "I only sought to teach him a lesson, not take his life."
A trembling voice rose behind him — Qidan Massey, his loyal companion.
"Your Grace, the man was cheating. He's stolen coin from honest folk for months—"
The King's sharp look silenced him at once. "Honest folk do not haunt gambling dens, ser boy."
Then, turning back to Daemon:
> "How many times this year have you injured men? Corlys Velaryon complains you maimed one of his sailors in the harbor."
Daemon didn't flinch. "That man raped a whore and struck her after refusing to pay. Grandmother always said a knight protects women."
For a moment, Jaehaerys's composure cracked. He sighed, rubbing his temple.
> "And it's because she spoils you, boy, that you mistake vengeance for justice."
Daemon knelt — more from custom than submission.
"I swear, Grandfather, I'll do better."
But before the King could reply, a voice called from the edge of the square —
> "Your Grace! The prince stabbed me too!"
It was Luca, the drunkard from Silk Street, his wrist wrapped in a bloody bandage.
The King's eyes darkened. "Again?"
Daemon's tone sharpened. "He tried to sell his daughter to a brothel. I stopped him."
Luca howled, "He attacked me without warning!"
Now even the gambler and the drunkard knelt before the King, crying for royal justice.
The crowd thickened — beggars, fishwives, butchers, children — until every rooftop and window was filled with faces. All eyes watched the old dragon and the young.
And for the first time in decades, Jaehaerys felt the crowd's loyalty shift — not toward the crown, but toward the silver-haired boy standing bloodstained before him.
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When the King ordered, "Ser Ryam Redwyne — arrest him,"
the crowd surged forward as one.
> "Don't take the prince!" shouted a baker.
"He feeds us!" cried a mother.
"He punishes scoundrels when no lord dares to!" yelled a juggler.
Even the brothel girls leaned from their balconies, shouting down at the King.
> "Why arrest Daemon for doing what your laws never do?"
"That drunk sold his own daughter — the prince only stopped him!"
Jaehaerys's expression hardened, though his heart twisted. These were his people — the ones he had labored to lift from filth and ignorance.
Yet now they stood with his grandson, defying him.
Ryam Redwyne whispered, "Your Grace, if we move on him now, there'll be blood. The boy has thousands of… fleas behind him."
The King exhaled slowly.
> "Even a dragon," he murmured, "must retreat before a swarm."
Then, raising his hand to the crowd, he said:
> "I have heard you. The prince will not be taken to the dungeons — but he will return with me to the Red Keep, where he shall reflect upon his actions. Those who accuse him may bring their charges before the Iron Throne."
And turning his gaze upon Luca and the gambler, his voice became iron:
> "You, too, shall answer for your crimes — fraud, violence, and the sale of flesh. The King's justice spares no man."
The two culprits paled — and vanished into the crowd before the Kingsguard could seize them.
The mob roared:
> "Long live King Jaehaerys! Long live Prince Daemon!"
Even the dragons sleeping atop Rhaenys's Hill stirred, roaring faintly as the old King turned back toward the Red Keep.
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As they walked in silence, Jaehaerys spoke at last.
> "Tell me, Daemon… when did you make yourself King of Flea Bottom? Those people would have died for you."
Daemon smiled faintly. "Perhaps because I see them. Feed them. Protect them. It costs me nothing."
The King gave a soft, weary laugh. "And so you win their love with bread and blood. The dangerous mix of a ruler."
They climbed toward the gates of the Keep, their footsteps echoing.
> "Your grandmother, your brother, and your father are at prayer for Aemma's delivery," said Jaehaerys. "You might have joined them, rather than spilling blood in the gutters."
Daemon tilted his head, thoughtful.
> "I'll pray tonight, Grandfather. For a safe birth."
Jaehaerys studied him closely. "You sound certain it will be a boy."
Daemon's violet eyes gleamed. "A girl, I think. The light of the Seven Kingdoms."
The King frowned. "You speak strangely."
Daemon's smile lingered — a knowing, haunted smile.
For he alone knew what that light would one day ignite.
Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen was about to be born.
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