Brothers

The corridor outside the king's bedchamber was deep and silent, and Daemon Targaryen's footsteps rang out all the more clearly.

He came to a thick oak door carved with a design of dragons circling the Iron Throne and stopped.

Ser Ricard Thorne of the Kingsguard stood guard beside it, clad in white armor.

Seeing Daemon, he bowed his head slightly, but politely raised an arm to stop Daemon from pushing the door open.

"Prince," Ser Ricard said evenly. "Please allow me to announce you to His Majesty first."

Daemon's brows furrowed, a flicker of impatience passing through his purple eyes.

But in the end, he did not lose his temper. He merely folded his arms and leaned against the cold stone wall.

Ser Ricard pushed open the door and went inside. A moment later, he reappeared and stepped aside. "His Majesty will see you, Prince."

Daemon gave a derisive snort and strode in.

The king's private sitting room was darker and more oppressive than Daemon remembered.

Heavy curtains were half drawn, letting in only a few shafts of afternoon light. The air was thick with the smell of herbs and something stronger—liquor.

His brother, Viserys I, sat in a large armchair beside the hearth.

Archmaester Meuros stooped as he carefully helped the king into a dressing gown. The king's face was even more swollen and pale than the last time Daemon had seen him.

"You've come," Viserys said.

The king waved a hand, dismissing the maester.

Meuros packed away his medicine chest, glanced at the king with concern, then bowed to Daemon. Only then did he hurry out with his head lowered, softly closing the door behind him.

The two brothers were alone.

Charcoal crackled in the hearth, the firelight dancing over Viserys's swollen face.

Daemon neither bowed nor looked for a seat. He simply stood before his brother, surveying him from head to toe.

"Brother," he said lightly, "Rhaenyra and I are married."

"As her most beloved father, and my dear brother, it seems your blessing... and a gift, are both missing?"

Viserys's breath seemed to catch.

He knew Daemon was deliberately trying to wound him. Years ago, he had firmly rejected Daemon's request to marry Rhaenyra—not only because Daemon already had a wife.

More than that, Daemon had made no secret of his desire for the Iron Throne.

How could he entrust Rhaenyra, the daughter he had chosen to succeed him, to this ambitious brother who had no regard for the consequences of his actions?

He feared Daemon's interest in Rhaenyra was merely a stepping stone on his path to the Iron Throne.

That suspicion and anxiety had stood between the brothers for years, becoming a deep-seated grievance in Daemon's heart.

When Viserys remained silent, Daemon's smile grew wider, and colder.

He picked up a bottle of red wine from the table and poured himself a glass.

"Do you know, brother," he said, taking a sip, the rich liquid sliding down his throat, "if you'd agreed back then and let me marry Rhaenyra..."

"Then we wouldn't be facing so many problems today."

Daemon continued:

"There would be no Vaemond of Tidepool Island, barking like a mad dog about the question of bastards, insisting on bringing the matter to King's Landing and making the Seven Kingdoms laugh at House Targaryen and House Velaryon."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice, though every word remained clear:

"And there would be no Greens or Blacks today."

"Rhaenyra would be the rightful Crown Prince, and I would be her consort."

"Everything would be simple, clear, and secure."

Viserys finally looked up. "I didn't refuse to let her marry you because she couldn't."

"Daemon! I refused because you're unworthy!"

He went on, "Look at what you've done. Your first wife, poor Rhaella Royce..."

"She was your wife! And you... you let her fall from her horse and die! Everyone knows it was murder!"

"How could I hand my beloved daughter over to a man like you... a wife-killer?!"

"A wife-killer?" Daemon sounded as if he'd heard an amusing joke. He shook his head, drained his glass, and gave a contented sigh laced with endless scorn.

"My dear brother, you're always like this... so false, so hypocritical."

He walked over to Viserys and looked down at the king in his chair.

"That woman from the Vale was forced on me by all of you."

"I never loved her. I even hated her."

"I never even slept with her."

"Westerosi law doesn't allow divorce? Fine."

"But it doesn't say you can't become a widower, does it?"

He spread his hands. "I simply made the choice that suited me best, and was the most efficient."

"I showed the world who I really am. Unlike you..."

He leaned toward Viserys and whispered:

"My dear brother, when Queen Emma was dying in childbirth, lying on the birthing bed, the maesters were helpless."

"You had to decide whether to save the mother or the child."

"But for the Crown Prince you'd long dreamed of... the boy who didn't even live a day..."

Daemon saw Viserys's pupils contract sharply, his breathing suddenly quickening.

But he did not stop. Calmly, he spoke the scene Viserys had spent his whole life trying to forget, yet which still returned to him in nightmares:

"...it was you who personally ordered the maesters to cut open Emma's belly."

"You accuse me of killing my wife? What about you?"

"Silence!"

Viserys rose from his chair, gripping the armrests so tightly that he barely kept himself from collapsing.

His face flushed red. He pointed at Daemon with one hand, his lips trembling as he tried to speak, but suddenly doubled over.

"Pfft!"

A mouthful of dark red blood burst from his lips, splashing onto the carpet and the front of his dressing gown.

The mockery and malice on Daemon's face froze at the sight of the blood.

For the first time, unmistakable panic flashed in those defiant purple eyes.

No matter how much resentment, plotting, and discord lay between them...

The man coughing blood before him was his brother.

The same brother who had taught him to ride and practice swordsmanship when he was a boy, and shared his youthful dreams with him.

Almost instinctively, he stepped forward and pulled a clean silk handkerchief from his breast, intending to wipe the blood from Viserys's mouth.

Viserys knocked his hand away, wiped his mouth roughly with his own sleeve, then sat back down and closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling.

Only after a long while did Viserys slowly open his eyes and speak:

"Vaemond. What do you think we should do about this?"

Daemon's rebellious air had faded. He poured two more glasses of wine and gently set one beside Viserys.

"Do?" he said, sounding amused. "The simplest thing would be to pin some charge on him. Colluding with pirates, plotting a rebellion, or even... preparing to assassinate the king in King's Landing."

"Then kill him. Problem solved."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Viserys slammed a hand against the armrest, then broke into a weak cough. "Kill him now?"

"The whole of the Seven Kingdoms knows why he came to King's Landing!"

"If we kill him without cause, everyone will lose heart. They'll think we're hiding something and that we rule unjustly!"

"And besides..." He wearily rubbed his brow. "He's already sent ravens to the lords of every region, inviting them to come and witness..."

"Though every one of those lords is pretending to be deaf and hasn't come in person, their eyes are all fixed on King's Landing, on the Red Keep!"

"This is no longer a matter concerning Tidepool Island alone..."

Daemon understood Viserys's concerns perfectly well.

Vaemond had become a hot potato: they couldn't kill him, release him, put him on trial, or suppress him.

The brothers fell silent once more.

Suddenly, Daemon's gaze turned dark, and he spoke softly:

"Brother, have you ever considered... what if the root of the problem isn't that noisy old man, Vaemond?"

Viserys raised his weary eyes. "What do you mean?"

Daemon picked up the wine bottle and poured himself another glass:

"Suppose... Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey... were all gone?"

He paused.

"Then what reason would Vaemond have to make trouble?"

At this, King Viserys looked at Daemon with suspicion.

Daemon drained his glass and smiled faintly. "I'm only making a supposition. You don't have to take it seriously, brother."

After hearing that explanation, Viserys fell silent as well. If only those three grandsons weren't bastards—yet they had brown hair and snub noses.

But Daemon knew exactly what he truly wanted.

His unborn child, Aegon, was the one he saw as the future king of the Seven Kingdoms.

He was now the stepfather of those three boys, but only for Rhaenyra's sake...