Chapter Fifty: Brothers, Part Two

At this moment, the air in the room froze solid.

Viserys's breath caught for an instant. He stared at his brother, at those eyes so similar to his own yet utterly different.

"You..." the King's voice was barely audible, "you want to kill them? Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey?"

"No, no, no," Daemon straightened up and waved a hand. "I mean... what if those three children voluntarily renounced their inheritance, donned the black, and went to the Wall to guard the realm for the kingdom?"

(To become a ranger of the Night's Watch is to willingly give up all family inheritance, forswear marriage, and guard the Wall for life.)

He spread his arms and smiled at Viserys:

"Think about it, brother. If they volunteer..."

"A public, sworn oath of willingness—renouncing the Velaryon name and the inheritance of Tidepool Island, heading to the Wall to become those honored rangers..."

"Then every problem before us is solved."

Daemon continued, still smiling:

"First, the Tidepool Island succession crisis is resolved. Once Corlys wakes, he can name another Velaryon cadet branch as heir."

"And my children with Rhaenyra will be pure Targaryen blood—silver hair and purple eyes. No one in the Seven Kingdoms will dare question Rhaenyra's lineage again."

"Second, the nobles get a way out."

"'Look, those disputed Crown Prince's sons have voluntarily given up everything they had, trading a lifetime of sacrifice for the realm's stability.'"

"Third, you get a way out too."

"You uphold your daughter's position as Crown Prince while respecting ancient traditions and law."

He smiled. That smile was flawless, yet it sent a bone-deep chill through Viserys.

"It's perfect," Daemon said softly, "isn't it?"

Viserys stared blankly at his brother.

This plan was so cold, so exquisite, so... Targaryen.

It would satisfy everyone.

Except those three children and their mother.

"But Rhaenyra won't agree," the King said hoarsely after a long pause.

Daemon's smile stiffened slightly.

Then he said:

"She'll understand it's necessary."

"She'll understand that sometimes, for a greater goal, sacrifices must be made."

"She's the Crown Prince. She should know this."

Viserys shook his head.

"Do you truly know her, Daemon?"

"Do you truly know a mother?"

The King lifted his head, meeting his brother's eyes:

"Rhaenyra loves those three children."

"It's a mother's love for her own flesh and blood."

"She'd sooner burn the Seven Kingdoms to ash than send them to the Wall. You know that in your heart."

"This plan... it can never succeed..."

Daemon fell silent.

After a long moment, he said quietly:

"Then there's only one choice left."

"Aemond..." Viserys finished for him.

Daemon turned around, a cynical smile back on his face, but his eyes held no mirth:

"Clever brother. Yes, Aemond. Your good son, my good nephew, the star of today's little drama. How do you plan to deal with him?"

Viserys was silent for a moment.

"I'll confine him for a few months..."

"Then send him back to his own fief."

"Without summons, he's not to return to King's Landing."

"Let him cool down on his lands for a few years."

Daemon laughed.

"Too light. So light it's like rewarding him."

Viserys's face flushed red: "Daemon!"

"Did I say something wrong?" Daemon stepped before the King, looking down at him. "What's his Dragon's Roost worth? It's land you granted him."

"He's training private soldiers there, building fortifications. And speaking of dragons, he has two now."

"Vhagar, the largest dragon alive! And that black hatchling from the dead egg?"

Daemon's voice grew colder:

"Sending him back to Dragon's Roost is letting a tiger return to the mountains."

"It's giving him time to grow, to gather strength."

Viserys looked up at his brother.

"Then what do you want?"

Daemon paused a moment, then said:

"Like Aenys I exiled Maegor back then."

"Send him to the Eastern Continent. Pentos, Valyria, Lys—anywhere."

"Give him coin and a ship, then tell him: without pardon, never return."

"He is my son!" Viserys erupted suddenly. "My own blood! You want me to exile him? Forever?"

Daemon replied calmly:

"If you don't exile him, the consequences may be far worse."

"Brother, look at what he did today."

"Thirteen years old, facing the chaos of the Trial by the King's Justice, facing my blade—he was as cold as ice."

"He calculated every step, used every person: Vaemond, me, you, even those watching nobles."

"That's not a mind meant for this age..."

Viserys closed his eyes.

He knew Daemon might be right. How could he not?

Today, when Aemond slew Vaemond and lifted his head, blood-soaked, meeting Viserys's gaze with those calm violet eyes, a chill had run down the spine of the King on the Iron Throne.

"I won't let you touch him." The King suddenly stood, grabbing Daemon's collar. "Daemon Targaryen, do not lay a hand on my son."

He clutched his brother's tunic tightly, speaking each word with harsh precision:

"I! Will! Not! Allow! You! To! Touch! Him!"

Their faces were inches apart, breath mingling.

"Do you understand?"

Daemon stared at his brother's grip on him for a long moment, then said:

"If you still won't act, after you die—and that won't be long now—"

"Queen Alicent and Lord Hand Otto will never accept Rhaenyra's succession, and Rhaenyra and I will never give up the Iron Throne."

"When that comes, your children will ride dragons and slaughter each other."

He gripped Viserys's hand tightly:

"Aegon and Sunfyre, Aemond and Vhagar, Rhaenyra and Syrax, me and Coraxes... and Helaena, Jacaerys, Lucerys—every child who can ride a dragon will be dragged in."

"Dragonflame will burn across the Seven Kingdoms, cities will turn to ash, tens of thousands will die."

"Your children will be burned or thrown from the sky..."

"Is that what you want, brother?"

"A kingdom destroyed by Targaryen civil war?"

Viserys trembled all over. He tried to pull his hand back, but Daemon held it fast.

"Leave me," the King finally said, defeated. "Let me... think on it."

Daemon watched his brother for a long time.

He saw the pain in Viserys's eyes, the struggle, the fear, and the deepest love—love for Rhaenyra, love for Aemond, love for all the children who would one day tear each other apart.

That love was so vast, so heavy, it nearly crushed this already frail old man.

At last, Daemon let go and slowly rose.

He walked to the door, hand on the handle, paused without turning back:

"Have you forgotten? Father Baelon once told us: being King is like walking on a blade's edge. Every step can cut you—or cut those you love."

"But you can't stop—because if you do... everyone falls."

The door opened, then closed.

Footsteps faded down the corridor beyond.

Only Viserys remained in the room. Dusk had fully fallen; the King sat motionless in his chair.

The pain in his left hand grew sharper, like fire burning—but he barely felt it. The ache in his heart drowned everything.

Then, from within the walls, came the faintest sound.