War in the Stepstones and letters from the Red Keep

The wind over the Narrow Sea carried a salty tang as it battered the flagship's gunwales. Waves struck the hull with dull thuds, yet none of it could break the silence that had suddenly settled over the deck.

Daemon froze, his outstretched hand still suspended in midair. The rakish smile had vanished from his face. Bewilderment flickered through his purple eyes, then a sharp stab of pain pierced it. His pupils contracted, and even his breathing faltered.

How could he not have seen it before?

Six years ago, in a tower of Blackstone Castle on Dragonstone, he had personally placed that gold-veined dragon egg in the cradle prepared for his child with Mysaria. Its shell had gleamed like molten gold, like a newborn sun. He had chosen it himself from the Dragonpit on Dragonstone, the most beautiful egg of them all.

He had wanted to give that unborn child a gift worthy of a Targaryen, a promise from a father.

But in the end, a storm on the Narrow Sea had swept everything away. The child who had never been born, the dragon egg Rhaenyra had personally reclaimed-and a rift between him and his brother Viserys that had never healed from that moment onward.

So that dragon egg had ultimately hatched into this dazzling golden dragon, taking only three days to hatch in the cradle of the little boy before him, the child upon whom the world placed such hopes, whom they called the "Midsummer Prince."

A title in the same vein as his father Baelon's "Prince of the Dawn"...

Daemon slowly withdrew his hand, his fingertips curling slightly. He had witnessed far too many partings and deaths. Amid the blood and fire of the Stepstones, he had watched countless people reduced to ash and mangled flesh beneath dragonfire and blades. He had thought his heart had long since hardened into Valyrian steel. Yet now, looking at Sunfyre's gilded scales and Aegon's purple eyes, so like his own, an indescribable ache still welled up within him.

Rhaenyra noticed his lapse, of course.

The fleeting loneliness and sorrow in Daemon's eyes made her heart tighten as well. She knew that history all too well: the turmoil behind that dragon egg, what the storm on the Narrow Sea had taken, and precisely when the divide between her father and uncle had begun to grow so unfathomably deep.

Holding Aegon, she hurried half a step forward to break the suffocating silence. She softened her voice, deliberately avoiding the egg's history and turning instead to what had truly been weighing on her mind for so long. "The Stepstones...?"

Daemon abruptly came back to himself and looked up at Rhaenyra.

He swiftly concealed every complicated emotion in his eyes and put on his rakish smile again, as though that moment of weakness had never happened.

He shrugged, speaking casually, as if discussing something of no importance. "Not particularly well, but not particularly badly either. Just a pack of rats from Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh joining forces with the vipers of Dorne, still hiding in caves among the rocks and fighting to the bitter end."

He refused to utter a single word about his difficulties, much less complain in front of his niece about his dear brother sitting in the Red Keep in King's Landing.

After all, Viserys could complain before Daemon's sworn enemy Otto Hightower and the assembled courtiers in King's Landing, accusing his younger brother of chasing glory and stirring up trouble, dismissing the war in the Stepstones as meaningless bloodshed. But Daemon could not complain to his niece Rhaenyra and nephew Aegon about his brother's coldness.

He was Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince, the conqueror of the Stepstones. His pride would not let him show weakness before the younger generation.

But Rhaenyra gently shook her head. Understanding filled her purple eyes, and a barely perceptible note of concern entered her voice. "I know."

Daemon raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised.

"When I was at Storm's End last year, I asked Ser Andrew Estermont, the heir to House Estermont," Rhaenyra began slowly, looking toward the southeastern horizon of the Narrow Sea, in the direction of the Stepstones. "Estermont is the southeastern gateway to the Stormlands, only a few days' sail from the Stepstones. The fishermen there see warships on the Narrow Sea every day.

"At first, I only asked him how things had been on Estermont over the past few years. I wanted to learn about the Stepstones indirectly, but he seemed to see through me...

"Later, he wrote to me privately and said the Triarchy's fleets kept arriving from the Free Cities. Their warships carried large ballistae, and Myrish crossbowmen often hid behind the rocks. He said you were having a hard time."

Nestled in Rhaenyra's arms, Aegon nearly choked when he heard that.

Back at Storm's End, he had watched Rhaenyra and Andrew Estermont getting along so well that he had assumed his sister had taken an interest in the young Estermont heir. He had specifically added the man to his watch list, afraid he might become an obstacle to his plans to sabotage Rhaenyra's search for a husband.

And all along, this seemingly earnest sister of his had never cared about Andrew himself at all. She had only been using him to learn about the war in the Stepstones, worrying about her rogue of an uncle!

Aegon raised his head and stole a look at Daemon before him. Every alarm bell in his mind began ringing at once.

I have to watch him. I absolutely have to.

The man before him was Rhaenyra's second husband in the original story, the sharpest blade the Blacks possessed during the Dance of the Dragons, and one of the people who ultimately led her toward tragedy. He knew all too well how much influence Daemon had over Rhaenyra, and how the bond between uncle and niece had crossed both generations and social conventions.

I've spent four years painstakingly setting everything up. I finally have Rhaenyra's heart firmly in my grasp. I can't let this Rogue Prince swoop in out of nowhere and steal her away.

Daemon looked at Rhaenyra, his smile fading slightly. He had intended to tease her with a smile: What's this, my dear niece? Did you go out of your way to ask about all that just to mock your uncle for spending five years failing to conquer a little chain of islands?

But before the words left his mouth, Rhaenyra's next question stopped them in his throat.

"Then when are you planning to return to King's Landing?" Rhaenyra tilted her head up to look at him, her purple eyes utterly serious.

Daemon was completely stunned.

He had lived for thirty years. In his youth, he had ventured into every tavern in Flea Bottom, fought the Dornish in the Marches, and battled the fiercest pirates from both shores of the Narrow Sea in the Stepstones...

He had even witnessed the Great Council at which his grandfather, Good King Jaehaerys, chose an heir, and had threatened war to defend his brother Viserys's right to succeed him.

What had he not seen?

Yet now, that simple question from his niece left him speechless.

Return to King's Landing?

How could he?

His brother probably wished he would remain trapped in the Stepstones forever and never return to King's Landing to be an eyesore. The courtiers and the followers his sworn enemy Otto Hightower had gathered during his tenure as Hand of the King considered him a thorn in their sides. They would gladly see him die in the storms of the Narrow Sea. The Red Keep in King's Landing was no longer the home where he had once roamed freely in his youth.

He remained silent.

Seeing him like this only deepened Rhaenyra's concern. She took another half step forward, a hint of urgency in her voice. "Has the fighting in the Stepstones already become that serious? You, Laenor, and Laena-three dragonriders, three dragons-and you still can't hold down the Triarchy's fleet? Have you come back to ask Aunt Rhaenys to leave Driftmark and help you on Meleys?"

She paused, watching Daemon's still-silent face. Her voice grew softer, but every word remained clear. "Don't tell me you never intended to return to King's Landing at all."

With a single sentence, she had guessed his entire itinerary and everything on his mind.

In the end, Daemon's pride would not allow him to admit outright, like a defeated soldier fleeing the field, that he had come to beg for reinforcements and lacked even the confidence to return to King's Landing.

The alliance between the Triarchy and the Dornish had left him facing enemies on both sides. He could not even guarantee the safety of the shipping lanes carrying essential supplies.

It was not only soldiers who consumed supplies. Dragons did too: provisions, food, fresh water...

None of those things could be provided by the title and authority his brother Viserys had only "bestowed" upon him the previous autumn...

Even when dragons escorted the ships, the vermin of the Kingdom of the Three Whores and the Sand Snakes of Dorne would strike from other directions. Three dragonriders were such a formidable force. Vhagar and Caraxes were two of the three dragons that had fought the Dornish in the Fourth Dornish War, yet even they could not be everywhere at once against the endless harassment of those snakes and vermin.

An island conquered today would fall again tomorrow when they flew to relieve another. Even if the three dragons split up to defend and attack separately, other islands would always remain exposed to the fleets of the Triarchy and Dorne.

Besides, Corlys, Rhaenys, and Laenor had never been comfortable letting Laena go into battle, even though she rode Vhagar, one of the three dragons of the Conquest...

Otherwise, they would not have sent her to Storm's End to ask for reinforcements. Nor were the Dornish and those rebels across the Narrow Sea without a record of killing dragons. Dornish and Lysene poisons found their way everywhere, the Myrish had modified enormous crossbows and shipboard ballistae, and the Tyroshi had even sent their household slaves into battle. As a city-state situated on a northern island of the Stepstones-

To make those slaves fight to the death and prevent them from defecting, the Tyroshi not only held hostages but even promised them freedom and money. With a blade already at their throats, they had also voluntarily contributed funds to hire sellswords and support the war...

The entire Stepstones had long since become a quagmire of war. Already barren, the islands had been ravaged by years of fighting until scarcely a blade of grass remained...

After an awkward silence, Daemon gave two strained laughs, then stepped forward. Before Rhaenyra could react, he reached out and took Aegon from her arms.

Caught unawares, Aegon found himself gathered against Daemon's chest. The smell of smoke and sea salt on his cloak rushed into his nose, mingled with a faint trace of ambergris. His whole body tensed, and he instinctively tried to struggle, but Daemon held him securely, leaving him unable to move.

"Already this big, and still clinging to your sister's arms every day?" Daemon looked down at the little boy's tense face, amusement flashing in his eyes, and pinched his cheek. "A boy should act like a boy. What's so impressive about always clinging to your sister? How about coming to Driftmark with your uncle for a visit? I could even take you to the Stepstones to see a real battlefield, to see how a true dragon's fire burns those pirates' warships."

Rhaenyra bristled instantly.

"Daemon!" Once again, she called him by name, her voice filled with anger and alarm. She stepped forward to snatch Aegon back. "Do you realize there's still a war in the Stepstones? Aegon is only three! How dare you take him somewhere like that?"

"What's wrong with being three?" Daemon stepped back half a pace with Aegon, avoiding her hands, and smiled with an arched eyebrow. "A true dragon of House Targaryen ought to see blood and fire and battlefields at three. When I was his age, I followed your grandmother around every day, begging her to take me flying on Meleys..."

Aegon and Rhaenyra's grandmother-Princess Alyssa Targaryen, daughter of Good King Jaehaerys and Good Queen Alysanne-had married her elder brother Baelon Targaryen, just as her parents had done. She had also been Meleys's first rider...

In 77 AC, Alyssa's firstborn, Viserys, had been born. Despite being advised against it, Alyssa had strapped the swaddled Viserys I, only nine days old, to her chest and mounted Meleys.

Then, in 81 AC, Alyssa had given birth to her second child, Daemon. Two weeks after his birth, she had taken him into the sky as well.

As it happened, though...

Daemon had mounted Caraxes, the dragon of his elder cousin Rhaenys's late father, Prince Aemon...

And before Daemon had done so, Rhaenys had mounted Meleys, the dragon of Daemon's late mother, Princess Alyssa...

But despite Daemon's words, Rhaenyra's cheeks still flushed with anger.

"Stop talking nonsense!" After loudly rebuking Daemon, she still dared not make any sudden movement to snatch Aegon from his arms, afraid she might hurt the boy. All she could do was grit her teeth and glare. "If you dare take Aegon anywhere you shouldn't, I'll mount Syrax right now and go tell Father!"

Her fierce display gave Daemon a splitting headache.

He sighed helplessly and looked down at Aegon, who was watching him with wary purple eyes. Paying no heed to Garwin, who had drawn his sword behind him and was regarding him with suspicion, he could not resist complaining further. "All right, all right, I was only joking. Besides, once you two return to King's Landing, won't you have to be separated anyway?

"Surely taking him to Driftmark for a few days would be better than leaving him in the Red Keep to face that mother of his with that irritating Otto's blood in her veins, and a crowd of scheming courtiers, all alone?"

The anger on Rhaenyra's face froze instantly.

Aegon also snapped his head up to look at Daemon, his eyes full of astonishment.

The siblings exchanged a glance and spoke in unison, their voices filled with disbelief. "How did you know?"

Daemon raised an eyebrow. Seeing Aegon finally display a clear change of emotion in his arms, he could not help smiling. He ruffled the boy's short silver-gold hair, his voice full of teasing:

"Oh, our little Midsummer Prince finally deigns to speak? You haven't said a word since your uncle arrived. I was beginning to think you were just a little mute who knew how to cling to a dragon's back."

He paused, his gaze passing over Rhaenyra before returning to Aegon, and his smile widened. "As for how I know? In the six months and more since you two left King's Landing, the farce you've made of finding a husband has practically blown across the Narrow Sea all the way to Essos beyond the Stepstones. Even if I wanted not to know, I'd have a hard time."

Rhaenyra's cheeks turned bright red. Instinctively avoiding Daemon's gaze, she lowered her head in embarrassment.

Aegon could not help ducking his head as well. Curled in Daemon's arms, he wished he could find a crack in the deck to crawl into.

So all of Westeros knew about everything we've stirred up in the Stormlands, the Reach, the Westerlands, and the Riverlands these past six months? Even Daemon, fighting all the way out in the Stepstones, had heard every detail?

Watching the siblings suffer the same embarrassment, Daemon felt the loneliness and sorrow stirred by the dragon egg vanish in an instant.

Holding Aegon, he burst into hearty laughter, full of a victor's satisfaction. The sound carried far on the wind over the Narrow Sea.

Only after he had laughed his fill did he finally clear his throat and leisurely continue, recounting the farces Rhaenyra and Aegon had caused along their journey. His voice was full of mockery as he addressed Rhaenyra. "I won't even mention what happened at Storm's End in the Stormlands. The reinforcements Laena brought told Laenor and me plenty about it. Fathers and sons, old and young, all turned out together-and you couldn't find a single man in the entire Stormlands you liked..."

"At Highgarden in the Reach, that fellow Mathos's bastards, the 'Wild Roses,' lined up to offer you poems. Then you humiliated them with 'not as pleasant as a dragon's roar.' In the end, the nobles of the Reach were so embarrassed that they brought out Mathos's heir and his wife and sent you straight out of the Reach by sea. Mathos was so furious at being bypassed that he didn't even see you off. Even that insufferable Otto, whom your father Viserys sent back to Oldtown in disgrace, actually wrote to me to joke about it."

As for how much of the letter Aegon's grandfather Otto had sent his sworn enemy Daemon consisted of belittling Rhaenyra, and how much of praising and boasting about his grandson Aegon, who carried the blood of House Hightower's King of the Tower, the letter's two principal subjects naturally knew nothing.

As Daemon spoke, his gaze passed over the crowd and settled on Tyland Lannister, who had returned to stand beside the gunwale. He raised an eyebrow, his smile deepening. "And then there was Casterly Rock in the Westerlands. House Lannister's twin stars staged a contest in the banquet hall for your sake. The elder piled up gold, the younger showed off his learning, and every noble in the Westerlands was left staring. Am I right, Ser Tyland?"

Tyland Lannister's cheeks instantly reddened. He bowed slightly to Daemon but offered no reply, merely turning his face away to look elsewhere. Thinking back on that contest at Casterly Rock now, he found it nothing but absurd and embarrassing.

"And Riverrun in the Riverlands." Daemon withdrew his gaze and looked at Rhaenyra again. Some of the mockery faded from his voice, replaced by a barely perceptible seriousness. "There was even bloodshed. The Bracken and Blackwood boys drew steel at the feast over who would get to court you. Earl Royce Blackwood's youngest son, William, wounded Earl Humfrey Bracken's second son, Rosso, with his sword. Old Grover at Riverrun was practically tearing his hair out."

Rhaenyra lowered her head further, her fingers tightly gripping her skirts, her cheeks burning.

How could she have forgotten? The Brackens and Blackwoods had long been bitter enemies. Like the Tyrells, the Tullys had been elevated to overlords by Aegon the Conqueror, and they had never been able to control those arrogant vassals beneath them. Under Targaryen restraint, however, the fighting had remained relatively minor, without erupting into the large-scale conflicts of the years before Aegon's Conquest.

But this latest bloodshed had truly left Rhaenyra and Aegon unable to hold their heads up...

At the feast in Riverrun that day, she had smiled and agreed with Aegon, saying, "This child does look about your age." That had given Rosso Bracken an opening to gather a group of young nobles around William Blackwood and mock him, saying he was so young he had not even been weaned yet, and already wanted to please the princess. As a result, scarcely had she and Aegon left the feast when William saw red, angrily drew his sword, and stabbed Rosso.

When all was said and done, she had been the spark that set off that bloody clash.

Aegon was unbearably embarrassed too. After all, when he had whispered in Rhaenyra's ear, "William looks about my age. He's rather cute," he had deliberately stirred things up to sabotage the matchmaking.

Who could have imagined that even Daemon, far away in the Stepstones, would hear about it?

Seeing the siblings looking as though they wished they could crawl into a crack in the deck, Daemon burst out laughing again. He looked down at Aegon in his arms, then up at the crimson-faced Rhaenyra. A knowing smile flickered in his eyes before he put aside his joking expression and grew more serious.

"I'm far away in the Stepstones, with the Narrow Sea between us, and even I hear about these farces," he said slowly, a trace of helplessness toward his brother in his purple eyes. "Knowing your father Viserys, I imagine he's already been sending raven after raven, urging you to return to King's Landing?"

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This morning's chapter was originally supposed to come out on the same day as yesterday morning's chapter. But I've honestly been so busy lately that I completely forgot yesterday, so I'm posting this chapter early today to make it up to everyone. Orz, thank you on bended knee. (′~`;)

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