Chapter Text
My father had visited King’s Landing at regular intervals over the next few years. My grandfather was off gallivanting in Pentos with his new wife, Laena Velaryon, and they’re two children; Baela and Rhaena, and meetings between them were an impossibility. A pity; if my grandfather had taken more care with my father, they might have averted the catastrophe that befell Westeros.
What can be said of my uncles Aegon and Aemond? What we know is that Aegon from a young age tended to slake his lusts on serving girls and indulged heavily in wine. Aemond had been described as a fierce youth and quick to anger, though that is certainly not the way my father described their younger years. As for my mother, she and my father shared something of a friendly bond even before their marriage; she often ascribed it to father’s patience with her.
My father’s visit to King’s Landing just after his 14th nameday is perhaps the one that history has recorded most, if only for an incident in the Red Keep’s training yard that would be one of the root causes of the war to come…
King’s Landing, 126 AC
If there was one thing Daevar hated about visiting the capital, it was was the heat. He was more used to the cooler climate of the Vale, and he already felt himself beginning to sweat under the bronze cuirass he wore as he made his way through the Red Keep. True, the rune-inscribed armour was meant to serve as a symbol of office more than anything, but he often wondered why Lamentation didn’t fill that alone. As it was, the Valyrian steel sword of House Royce was strapped to his hip, often being eyed by members of the City Watch.
He had been passing through the corridors of the old castle when quite literally bumped into Aemond. The boy seemed to have been crying earlier; his bloodshot eyes gave it away. His cousin had always been annoyed that he did not have a dragon yet, but something had happened this time. “Aemond, what’s wrong?” Daevar asked.
“They gave me a pig.” The boy replied. “Aegon and Jace and Luke. They took me down into the Dragonpit to see Jace claim Vermax and said they had a dragon for me, and they gave me a bloody pig.” Aemond was not a boy given to displays of anger or frustration, but Daevar could see it on his face. Aegon had gotten to him this time. “Even Daeron has a dragon, and he’s a year younger than me!”
“I don’t have one.” Daevar reminded him. True, Gerold had ordered part of the hillside around Runestone to be hollowed out in preparation for Daevar to claim one, but he hadn’t. He preferred the idea of keeping his feet firmly planted on the ground instead of flying over it, where all it took was one mishap for everything to go wrong. Dragons were powerful, but not invincible. There was a reason why Rhaenys and Meraxes hadn’t survived their last incursion into Dorne, that stubborn principality that defied their house to this day.
“Still…” Aemond trailed off.
Daevar pulled the boy into a hug to console him. “A dragon doesn’t define our worth, Aemond. It just means we have to make up for it in other ways.” He said, patting the hilt of Lamentation.
Aemond gave Daevar a weak smile. “Not all of us have Valyrian steel swords, though.”
“Then we find another way to make up for it.” He said before looking him up and down. “Have you put on muscle, cousin?” Daevar was mostly asking to make Aemond feel better, but despite having just ten years, the boy seemed just as well-built as some of the other lads who were years older than him.
“Some, I think.” Aemond replied, feeling his arms instinctually, before giving Daevar a cheeky grin. “You still look thin.”
“Watch it.” Daevar replied, laughing as the two of them embraced. It had been too long since they had last seen each other, that much was certain.
“Come on, Helaena and Daeron will be waiting to see you.” Aemond said, gesturing him along. Daevar had been wanting to see them again too, if he was honest. Daeron was a mere nine years old but was already showing signs of being an astute learner, while Helaena was… well, he didn’t know how to describe Helaena. The girl was king and gentle, but something of an enigma; she always had been described as 'odd'.
His train of thought was cut off as Aemond led him into a room, where the young girl and boy were seated on the floor. Daeron turned around and his face lit up as he saw them. He was still a precocious young boy, after all.
“Daevar!” He said, running over to hug him tightly. The boy had a tight grip, even for his age, and wasn’t dissuaded by the bronze cuirass. Daevar smiled and hugged him back just as tightly; seeing Daeron had always been a highlight of coming to King’s Landing, much as he disliked practically everything else about the place.
“It’s good to see you too, Daeron.” Daevar replied. The boy was getting bigger; soon enough he’d be big enough to start training properly with a sword and ride his dragon soon. Apparently he had claimed one of the younger ones. It was typical of a boy like Daeron; always looking for something new, never happy to settle for something just in front of him. He looked up to see Helaena with one of the creatures from the impressive collection she had gathered over the years.
“Helaena, Daevar’s here!” Daeron said happily, leading him over to the girl. Helaena barely acknowledged him, all her attention focused on the thing in her hand. “Helaena?”
“This one has one hundred legs. Two legs per ring. That means it has fifty rings. What do you think, Daeron?” She asked. Daevar had to admit that it was pretty impressive that she could rattle off information like that off the top of her head.
“I don’t like the way its legs wriggle around.” Daeron replied simply. “Helaena, Daevar-”
Daevar put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder to quiet him and approached Helaena slowly. Kneeling down beside her, he reached out and touched the tips of his fingers to hers. It was an attempt at getting her to acknowledge he was in the room; the little thing in her hand currently held all of her attention.
Surprisingly, she didn’t flinch as their fingertips touched. Instead, her head flicked around to see Daevar smiling at her, though her own face remained impassive as she greeted him “Oh. Hello, Daevar.” She said briefly before turning back to the millipede in her hands. Daevar resisted the urge to sigh. There was something just… different about Helaena.
“How have you been, Helaena?” He asked, trying to prod her into a conversation.
“Good.” Was all she said in reply. Again, he had to contain his sigh.
“I’m glad.” He smiled. “How many of those do you have now?” He asked, gesturing to the millipede.
“Four.”
“Is this one your favourite?”
“I find them all interesting.” Helaena replied. Daevar smiled; she wasn’t given over to long conversations and it was unlikely he was going to get much more out of her. Truth be told, her fascination with small things like that was a little endearing. It had started with insects originally; butterflies and other harmless things before progressing to others. Millipedes had become her latest fascination.
“Okay, well I’ll speak to you at dinner then, cousin.” He smiled, touching their fingertips again before hugging Daeron and nodding at Aemond. There was someone else that he needed to say hello to before heading down to the training yard, where Criston Cole was doubtless waiting.
He wandered past Nesaena as he made his way through the halls. Helaena’s twin sister was almost exactly what a noblewoman should be; gentle, pious, kind, and with a constant elegance about her. It was almost a shame that she had ended up as the one to be betrothed to Aegon; the boy was already given to drink at just fourteen and had developed a penchant for fondling serving girls. Not to mention that the boy was a bully, judging from Aemond’s story. The products of the union between King Viserys and Queen Alicent.
Daevar wasn't sure how to feel about Alicent Hightower. The woman had married King Viserys around three months after the death of Queen Aemma; and if he understood it correctly, the marriage had primarily occurred to try and secure the line further. Not many Targaryens had been in the world back then, after all, and it might’ve been the King’s thought process to try and secure his line properly so Princess Rhaenyra could ascend the Iron Throne without difficulty.
That was another enigma to him. Rhaenyra… the Princess of Dragonstone had become the heir to her father after Daevar’s own father was disinherited from the line. If the story was to be believed, he had been conceived the very same night as his father had been removed as the supposed heir to Viserys. He and Rhaenyra didn’t know each other that well; they had rarely seen each other, save for his visits to King’s Landing when Gerold permitted them, and those were few and far between. Gerold had insisted he take to his duties as Lord of Runestone before visiting King’s Landing, after all. There had been a bit of fuss over the idea of a woman taking the crown, but his mother had ruled Runestone in his own right, and Lady Jeyne had ruled the Vale quite competently for many years. What was all the fuss about?
“Enter.” A voice called out after he had knocked on one of the hundreds of doors in the Red Keep. Of course, these chambers didn’t just belong to anyone, but Princess Rhaenyra herself. The heir to the Iron Throne was holding her newest babe in her arms. “Daevar, welcome.” She greeted him.
“Thank you, Princess. I merely came by to say hello before attending to some other things, and to see the newest addition to your family.” He smiled. “What’s this one’s name?”
“Joffrey. Laenor insisted.” She replied. “After I named the others, he wanted this one.” She added, causing them both to laugh slightly. “You must be tired after your voyage from Gulltown, cousin.”
“I must admit, I still don’t take to the sea as naturally as your husband.” Daevar said. At least he hadn’t vomited overboard this time; that was an improvement.
“I thought you Bronze Lords were all as hardy as Robar Royce?” Rhaenyra said, arching an eyebrow.
“King Robar was a hardy man, Princess, but not all us can be made like him.”
“Must be your Valyrian blood.” She said in a slightly dismissive voice. Hanging over that was a truth that Daevar knew all too well; he was looked down on for never claiming a dragon, much like Aemond. He had little desire to claim one, truth be told. Dragons were unpredictable beasts who only obeyed their riders so much. They were beasts of war with minds and personalities of their own, and no one could claim to control the mind of another being. Rhaenyra had once told him that her father claimed that the belief of controlling dragons was a happy illusion they all had; that man should not have trifled with the power that dragons were.
It was hard to dispute the point, as far as Daevar was concerned.
“Alas, Princess, I am merely half-Valyrian. The blood of the First Men runs in my veins as well as the blood of Old Valyria.” He replied, causing an uncomfortable silence between the two of them. “May I be excused, Princess?”
“Of course, My Lord. You must have other things to do.” Rhaenyra said, again in that dismissive tone that could drive a man to madness. Daevar forced a smile, bowed and left. A serving girl walked up to him as he did. She smiled at him; she was certainly pretty, with hair as black as a raven’s and big brown eyes that seemed almost mischievous.
“Please, allow me, My Lady.” He said, opening the door for her.
“My name’s Kyra, m’lord.” The serving girl said, before giving him a grateful smile.
“Kyra… that’s a pretty name.” Daevar replied, earning a giggle from the girl.
One of the things Daevar truly missed about King’s Landing was the girls. He’d had a couple of minor dalliances here and there when he had visited, but made sure to keep it as chaste as it needed to be. He wasn’t going to dare put a bastard in the bellies of any of the girls that served the royal family; that had the potential to destroy their lives forever.
There was nothing wrong with having a bit of fun though, which was currently why Kyra was underneath him as they kissed feverishly. The girl had been surprisingly ready to accept his advances after their brief meeting outside the Princess’s chambers, and never one to turn down a chance with a girl, Daevar had eagerly talked her into his chambers. He began pressing kisses to her neck and pressing their bodies together. He began unlacing her bodice and kissed her again, prompting a gasp from the girl.
“M’lord is certainly eager.” She said, rolling her hips against him, eliciting an excited moan from Daevar’s lips.
“You have no idea.” He groaned out, palming her breast as they kissed, taking satisfaction from Kyra’s moans and gasps. Yeah, it had been way too long since he’d felt something like this. Gerold wouldn’t allow this sort of thing to happen at Runestone; it was considered unbecoming of the lord-in-waiting to be spending his time around the servant girls. Men of the Vale were supposed to be honourable folk, and men of House Royce were especially so. He wasn’t married yet though, so what was the harm in it?
He had started to kiss between her breasts when he heard the door open. With a yelp, he jumped off Kyra to see his ten-year-old cousin covering his eyes.
“Don’t you know the meaning of a closed bedchamber door, Aemond?!” Daevar snapped. “It means-”
“It might mean any number of things!” Aemond replied, still covering his eyes and unsure if Daevar and Kyra were decent.
“Oh uncover your eyes. Fun’s over and we’re still dressed.” Daevar grumbled. He turned to Kyra, who had just finished lacing her bodice back up. “I’ll find you later.” he said and winked at her.
Kyra giggled slightly before curtseying. “My Lord.”
Aemond finally uncovered his eyes. “I came to tell you, Ser Criston wants us in the training yard. And I think Aegon wants to test himself against you.”
Daevar chuckled at that. “Aegon was to test himself against me?” He laughed as he began fastening the cuirass around himself. “Should be interesting; I don't much care for Aegon though.” He managed to fix the last straps in place with practised ease.
“No one does.” Aemond replied. “Daeron wanted to join us today, but Aegon forbade it. He doesn’t seem to want to be around Daeron a lot.”
Daevar sighed. “No matter. I intend to ask His Grace for permission to take Daeron as a cupbearer. Get him away from all this.” He said. Daeron had always been the most enthusiastic of his cousins, he supposed. Aemond for his part was a little let down by that. Why Daeron and not him? Surely he could count Daevar as a friend? He had been hoping that Daevar might take him back to Runestone as a squire or cupbearer or something similar, but…
He shook his head. No use dwelling on it when Daevar had made his decision.
“I’m sure Daeron will be delighted.” He said neutrally. “Come on, we don’t want to be late for Ser Criston.”
The Red Keep’s training yard was surprisingly well-occupied today. Besides Aemond and Daevar, Aegon had also made his presence known with some flashy but impractical strikes on the training dummy, while Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon practised with each other, with Ser Criston Cole overseeing everything from the sidelines.
Watching from the edges was Daeron; wishing he could join in the training, but unwilling to defy his eldest brother. Aegon was bigger than he was, after all.
“You alright there, Daeron?” Daevar asked, noticing the boy’s glum expression. “It’s because that brother of yours won’t let you train with us, right?”
“It’s not fair.” The boy said. “I’m nine, same as Jace” He pouted.
“Well, Aegon can sod off.” He said, casting a look over at the prince. Aegon was busy dancing around the dummy with no real skill; he was trying to look like the knights he’d heard about in stories no doubt. The problem with that, Daevar knew, was that the stories were rarely completely true. Embellishments often occurred to make the whole thing sound better. “Come on, I’ll show you some basic strikes.” He took up a spare wooden sword and handed it to Daeron.
The two went through a few different strikes; upwards, downward, thrusts. Daeron was particularly eager to learn the different attacks that could be put together in a chain, but Daevar talked him out of it. A bit too advanced for a beginner. Aemond eventually joined in and Daevar could get a bit more hands-on with him. Slowly, the two began to exchange strikes and parries, with Aemond picking up on a few points.
“Remember, the crossguard isn't just there for show. It’s part of the sword as well.” He said, parrying another one of Aemond’s swings. “See, Aemond? I’ve caught your blade in my crossguard, and now all I have to do is slide my blade down yours…” He did so, the dulled point of the wooden blade hitting Aemond’s breastplate with a slight thud. “Fight’s over.”
“Oh, is it?” Aegon said. “What sort of nonsense are you showing my brothers, Daevar?”
“How to wield a sword, my prince. I have learnt some things over the years from Ser Gerold and the other Knights of the Vale.”
“I’ve been trained by the Kingsgaurd. No comparison.” Aegon said, smugly.
“Mayhaps, but the difference is how well someone takes to the training. Judging by the way you were swinging your sword, I would think you’d be more inclined to dance with your opponent than fight them.” He said.
“Is that a challenge, cousin?” Aegon asked, his face twisting into a scowl as he stepped away from his training dummy and pointed his sword at Daevar. “Come at me then, if you’re so inclined.”
“Later, Aegon. I’m still showing Aemond and Daeron a few things.”
“I thought bronze caught the eye better than steel.” Aegon said, gesturing to Daevar’s cuirass. “Better for dancing. Fits the son of the Bronze Bitch, after all.”
That earned Aegon a hard punch in the arm. “If you want to insult my mother, you answer for it.” Daevar growled.
Aegon smirked. “Ser Criston, might we have some gauntlets and helmets?”
“My Prince, I don’t think-”
“It’s quite alright, Ser Criston.” Daevar said. “I look forward to this.”
Sighing, Criston passed them a helmet and set of gauntlets each as the other boys gathered to watch the fight. Daevar shot a wink at Kyra, who was likely passing by on her way to Rhaenyra, and slid the helmet on. He and Aegon saluted each other, and Criston called the fight on. Anyone could see that it was a mismatch; Aegon’s footwork was sloppy and unrefined, while Daevar made sure every movement he made was precise and on target. When Aegon’s sword cut downward, Daevar almost toyed with him; deflecting the blows without much effort, or simply stepping back to avoid his swings.
“Come on, Daevar!” Aemond shouted. Aegon responded by angrily throwing his weight behind a cut at his opponent’s chest, only to find that his blade had become caught in the crossguard of Daevar’s sword. Seconds later, the eldest son of Viserys Targaryen found himself flat on his back, with the tip of opponent’s sword just inches from his face.
“What did I say about the crossguard, Aemond? Daeron?” Daevar asked as Jace and Luke laughed slightly
“He’s right.” Criston said. “A sword's not just a blade, Prince Aegon.”
Aegon, enraged, bolted to his feet, enraged by Jace’s laughter. “You, fight me, now!” He ordered. Jace couldn’t exactly turn down such a challenge, and this time, Aegon had the advantage. Jace was still small compared to him, and Aegon used that to his advantage as the fight started.
“Close with him!” Ser Criston said. “Stay on the attack! Use your feet!” He shouted. As if on cue, Aegon delivered a savage kick, sending Jacaerys to the ground. “Don’t let him get up!”
Aegon kept smashing the blade of his sword against Jace’s, beating it into the ground until Harwin pulled him away. “YOU DARE LAY YOUR HANDS ON ME?!” Aegon raged.
“Aegon!” The voice of King Viserys chided, who had been observing everything from the balcony that oversaw the training grounds.
“You forget yourself Strong, that is the Prince.” Ser Criston said. Daevar could see something was about to happen between the two men.
“This is what you teach, Cole?” Ser Harwin asked. “Cruelty to the weaker opponent?” He started gathering up the practice swords.
“Your interest in the princelings’ training is rather unusual, Lord Commander. Most men would only have that sort of devotion to a cousin, or a brother… or a son.”
That was all it took.
Harwin Strong charged forward and began laying into Criston Cole. He was larger than the Kingsguard knight, but Cole was not hitting back, Daevar noticed. In seconds, Criston was on the ground, Harwin beating him savagely. The twins, Erryk and Arryk Cargyll, ran forward to pull him off, but it took the addition of Sers Steffon Darklyn and Rickard Thorne to restrain him completely.
“SAY IT AGAIN!” Harwin bellowed. “SAY IT AGAIN!”
Daevar, in a bit of disbelief at what he had seen, cast a look over at Jace and Luke, then back at Harwin Strong.
My father said there and then, he knew that the Princes Velaryon were not Velaryons, but bastards of Ser Harwin Strong, who was having an affair with princess Rhaenyra. He had apparently never considered the notion before, yet it was now not able to leave his head. If they were bastards, he said to me once, then they could never sit on the Iron Throne.
Which meant that at the time, Rhaenyra had no legitimate heir.
More than that, his opinion of Princess Rhaenyra had been permanently coloured; as far as he was concerned, she lived her life without a care for anyone but her immediate family. He used to say she lived in a bubble, sealed off from the rest of the world where consequences could never reach her because of a father in King Viserys who overindulged her.
Regardless, there was little my father could do. After all, the Lord of Runestone was secondary to the head of House Arryn. So he remained silent. For now.