The Bloody Prince: HOTD SI

Chapter 35

CORLYS VELARYON

"How could Vaemond let this happen?" his wife raged as she paced in their room, her face furious as it should be.

House Velaryon had spent years cultivating its power and its connections, and now, just as their House was set to achieve the highest honor, to get the very thing that they had been robbed of, they face a setback such as this.

A setback that could tarnish his whole legacy.

"How could he let Daemon get himself killed!" Rhaenys raged, and the reason for her rage was different than his own. Rhaenys mourned the loss of a cousin, the loss of family.

He, on the other hand, mourned the loss of an ally and the Crown's support.

"According to him, Daemon was drunk," Corlys conveyed the exact words he had received from his brother, whose incompetence has just cost them the Crown's goodwill.

"He said he drank and partied late into the night and pushed the offensive line further than he should have. Because of his dragon, it was fine initially, but soon enough, it became too much for the men, and Daemon continued to push forward all alone. They say the men saw him slip from his saddle and tried to get to him, but they were slaughtered," and in the end, Vaemond was forced to get the men to retreat without rescuing Daemon, and now word of this loss had spread all over the capital.

"He should have died with them," Rhaenys snarled as she plopped down on the chair, furious and saddened by her cousin's death.

Though he agreed with her words. Vaemond had made a big mistake, his and Daemon's brash actions had cost them a quarter of their ships, and more than that he had humiliated both House Velaryon and House Targayren.

"I shall ride there myself," Rhaenys declared, but he was quick to intervene.

"No!" he cut in. He had underestimated the Crab Feeder once, and it had cost him too much already. He would not make the same mistake twice.

"Why?" she asked, as he explained.

"The King has forbidden any offensive in the Stepstones. We are to do nothing but consolidate until he gives further directions," and that was the most damning thing.

"Why would he do such a thing? Does he not want revenge on those who killed Daemon?" she questioned, and he raised a brow as she quietened down.

"The King is angry with House Velaryon, he blames us for Daemon's death," he replied and saw her nod.

"I see," she added.

"He has also summoned Aegon to his chambers," he added and saw her perk up at those words.

"There are rumors that he may wish to appoint him as the new captain of the offensive in the Stepstones...."

VISERYS TARGARYEN

Viserys Targaryen was suffering. He was in pain, terrible and daunting pain that now followed him day and night. There was a time when he had thought that he would be a reign of peace and prosperity, that he would take both the realm and the House Targaryen to heights never before seen, that he would be a King whose legacy would go even beyond that of the Conciliator.

Alas! That would not happen.

House Targaryen had not been any weaker than it was today, even during the war against Maegor the Cruel House Targaryen's prestige and numbers had not dwindled to the levels they had to this day.

And it was all because of him. Him.

This was his punishment, retribution for killing his wife because he had pushed her to the death bed in his hubris; in his desire for legacy, he had killed her, and now the Gods were slowly taking it all away from him.

Had he been a better, healthier man, he would have gone and found a dragon for himself and ridden it to the Stepstones himself to bring that accursed Crab Feeder to justice. To get revenge for the brother he had lost, and yet even just the word of Daemon's demise had nearly ended his life.

And even now, hours later, he sat in his solar, a glass of wine in his sole healthy hand, as he wasted away and came to terms with his own limitations.

But he was a King. And a sword was not the King's only weapon.

Many in the council and in the court advised abandoning the campaign in the Stepstones, believing the campaign to be an impossibility that would only empty the Crown's coffers.

No. But he could never do that. He would have his revenge, no matter what.

"I know you had your differences with your father," he began, his eyes refusing the only other occupant of the room.

"But he was my brother and was much dear to me. We grew up together, and despite our differences and fights, I knew I could trust him to stand by me no matter the cause." That was their trust. Trust between brothers is something that Daemon had never built with his son or his wife.

"I know in my heart that had it been me in his place, Daemon would have ridden on Ceraxes, all alone if he had to just so he could avenge me," and that was why he could not give up. That was why he had to do this; he had to do it right by himself.

"For that was just how fiercely he loved. It is a shame that you never got to experience it," and with that, he finally looked up at Daemon's last reaming vestige, his heir and his son.

And his face reminded him so much of his brother, and yet he knew that he was not Daemon. Not just for the difference in their eyes and their hair. No. Daemon's son was different from his son, calmer, colder, and more patient.

Words one would never associate with Daemon Targaryen.

There was sadness in those eyes, sadness that was not there because of the loss of his father. No, it was there for another reason, another loss that had plagued this castle as of late. They had not even buried the Lady Alicent yet and now his own brother was following her into the grave.

So much death.

"The funeral?" he questioned as he sipped his wine.

"It is on the morrow, right?" and the young son of Daemon nodded.

"Yes, your grace," and the boy had come here only for that. The Crab Feeder had not even deigned to give them Daemon's remains to bury, and as he thought of that accursed demon, he regretted not having listened to Corlys to root him out for paring his life for as long as he had.

"And what do you plan to do afterward?" he followed and saw the boy's eyes furrow at his words.

"I am to fly back to the Vale. The rebellion may have been put down, but we still have to deal with a few lords and castles," and he had expected as much. The boy had come here from war, a rebellion launched against Lady Jeyne by her own kin.

And Viserys was forced to consider his own situation, how the vultures would be circling now, both for him and the boy who sat in front of him, for he was now the heir to the Throne of the Seven Kingdoms.

"How long?" he began, his mind already made.

"What?" the boy questioned.

"How long will it take for you to put them down?" he elaborated. The boy was quiet for a second before he answered, and he could see in his eyes that he had understood his intentions, or if not, that he at least suspected them.

"Three moons, two if the Lady Jeyne decided to forgo all semblance of mercy," and he nodded at that, his own mind picking apart the plan he had made.

"Then four moons it is," he declared as he finished the wine in his cup and put it down on the table, and despite the drinking, his mind was sharper than it had ever been.

"For what, your grace?" he questioned, and Viserys raised a brow.

"War. Revenge," and he saw the boy's lips thin as he slowly put down his own cup.

"I understand your pain, your grace. I truly do, but you said so yourself," the boy hesitated and yet said the words nonetheless.

"I did not know Daemon Targaryen as you did. Despite the blood we share, the man was not much of a father to me, and I have my own duties in the Vale. Duties that I have long neglected," and yet he was the one.

Corlys had already failed him, and he did not wish to hand over the throne to that man and his family. No, it had to be him.

"And yet he must be avenged, for he was a Prince of the realm and brother to the King," he declared. It was a matter of pride now. And Viserys Targaryen would not let the Targaryen name be tarnished as such.

"There are many who would love to do this," and he shook his head.

"No. It must be you, it has to be you," for he had done the impossible.

"For I do not wish to kill only the Crab Feeder. No, I wish to destroy those behind him as well, all of them, and I believe only you to be capable of such a task," for crab feeder was just a soldier. The true enemy was the triarchy. They had killed Daemon.

They would answer for this.

"You shall have the Crown's full support in this, gold, men, ships. Anything," he offered as he leaned back in his chair and looked him in the eye as he laid forward his final and greatest offering.

"And I do not ask this of you lightly," he elaborated as he reached into his belt and took out the dagger that was bound to it.

And for a second, he thought the boy's eyes widened, perhaps at the steel that lay bare as he slid it out of its sheath.

"Do you know what this is?" he questioned, and the boy nodded.

"This a Valyrian steel dagger," and he shook his head.

"It is, but it is also more than that," he continued as he put the blade over the fire.

"It is Aegon Targaryen's dagger, one that has been passed from King to heir ever since the seven kingdoms became one, for it carries in it a secret that every King must pass down to his descendants," and as the dagger's steel heated up writings appeared on it, writing inscribed into the blade written High Valyrian.

And he held it up for the boy, the secret that had been passed onto him by his own father. A tale that he once hoped to share with his own son.

"I do not ask this of you lightly, Aegon. Do it, bring my brother's killers to heel, and I shall cement as you my heir, no matter what the future may hold...."

0000

Back in Lys, the First Magister of Lys entered an orante manse, and walked through a column of men and women entangled in pleasures of flesh before he reached the most ornate room in the manse, where a woman with silvery blonde hair lay abed surrounded by woman on all sides, and yet even amongst this crowd she cut a regal figure, as she lay there bare except for the flesh of the woman that surrounded her.

"It is done," Lysandro Rogare began as he looked the woman who had helped him ascend to this position and become the most powerful man in Lys answered, as the woman opened her eyes, which were a deep amethyst as she looked at the man with a seductive smile, the very smile that had ruined his enemies.

"Daemon Targaryen is dead," and with it, so was the proposed alliance with the Seven Kingdoms, but in the end, it was all a ruse for him to get their battle plans. He had been told of the fiery nature of the second in line to the throne, the so-called Rogue Prince, and had baited him with the location of Craghas.

And the prideful man he was had taken it up. And now he was dead, just as he had planned.

"Good," she added as she rose up from the bed, unbothered by the nakedness as she smiled and beckoned him towards herself.

"He was the only one that could have caused us some trouble in the future," and she would know better of course. She had watched them all grow up, for years ago she had lived in that castle alongside them, as Princess herself.

"They same thing about his son," and she scoffed at his words as he came face to face with her, her soft hands reaching for his breeches, untangling the knots keeping them around his abdomen, while the other caressed his face going behind it as she pulled him in.

"He is but a child, and I fear him not. For if things go as I plan, all of them will eat each other alive, and I shall have had my revenge on my father," and with those words, the breeches came off as Lysandro Rogare lost himself to the pleasure of her body as a funeral began across the Narrow Sea.

0000

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