"SO, I SAID TO HIM, “Well, I believe you might be looking at the wrong end.”

A roar of collective laughter echoes at the common chambers. Members of the council shared an amusement over King Viserys' story, all but two others who simply remained quiet and idle on their seats. Lord Corlys of House Velaryon couldn't be more unimpressed while Princess Daenys, the king's daughter, forces a dry smile.

"My lords," the Master of Ships interrupts, as polite as he can be. "The growing alliance among the Free Cities has taken to styling itself the Triarchy. They have massed on Bloodstone and are presently ridding the Stepstones of its pirate infestation."

Daenys is quick to lean towards the Lord's direction, sullenness leaving her. Most of these days council matters seem to bore her to no end. Having only to listen and nod over politics centered decisions of the Hand. But the one right here now, it seems to be a matter to hear out.

"Well, that sounds suspiciously like good news, Lord Corlys." Her father responds with not much interest.

"A man called Craghas Drahar has styled himself the prince-admiral of this Triarchy," the man continues as he lays out a map of the Undisputed Lands and the Narrow Sea. Daenys inches closer to his side. "They call him “The Crabfeeder” due to his inventive methods of punishing his enemies."

In a sudden, the doors of the council chambers open, prompting some of them to look behind. Rhaenyra saw her elder sister first as she hurriedly beeline to the table.

"And are we meant to weep for dead pirates?"

"No, Your Grace." Lord Corlys answers, the concern he presented being brushed aside due to the arrival of the princess.

"Rhaenyra, you’re late. King’s cupbearer must not be late," Viserys notes, only now realizing his other daughter's presence. "Leaves people wanting for cups."

The two Targaryen girls share a jesting stare as the younger one joins their father's side and places a kiss on his cheek. "I was visiting Mother."

"On dragonback?"

"Aye, Your Grace, at Prince Daemon’s urging, the crown has invested significant capital in the re-training and re-equipping of his City Watch." Ser Lyman Beesbury starts. Daenys could only watch Lord Corlys retreat to his seat, she was hoping to hear more about the Triarchy and the threats they posed. Yet here again they are on matters she isn't allowed to speak much about.

"I thought you might urge your brother to fill his seat on the council, instead of only propping Princess Daenys for his proxy. So he might provide an assessment of his progress as commander of the Watch."

A grim smirk appears on her face on the mention of Daemon and the position she holds for the City Watch. Since the faction's creation on the suggestion of Otto Hightower and the prince named as its commander. Her uncle has yet to fill his position on the council and only ordered Daenys to serve as his representative on every meeting. Her place on the table is all but an obvious and lousy attempt of Daemon to fend off the king's council from his business. Something she is well aware of. And has been counting long to be relieved from.

"Do you think Daemon is distracted by his present tasks? And that his thoughts and energies are occupied?" Viserys infers.

"Well, one would hope so, considering the associated costs."

"Then let us all consider your gold well-invested, Lord Beesbury." He assures the Master of Coin.

"I would urge that you not allow this Triarchy much latitude in the Step stones, Your Grace." Once again, Lord Corlys attempts to open the discussion. "If those shipping lanes should fall, it will beggar our ports."

"The crown has heard your report, Lord Corlys, and takes it under advisement." Ser Otto so eagerly interrupts. Earning dissatisfaction on Daenys side, once more she finds herself sulking in her seat and disinterested in any further conversation. The Velaryon man seems to share the same state.

"Shall we discuss the Heir’s Tournament, Your Grace?"

"I would be delighted," her father lights up with enthusiasm. "Will the maesters’ name day prediction hold, Mellos?"

"You must understand that these things are mere estimations, my King, but we have all been poring over the moon charts, and we feel that our forecast is as accurate as it can be." The grand maester informs the king with quiet certainty.

Truthfully, to the princess, whichever day it falls on isn't much of a concern compared to the wellbeing of her mother before and upon labor. The longer she is in such a state, swollen and occupied by yet another difficult pregnancy, the more Daenys worries for her health. It will be a relief to her for the matter to be over soon.

"The cost of the tournament is not negligible," Lord Lyman reminds the council. "Perhaps we might delay until the child is in hand?"

As Rhaenyra moves in to pour wine for Lord Corlys, the man is quick to refuse. The girl gladly walks to serve her sister on the other side of the table.

"If only I could be drunk enough to be ordered out of this chair." Daenys whispers to her as she pours the drink.

"You could try and drink like a tavern mongrel. It might work," Rhaenyra chuckles. "You should have been with me on Syrax rather here."

"I'll prefer the dragon's back over this seat, I tell you."

Their conversation is cut short when Rhaenyra walks to the next cup to serve. Daenys only caught half of what her father was saying.

"…Before the games are over, my son will be born, and the whole realm will celebrate." Viserys declares in confidence to his council.

"We have no way of predicting the sex of the child." Mellos hesitantly argues.

"Of course, no maester’s capable of rendering an opinion free of conditions, are they now?" The king fires back at the maester. "There’s a boy in the Queen’s belly. I know it."

The Targaryen lady shifts on her seat uneasily. Her father sounds so certain that she cannot figure if it's a hopeful wish or desperate plea to finally be blessed by a son.

"And my heir will soon put all of this damnable hand-wringing to rest himself."

Good. It better be that way. Daenys could only think of saying. May it be a son, so her mother can finally have the peace she very well needs after many pregnancies. And her father can finally have the heir he so long desires for.

━━━━━━━━━

"LORD CORLYS!" She calls out to the man on the halls outside the council room. They were dismissed shortly after the discussion of the naming day.

"Yes, princess?" He turns to wait for her.

"The threat of the Triarchy, it must be serious by now. Shall I speak with the king more about it? Perhaps I can raise the subject to him alone?" Daenys offers, hopeful the lord is as still concerned over the matter as she is.

"Oh, you have heard his Hand. My concerns have been heard by the council. So this won't be necessary, your Grace," Corlys declines with much courtesy. "But I appreciate your deep regard over the matter."

Even with reluctance and urge to press through the subject even more, Daenys lets go of it and excuses herself to end the exchange. She immediately heads to the grand chambers of the Red Keep to finally see her mother for the day.

"How was it?" Aemma greets her, she's sitting on a large chair with feet up on a stool by the room's window. Fatigue and exhaustion has swallowed her form, even standing or slight movements are now extremely difficult for her.

"It went as usual as it is." Daenys presses a long kiss on the woman's cheek and sits at the chair beside her. "Taxes and law enforcement on the city, oh and the babe's naming day."

Aemma smacks her lips in a head shake. "Another festivity of a week all for hours of labor no one would remember."

The woman could only dolefully nod to her mother's sentiment. It pains her to see her this way, over the course of the last three years this is all what she's been. Bearing the king's heir on every given chance. "It'll be over soon, the maesters said any day this week might be it."

"That's promising news," the older one replies. "Speaking of the naming day. There will be a grand tourney, yes? What are your plans?"

A smile grows on Daenys' lips. That bit almost left her mind. Of course yes, a tourney competition will be held right on the first day of the Heir's Tournament. She knows what her mother meant by her plans. "Father wouldn't approve of it." The blonde pursed her lips.

"Not even archery?" Aemma cocks her head to meet her daughter's eyes.

An airy chuckle sounded from her. "I don't wish to shoot sticks on wood, mother. I'd like an armor and a s—," she stops herself upon realizing where it's headed. "Wait. Days ago you were warning me not to join in any extraneous deeds in your condition and now you speak of tourneys, for me?"

The silver haired lady laughs lightly and suppresses a smile. "I find joy in those things, love. Who am I to deprive you of that?"

Daenys heart skips a beat, she can feel a bigger smile creeping on her face. The woman's interest in fighting, honed by her late Lannister grandfather, has always been a sore subject to the high court. It's not a lady to be in garb and armor. But without fail, her mother will say she can do what she pleases if it's no harm to others.

"I can try asking father again."

"You shall. A jousting champion for a princess wouldn't be so terrible. It'll be quite a tale to tell your brother." Aemma touches her swollen belly. Lady servants gather by their spot as bathing items are laid out nearby.

"We will be going now. Keep your sister out of her dragon for the day, she won't listen to me."

"I will, mother." Daenys assures and bids her farewell to the queen before she is escorted to the main privy. With the day seemingly slower than it usually is, the princess decided to kill time on the stables. She thought of the training courtyards but the kingsguard has forbidden her visits since the arrival of visitors.

Heavy hooves pounded against the grassy and uneven ground of the field, Daenys is already on the second lap of horse riding when a familiar face appears halfway the track.

"Preparations for the tourney, I see?" Daemon flashes his typical, wry smile at her.

"Seven hells." She halts the horse backwards, almost shaking her off the saddle. Though hesitant, the woman climbs down to receive the uninvited guest.

"What are you doing here, uncle?"

"You don't seem so glad to see me, sweet niece."

An instant ire flash on Daenys' eyes. He stands here now, smiling and watching with no qualms as if he didn't burden her with responsibilities of his.

"I am not your servant, Daemon. I'm not here to run errands while you frolic on this city." The blonde hisses and marches away from the spot.

Daemon softly scoffs and trails behind her despite the obvious hostility. "Daenys, wait. I'm sorry." He snatches her by the arm to stop.

All those weeks of him away without any news, the princess had to face the court and small council clueless of what really it is she does for the Targaryen prince. The City Watch isn't even in her reach to know the extent of its operation. She was no more than a fool running around as a distraction for Daemon's absence.

"Here to finally fulfill your place as the Commander?" There is no friendliness in her voice.

Instead of answering the question, the silver haired only smirks. "You seem to be handling it better than I would."

"Enough!" Daenys snaps at the older one. "I have been mocked and chastised by the small council for months all because you put me as your chair warmer. The City Watch laughs at me as if I'm a court fool meant to jest them."

Daemon sheepishly averts his gaze from her and nods a bit before speaking again. "I'm sorry, Daenys." He sounded more sincere.

"I'm here now. You won't have to bear my responsibilities anymore, I assure you."

A brief moment of silence passed before Daenys pulled away from the conversation. "Good. You better live to that." She says as she was about to turn away from the silver haired man.

"That's not all. I have something for you," Daemon stops her once again. From his hip girdle he pulls out a pair of slender metal, its hilt exposed above the leather that covers the rest.

Daenys' fingers fiddle carefully at the weapon handed to her, she pulls it out from the covering and lets it sit on her bare palms. It's a Valyrian steel forged knife. Long and thin yet a sharp blade nonetheless. The sun glints upon its surface golden, almost like burning yellow.

"It's beautiful," her breath hitches. "Where did you get it?"

"I had it forged by the stonemasons near the Dragonmont." He smiles with pride.

"Is the other one yours?"

"Yes. Our names are engraved on each. The armorers said it's supposed to be a dual wielding weapon, but I prefer we keep one to each of us."

The anger crawling on Daenys' skin seems to sink momentarily, the knife's beauty taking ahold of her attention and focus.

But she remained still on her feet, refusing to be swayed by the sentiment of a gift from the prince. She raises her head and takes a step closer to Daemon. The pointed edge lightly pokes against his layered clothing.

"It's a relief to see the commander of the City Watch is here to regain his post," a dry smile lingers on Daenys' lips. "May he never burden anyone else of the responsibilities belonging to him."

"He won't."

"Good." The Targaryen princess spits out and flips back the handle to retract the knife. "I'd like to keep your blade gift clean from fighting."

━━━━━━━━

AFTER DINNER, instead of remaining in their chambers until nighttime falls, she and Rhaenyra headed to the sunken courtyard just below the steps. For many days now they have been attempting to learn a particular board game Daenys found among the Essosi tablets she has. Which is Lord Aenar Velaryon's gift to the princess on her 21st naming day.  

The game is written on the mix of a Summer Isles tongue and an Old Ghiscari variation, half of it was already translated, loosely and less accurate possibly. A detailed text of it requires the board to be exposed on the moonlight to illuminate the stones engraved on it. So for the last three nights Rhaenyra has convinced her to wait for the moon's rise by the courtyard, its light shines bright and clear there more than any corner of the Red Keep.

And yet the swirling colors on the illuminated stones tell them nothing more except strange letters and glyphs, the very same ones they were staring at last night and the other night.

"What kind of stones do you think are these?" Rhaenyra wonders, her fingers running across the board.

"Perhaps it's not stones among nature. Whoever made this game must have hand crafted it."

"If only these stones can be handpicked anywhere in Essos, they will no longer need the Rogare Banks."

"We'll be beggar royals compared to merchants of Essos!"

Essos. Land that lies beyond Westeros. The two sisters will continue to speak of the foreign country, so far from them yet so close for its connection to Old Valyria. The hours left unchecked as tales and stories from the Free Cities were exchanged between the Targaryen princesses.

It was only after the hour of the eel had long passed that Daenys finally returned in her chambers and drifted into sleep right then.

Blissful and unaware of what has unfold beyond the gates of Red Keep in the dead of night.

Daemon has presumed his duties as the commander of the gold cloak, just as he promised Daenys, in the most unpleasant way possible.

Her head still buzzed from being summoned from bed after only a couple of hours sleeping. She curls herself into a fetal position on a high chair, eyelids closing off.

"Daenys!" Viserys exclaims. The woman's eyes shoot open.

"Father I have told you, I was with Rhaenyra all night. Ask the guards." She stirs on her seat with a heavy sigh.

"The council thinks otherwise. Reports say that Daemon has ransacked the city last night with his gold cloaks, do you have any knowledge of that?"

"No!" Daenys snaps in annoyance of the repeated accusation. Last night, without the knowledge of the king of his council, her uncle made a public roundup of criminals from every corner of the city. Dismemberment and execution being the only two punishments of choice. The so-called cleansing of the streets of King's Landing ended in carnage among commonfolk.

Barbarism still flows on their dragon blood and Daemon has once again attested to it with the reckless act.

"I believe in the deliverance of justice by the crown not by brute force, if I had any knowledge of what Daemon has planned you would be the first to know."

Viserys' chest rises in a deep breath as he closes his eyes, words did not leave his mouth until a few moments later.

"The council sees you as Daemon's second. His exploits in my city, among my people, are my concern as much as theirs."

"I'm no one's second. You will know more about Daemon from a tavern wench compared to me. He keeps me around like a court jester more than an equal, that man is a stranger-" Daenys holds back her tongue, similar to how Viserys' contempt is hanging by its thread.

The room's door creaks open to reveal Otto Hightower on the other side, no more than usual trailing after his king. A flicker of rage appears before Daenys' eyes on the sight of him, annoyance is rather familiar to her, yet this morning it's something else.

"The council is here. I have to go." The king collects himself and pays no second thought to grimace his daughter carries.

"Had you not been so attached to his hip prior to… everything. The council wouldn't have so much doubt of your sympathies."

Like dragon flames against steel, it burns and melts, the man's words didn't leave along with him. They offered no comfort or assurance to Daenys. Only the harsh clarity of the cost for her foolish attempt to be a bridge between long burnt castles.

Long before he was the Rogue Prince, Daemon was only an uncle and an eventual ally on court to the woman. Be it due to being kin or age proximity, the two Targaryens formed a close bond that benefited each other. Daemon was a mentor to Daenys, she was a trusted companion to him.

Until doubts begin to root from the minds of the small council. Prince Daemon is a risk to the stability of the throne and House Targaryen itself. Her words of defense fell deaf to their ears, why should they hear a bloody woman on matters of authority and control? In the end she bit her tongue bloody for bringing an earful argument to the table. Even Viserys will soon agree on Otto Hightower's discernment that Daemon lacks the better judgement to hold power.

When he parted due to the crown's estrangement of the position he thinks he deserves, Daenys saw his arrogance spilled on his cloak thicker than usual. He always knew of Daemon's ambitions yet she didn't anticipate it would surpass the high regard he holds for the king, his own brother.

Yet it was not unknown for Targaryens to be haughty, they are the blood of the dragon! Daemon only seeks what's rightfully his and somewhere amidst all the wrangling, the prince's anger might be the most warranted.

The halls of Red Keep have ears and eyes but Daenys could not care any less, let them hear of what the Rogue Prince has to say for himself as just as she will.

"You sacked the city in favour of whom to be exact? Did it appease your hunger for the king's, well, your brother's approval?" Daenys emphasis to the word tug a look on Daemon's eyes.

Yet he didn't let it win, "If you think for once that the council will see us as equals to Viserys, you're fooling yourself. Second sons and bastard daughters are nothing but a threat to their eyes."

"Careful with your words, uncle. That's the king and his daughter you speak of."

Flames dance on the tip of their tongues, the leveled gaze they held met and then blink back like a reflection.

"You can lick their paws as much as you want or you can show the king himself the blood of the dragon is not to trifle with. We are the ones who are worthy to reign by his side, not some petty lords who clawed their way on those seats."

"And your brute and empty strength are the ways to do that?"

"And your demure passiveness brought you anywhere?"

His words will ring in Daenys' head for the rest of the day. All the times she was backed up on the corner as a spectator for being a bastard and a woman. She smiled and obliged, thinking the path of less resistance will grant her a better place on court and in the eyes of powerful men.

Her grandfather Tymond warned her how vicious their world can be to little girls. So if she can't fight with fists, her words better be as sharp as a lion's fangs. Your Targaryen name could only protect you as far as it can. You think that'll be enough? Even dragons burn on their own fire.

King Viserys still sees his own daughter in the lenses of every other person who has an influence on him. His Hand, the council members, the long dead Cierra Lannister, even Daemon.

He needs to see me for who I have been all those years. Sidelines are not a proper place for a dragon. A high seat of power is.

&&&

asha's endnotes !

Wohoo look who finally showed up, yeah yeah I'm still alive. This chapter covered multiple bases of character introduction and I hope you enjoyed reading. Not many other characters yet since it's more Daenys centric plot yet but don't worry we are getting in there. I'm just happy ep 1 is finally covered!