Daemon II

Author's Note: Here's another chapter, to be frank, even though I have felt the desire to write a lot lately, the disappointing state of the House of the Dragon tv show meant that I feel somewhat unmotivated when it comes to this story, but I promised you chapters, and so chapters you will get.

I did like how Rhaenyra looked in a septa outfit(yum!), but that goddamned scene was just so awfully bad.

I also didn't like that Rook's Nest wasn't a plan orchestrated by Aegon and Aemond both, and that the only reason Aegon was there was because he was too drunk. It not only made him seem useless(which I guess is fair), but most importantly it made Rhaenys look like a suicidal dumbo instead of the tenacious, expert dragonrider that she was in the books.

Sunfyre steals the show, can't wait for that lil'puppy to get his Targaryen snack though.

Check out my patreon for five advanced chapters, and I hope you have a wonderful time.

Patreon : patreon.com/NiflheimA

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Daemon mindlessly parries a short wooden sword.

He swiftly moves his own, hitting the handle of his opponents. "Don't get too eager." He warns.

Lucerys takes a couple of deep breaths, wordlessly grabbing his fallen sword, preparing for another bout.

Daemon notes his exhaustion, he mentions to one of the guard with his head, prompting him to throw him a waterskin. "We're done for the day, take some rest."

The boy sighs in relief as he almost drops in the side of the yard. "You're…" He gasps. "You're relentless, good father."

The prince takes a large sip from the waterskin before throwing it at his son. "If I am to prepare you for the battlefield, then you need to get used to this at least."

Baelon was a man of his word, at Rhaenyra's urging, the Rogue Prince became a constant figure in Lucerys' life, as a mentor and a protector both.

To be honest, Daemon was pretty impressed. In the absence of his older brother, the kid spent most of his time in the yard, training with older squires and watching knights spar. That effort clearly had an effect, Lucerys was already pretty talented with the sword, and talent tempered by effort makes the sharpest swords.

"So, good father." Lucerys says. "I hear you're to leave on the morrow." He asks.

Daemon silently hums in agreement.

The boy hesitates to speak, but he firms his resolve and does so anyway. "Can you-… can you take me with you?"

Daemon shifts his gaze to the boy. "No." He says, turning to take another sip from the skin.

"Why is that?!"

The rogue prince clicks his tongue. "You're too young. And you mother would slit my throat."

Lucerys huffs and pouts. "Jace gets to spend time with grandfather while I have to stay here! Plus, Aegon gets to go too."

Daemon stands up and walks way, Lucerys is undeterred however, walking alongside him, complaining all the way.

They finally step in front of a particular room, his wife's room, and enter.

"Your son wants to leave to war, dear." He says.

The way Rhaenyra looks up from her embroidery and glares at her son chilled the blood in his veins. She stands up swiftly, walking towards him with heavy steps.

"Ow, ow ow ow!!" Lucerys exclaims, his mother pinching his ear in punishment.

"Is that right? You think you're a man grown enough to spill blood?!"

"No I-"The boy tries to reason, the fool.

"You're decades too young to talk back at me, foolish boy!" She says. "If I hear one more word about such foolishness I will tan your hide! Now go take a bath, you smell like a used rag."

Lucerys gets lead outside the room by a couple of servants, while his mother turns to Daemon.

She looks up to Daemon. "Thank you for this." She says. "I'll recompensate you for this, one day."

He held her waist. "I can think of a way."

_________

"Do you have to go?" His wife held his newborn son in one hand, Viserys, whilst little Aegon held her other. "I need you, here… with me." She says.

Daemon's smile was tinged with sadness; he holds a palm over her cheek, slowly caressing it.

Rhaenyra's birth took a toll, much like her mother, she wasn't suited for childbirth.

"I cannot stay idle, issa jorrāelagon." He softly says. "If I spend one more day in this city, I might as well cut my own throat."

She clinches his sleeve tightly. "Then take me with you! If you think you have it miserable here then my life is an experience in misery!" She urges. "If not the Stepstones then Driftmark. Both my brother and those green leeches are sapping the strength out of me."

Aegon already drifted off his mother's hand, wandering the hall followed by a gaggle of nurses, doing what children do.

"What about Lucerys?"

Daemon spent a long time with the boy at her request, assuring his safety. Yet he realized that his presence was largely unnecessary.

Baelon was taking good care of him, and the boy found his place in the red keep.

Rhaenyra's face scrunched up. "Why is it only now that you become the logical one?" She complains. "Where did the Daemon who waged a war to throw a tantrum?"

"I got married."

Her face momentarily turns deadpan. "Funny."

"Goodbye, Daemon."

"See you soon."

__________________________________________________________________________________

He flew over the island of Grey Gallows, expecting to find pirates manning its premises.

There were men pillaging, robbing, and thrashing the place, but they were no pirates, they were Ironborn reavers.

Caraxes spins over the camp for a while; Daemon was able to see the banners of a golden kraken over a black field.

"Greyjoys." He murmurs.

He softly urges his dragon to swerve toward an empty stretch of land, right in the middle of the camp.

By the time Caraxes' feet touched the ground, a crowd was already gathered around it.

"Yer' a brave on, Targaryen." One of them began to speak; he was tall and heavy, with scars marring his face. "Comin 'ere all alone!"

Daemon ignored him; he searched the place with his gaze, finding a familiar tall, dark haired handsome man as he instructed a boy of less than ten on how to strip a corpse.

That familiar face was Urrigon Greyjoy, the current regent of his house, the young boy to his side shared superficial similarities with the man, which must be his nephew, Dalton Greyjoy.

He made to approach the man, yet the brash one that he ignored bristled in offense, unsheathing his sword.

"Ye' may be a prince! But no one will speak of what'll be done to ya!" He shouted.

The fool made a miscalculation, as Daemon didn't even bother to turn to him before the intimidating raider got crushed below one of Caraxes claws.

"Make sure to check his socks." The man informs the young boy. "Sailors tend to hide a lot of shit in there."

As Daemon stepped forward, his gaze locked with Urrigon Greyjoy's. The two men exchanged nods of acknowledgment amidst the chaos of the camp.

"Urrigon," Daemon called out as he approached, his voice carrying authority but also a hint of disdain. "It seems we find ourselves on the same shores once again."

Urrigon's expression remained stoic, but there was a spark of recognition in his eyes. "Aye, Daemon Targaryen. What brings the Rogue Prince to Grey Gallows?"

Daemon didn't waste time with pleasantries. "I seek allies in reclaiming the Stepstones. And from the looks of it, you and your Ironborn have already made yourselves quite comfortable here."

Urrigon's lips curled into a smirk. "We have a knack for making ourselves at home wherever the sea touches. But what's in it for us, Targaryen?"

"I offer you the opportunity to unleash your reavers upon the Stepstones once more," Daemon replied, his voice carrying a hint of promise. "Raid to your heart's content, as long as you pledge your ships and swords to our cause."

The Greyjoy's grin widened at the prospect, he mulls the idea for a moment. "You have a deal, but on one condition: we take what we want, when we want. No interference."

Daemon nodded in agreement. "Agreed. Now, let us discuss our plans further."

As they began to strategize, one of Daemon's Velaryon sailors approached, urgency etched on his face.

"My prince," the sailor said, bowing slightly. "We've received word of a significant fleet presence near the island of Bloodstone. Pirates."

Daemon's brow furrowed at the news. "I thought the cowards would flee from the island, it seems they are foolishly attempting to resist."

Without waiting for an answer, he turned back to Urrigon. "It seems a target made itself available for you barbarians."

---

The scene shifted to the rocky shores of Bloodstone, where Caraxes soared overhead, unleashing torrents of dragonfire upon the enemy ships anchored close to the shore. The wooden vessels erupted in flames, their crews scrambling in panic as Daemon's fury rained down upon them.

Amidst the chaos, the enemy pirate captain, a fearsome figure known for his ruthlessness, cowered behind a barricade of crates, his bravado crumbling in the face of the dragon's wrath.

Yet, despite his fear, a glint of desperation flashed in his eyes as he emerged from his hiding spot, brandishing his Valyrian steel weapon, a thin sword with a moonstone pommel, as if hoping to intimidate his opponent with the mere sight of the blade

."Daemon Targaryen!" the admiral called out, his voice carrying across the crashing waves. "Dismount your dragon and face me like a true warrior!"

Daemon's lips curved into a smirk as he stared down at the man, dismounting Caraxes, unsheathing his own sword. "As you wish."

The two warriors face each other on the sandy shore, the hubbub of combat silence to their ears.

A big wave rocked the ship, causing the rogue prince to stumble in his place, the pirate moved first, taking advantage of the favorable situation, his feet much more used to the swaying of ships.

But Daemon was an experienced man, and much more skilled thereafter, so he managed to deftly parry his opponent's swing, the clash of Valyrian steel creating an unholy screech that deafened their ears.

The prince noticed that for all his speed, his opponent was shorter and weaker than him, so leveraging his advantage, he went to the offense, sending blow after blow toward his opponent.

It was here where his experience was shown, the pirate captain wasn't used to wielding a Valyrian sword, and even though he was adept in its usage, the man clearly had never clashed with another wielder.

Parrying with a Valyrian steel sword is an easy thing, its light weight allows it to be easily maneuvered in order to parry, and just positioning the edge toward an enemy sword would mean that they would destroy their own weapons against yours.

Yet when two Valyrian swords clash, the situation is different, the steel's lightweight properties become much more a burden than an advantage, and even though you could put the sword in your enemy's path, you cannot leverage your weapon much, so your arm gets blown away alongside it.

That was what allowed Daemon to win; he pushed more force into his blows, forcing his opponent to be open to a follow up attack.

And with a swift slash, the pirate captain lost his head.

With the enemy's forces scattered and their leader vanquished, Daemon turned to see the Ironborn ships closing in on the horizon. Urrigon Greyjoy stood at the prow of his flagship, a fierce grin on his face.

"Looks like we've got some plundering to do," Urrigon shouted, his voice carrying over the crashing waves.

Daemon nodded, a sense of satisfaction coursing through him.

With Bloodstone firmly liberated, Urrigon led the Ironborn as they raided and plundered the island with ruthless efficiency. Buildings were set ablaze, ships were looted, and any semblance of resistance was swiftly crushed. The screams of the defeated echoed across the island as the Ironborn left destruction in their wake, reveling in the chaos they wrought.

As the dust settled and the smoke cleared, a disgruntled Velaryon sailor approached Daemon, concern etched on his face. "My prince," He began tentatively, "The Ironborn have gone too far. They've razed the entire island, destroyed homes, and killed or raped all the smallfolk."

Daemon regarded the sailor with a cool gaze before waving him off dismissively. "War is not won by sentimentality, sailor. This is the price of victory."

Amidst the chaos, Dalton Greyjoy, a mere eight years old but already showing signs of his family's ferocity, wandered through the battlefield. His young eyes gleamed with a disturbing mix of curiosity and malice as he swept through the carnage, gathering whatever valuables he could find.

He followed alongside the ironborn's path, whenever he saw a corpse he'd approach and stab it in the heart, assuring their deaths, before he searched them for valuables.

Daemon, witnessing the scene unfold, felt a pang of unease at the sight of such cold-blooded violence from one so young. Yet, he knew better than to intervene in the ways of the Ironborn. This was their way, and Dalton was merely following in the footsteps of his forebears.

As the cries of the fallen echoed across the blood-soaked sands of Bloodstone, Daemon steeled his heart, silently acknowledging the price of victory in their brutal campaign to conquer the Stepstones. With the Ironborn at their side, they would continue their conquest, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake as they forged their legacy upon the seas.