Chapter 25-A Love yet Alive!

Chapter 25

Daemon watched the Dothraki back away from him as he stood there drenched in blood, sword in one hand and severed head in another. He had known that the slave Masters would not give up their powers so easily, and this constant harassment of the city was a result of that.

Those fuckers had scurried away with much of their wealth as the violence had truly begun and now had sought refuge in Yunkai and Astapor and were being supported by the slavers there for if Meereen truly became free, then soon enough, Yunkai and Astapor would fall as well.

"Is there anyone who wishes to challenge me!" he shouted as he raised the head of the young Khal, Khal Drogo, and the Khalasar backed away, fear evident on their faces as he threw the head and turned his back on them, and turned towards his men.

"Spare one and kill the rest of the attackers. Let it be known what becomes of those who come to slave Meereen," he ordered, and the men nodded.

'AHHHH!' and the fighting began once more, and so this battle would be carved into the histories, and no khalasaar or mercenary company would dare take up arms against them.

.

.

"You are leaving again," Morro asked as he found himself sitting with a complement of thirteen. Meereen had been divided into thirteen sections, each nominating a representative to the council, with a fourteen-seat remaining empty to this day for him.

"Yes, it is time for me to go home," he said, already reports were coming about the tourney at Harrenhall and how the Prince had abducted the young daughter of Lord Stark and the betrothed of Lord Robert Baratheon.

"Home?" Morro asked in surprise as all thirteen began to look at one another. He was surprised because this was the first time he had openly declared his origins. All thirteen gathered here today were men who had been with him since day one. They were the ones who had survived the first fire, in which nine in ten of those who had served him had lost their kin.

"Yes, home," he said as he sighed.

"I know all of you must have speculated on my identity? Thought about who I am? Today, you will have your answers," he said and saw them perk up at those words.

"But I warn you, what you are about to witness is not pretty...," he said as he reached for the white blood-stained scarf that covered his head and began to unbind it.

"...it will haunt you," he said and saw a few more intelligent among them already begin to make the connection. After all, the burning of a Prince by his own father was not small news, and words of his demise had even reached lands across the Narrow Sea.

"My real name is Daemon Targaryen, the second born son of Aerys II Targaryen, the Mad King...." he began. They all gasped as the white blood-stained cloth fell away revealing his charred, and burnt skin to all of them, and he saw their faces pale, as few evaded their gazes, as he reached for the mask.

"...though you may have heard of a different name...." and with a final breath, he pulled off his mask, feeling bare under all those gazes.

"GODS!" SEVEN HELL!" "HOW COULD THIS BEE!"

"....the Burnt Prince."

0000

DAEMON TARGARYEN

The demise of the Dragons had weakened House Targaryen more than few could imagine. No amount of men, gold, or influence could replace the might of a dragon.

And though many thought the dragons gone from the world, Daemon suspected otherwise. In his youth, he had spent hours pouring over the texts only to realise that it was false. That despite the popular belief a dragon may very well be alive, an adult dragon that had been forgotten by all but a few.

Yet regardless, House Targaryen had truly never tried to fill this massive gap and would remain embroiled in one conflict or another ever since the Dance of the Dragon.

And years and years of bad governance had ended up nearly ending their reign with a Lord Paramount thinking himself powerful and entitled enough to make a claim at their own throne, something which he would never let happen again.

The Great Houses were tense at his announcement, yet they kept their mouths shut because they all knew that speaking out and lobbying against this action of his would end up labeling them as Blackfyre sympathizers. The masses, on the other hand, were enraged at House Blackfyre and how they had caused a war, causing them immense strife.

And so, as they grumbled and planned, preparations were underway to make a standing army. A modest one comprising only ten thousand people, but that would be enough for now, along with the fleet he was funding.

"Today, I have gathered this council to inform you all of my decision to leave the capital," he announced and immediately saw Lord Velaryon rise up in surprise.

"You are leaving your grace?" he asked, and he nodded.

"I am. There is a task that I have delayed for too long, and I wish to delay it no more," he replied as his heart raced in his chest.

"But your grace. There was just an attempt on your life, leaving the capital at such a time is not prudent," the man asked, and he could see Elia's eyes rooted on him as he rebuffed his Hand's complaints.

"I am not afraid of a few paltry assassins. Intend to ride fast with a small retinue. This is not progress or an official affair but a private one; the Kingsgaurd and twenty of my own men will do," he announced, and the man spluttered.

"But your gra...."

"My mind is made, lord Hand!" he cut him off in a much sterner tone, and the man shut up as he motioned for him to sit down.

"It is better if we discuss how things are going to be run in my absence," he pointed out as he turned towards Elia.

"She will continue to sit in the council, and shall be my voice in my absence," he announced and saw her nod.

"Lord Lannister," he turned towards Kevan Lannister.

"The reconstruction efforts will not be stopped. Builders from across the Narrow Sea are set to arrive soon. They will come and revisit the plans that were made in my father's reign to rebuild the city. The true construction, displacement, and everything will be started after my return, but have the funds for this appropriated until then," he commanded, and he had been a competent Master of Coin until now.

"Lord Redwyne is set to arrive in a week and will assume the position of Master of Ships. Until then, lord Velaryon, you are to oversee the construction of the Royal fleet, as you have been doing so," he ordered, and the man nodded.

"But my lord, about the celebrations and the Royal Army," Lord Velaryon questioned.

"The celebrations have all been pushed by a month. As for the Royal Army, I have coined a new seat on the council. The Fist of the King, he shall be responsible for overseeing the Royal Army until I decide otherwise," he announced.

"And who will occupy this station," Lord Velaryon asked.

"Lord Randall Tarly," the man was the only one to defeat Robert and was one of the more astute military minds in the region.

"He will be here soon and plans to use the tourneys and the celebrations to scout men for the Army," though those would only be footsoldiers.

Randall Tarly may lead the army, but Daemon was not fool enough to entrust so much power in the hands of another man, and so all the officer class in the military was to be made of men that had come with him from across the Narrow Sea for he could trust them implicitly.

"That is all, I believe..."

"Your grace, there is one matter that still needs to be solved," Lord Velaryon asked, and he beckoned him to continue.

"It's about Dragonstone, it has always been the fief of the King's heir but there is a dispute over this between Prince Viserys, who was named heir by your father, and Prince Aegon who was Prince Rhaegar's son..."

"Aegon is my heir," he cut in sharply.

"Bu..."

"There is no but, Viserys is my brother, but he is not the heir. I named Aegon as my heir the day I took the throne, and he shall remain as such until I decide otherwise."

0000

ELIA MARTELL

Elia watched the council walk out the room and the doors close, yet her eyes remained rooted on Daemon.

"This was why you were rushing through it all?" she asked, knowing full well where he intended to go.

"You wanted to go visit her, Ashara," she asked, and Daemon nodded.

"Yes, I do," and she had guessed as much, knew of their love, of their pain of what they ahd both gone through.

But she also knew that he would be in pain if he went, that if even half of what Allyria had written to her about Ashara was true, seeing her like that would break him.

"Haven't you heard the rumors? Ashara Dayne is dead," she began, and he shook his head.

"She is alive, of that I am sure," he said with conviction.

"But she is as good as dead; they say that even the stranger fears her, that he is afraid of touching her soul," she repeated and saw his eyes light up.

"He should be," he said with finality as the fires in the room flickered.

"I made a promise to her, and I intend to keep it. She will live, no matter what. And she will be the next Queen," and she should have guessed that.

"And what of Cersei Lannister, what were the two of you doing so late into the night," and she scarcely believed the rumors that the King was enamoured with the Jewel of the West, and that she was to be the next Queen.

She knew Daemon and his choices, yet there was a plot here that she was unaware of.

"Your mother was friends with the Lady Joanna, right?" he suddenly questioned, and she nodded.

She nodded, "Yes, they were friends."

"You must have heard of a certain rumor regarding the Lannister twins," and she frowned as she tried to parse through her memories, recalling every rumor until she realized just what he was referring to.

"It could not be," she gasped, and he nodded.

"The truth of that night is that I was able to witness the reality of that rumor, and so after a few mishaps, I can say that Lannister Twins are under my thumb, and their very lives depend on my silence, and now yours as well," he pointed out.

And she was disgusted as she thought about just what he was saying, her gut turned out in revulsion, yet she looked away and took a small sip of wine to settle herself down.

"Gosh! I cannot imagi..."

"It matters little now. Cersei Lannisters is now a pawn for me to use, and right now, her purpose is to draw attention away from Ashara, and she will do that; I don't care about the costs," Daemon declared callously.

"Oberyn has already scouted the path from the capital to Starfall, on my command. The bandits there have been killed or displaced. You will face no trouble riding to Starfall," she added, seeing Daemon raise his brow.

"So, that is where he vanished to," Daemon was impressed, and she nodded; she had expected as such and decided to help him out.

"Keep an eye on things in the capital. You will be approached by many lords and ladies trying to get you to dissuade me from making a Royal Army. I want you to engage them and find out just who else supports them in these thoughts of theirs," and she nodded.

"About Viserys..." she began, but he cut her off.

"I am not blind to my brother's faults. He is more of our father's son, than I would like for him to be. Ignore his words and try to be patient with him. In the end, I am King and I decide on the matters, he is but a Prince," he commanded.

Viserys had been growing more rowdy with each passing day. He called Daemon a usurper, believing himself to be the rightful heir to the Mad King.

0000

And so, into the night, a small entourage would leave from Kingslanding and ride through the darkness as the King rode out of the capital and towards Dorne.

On the same night, in the Northwest region of the Reach, in an area named the Red Lake, a deep rustling sound was heard late into the night; the locals spoke of a deep grumbling sound as they saw a massive figure taking to the skies from within the lake.

They called it a flood of bright silver, like a silver waterfall taking to the skies.

Many believed that all dragons had perished from Westeros, yet the truth was one Dragon lived even to this day, yet had been forgotten over the years and simply thought dead.

A dragon slumbering away in sorrow, the Dragon of the Good Queen herself.

Silverwing.

0000

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