Chapter 43 - Beneath the armor

279 AC

Joanna Pov

I watched my son Jaime as he gently embraced his wife, a tenderness in his eyes that softened his usual sharp edges. My heart swelled with warmth. I was going to be a grandmother soon. This should be a moment of joy.

I stepped forward, pulling my good-daughter Elia into a warm embrace, whispering my congratulations. But the lightness of the moment dimmed as Jaime spoke, his voice tight with something darker.

"I wish Cersei were here with us."

The words cut through the air, heavy and laden with the weight of our shared grief. My eldest, my golden daughter, locked away in Maegor's Holdfast for daring to love too boldly, for running away to marry the Crown Prince. Since we had arrived in King's Landing, I hadn't seen her. The king forbade Tywin from setting foot in the Red Keep after his dismissal as Hand. And so Cersei remained alone, out of reach.

"I worry for her, Mother," Jaime continued, a hard edge in his voice. "Especially now that he is back."

Daemon Targaryen. Once betrothed to my daughter, now a shadow looming over all of us—a secret that festered in the dark corners of our family. The bastard son of my own husband, Tywin's indiscretion made flesh.

"If he touches even a hair on her head, I swear...," Jaime's hand tightened into a fist, the threat hanging unfinished in the air. Elia placed her hand over his, calming him, the unspoken promise of her support passing between them.

I reached out, pulling my son into a hug, trying to soothe the storm raging inside him. "Don't worry, my love. We'll find a way through this. Everything will be alright."

But even as I spoke the words, they felt fragile. Hollow.

Later, I found Tywin in his solar, seated before the hearth, staring into the flames as if they held the answers he sought. His golden hair, once thick and commanding, was thinning now, but his whiskers remained the same, still defiant against the passage of time. When his eyes lifted to meet mine, they softened, if only for a moment.

I sat across from him, the silence between us heavy and full of unspoken fears.

"Do you regret it?" I finally asked, my voice low but firm.

Tywin's pale green eyes, always so calculating, fixed on me. "Regret?" he echoed, as if tasting the word. "No. Cersei was meant to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. That has not changed."

"But look at where we are," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady. "Our daughter is locked away, alone in Maegor's Holdfast, and her husband rots in the dark cells. We haven't seen her since we arrived. She's suffering, Tywin."

"The king—" I began, but Tywin cut me off, his voice like steel.

"The king will not harm her. Not our daughter."

I wanted to believe him, but fear gnawed at my insides. "And what of her former betrothed?" I asked, watching his expression carefully. For all his iron will, there was always something softer in Tywin when Daemon was mentioned.

"It is unfortunate, what happened to him," Tywin said, his voice softening, almost mournful. "But he will understand."

"Understand?" My voice cracked with disbelief. "He was humiliated, Tywin. In front of the entire realm. He'll want retribution. He's like you, in that way—he does not forget slights. And he certainly does not forgive."

Tywin's gaze darkened, the temperature in the room seeming to drop. "Daemon will not harm Cersei."

His words were cold, commanding, but I could hear the uncertainty buried deep beneath them. He reached for a scroll beside him, breaking the seal of the Hand of the King and passing it to me.

"Only you are permitted to visit the Red Keep and see our daughter," he said, and for the first time in days, I felt a weight lift from my chest, if only slightly.

"And after you've spoken to her," Tywin continued, "I want you to meet with him. Inform Daemon that I wish to see him."

I nodded, though my heart was heavy with dread. The burden of holding our fractured family together seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment. But I would do what was needed. For Cersei. For Jaime. For all of us.

I walked through the somber corridors of Maegor's Holdfast, where I had spent most of my youth alongside Rhaella. The air was heavy with memories as Ser Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard led me to a chamber. My heart raced as the door creaked open, revealing my daughter cradling her stomach. The sight of her sent a rush of emotions through me, and I rushed forward.

"Mother!" she cried, her voice cracking as she broke down in tears. We collapsed into each other's arms, the weight of our shared pain flooding between us.

I pressed my lips to her forehead, holding her close. "I missed you, Mother," she said, her eyes swollen from crying. My heart shattered at the sight.

After we finally pulled apart, I sat beside her, worry gnawing at my insides. "Are you well, dear?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Queen Rhaella has been taking care of us since we arrived in King's Landing," she replied, her hand resting protectively on her stomach.

I hesitated, gathering my thoughts before speaking. "You should not have run away with the crown prince, Cersei," I said gently, a tone of admonition creeping in.

Her eyes flared with defiance. "I love Rhaegar, and he loves me, Mother," she insisted. "If I hadn't run away, the king would have forced me to marry Daemon."

She spoke of how, after fleeing from Casterly Rock, Rhaegar had taken her to a sept, where they wed in secret. They went to Summerhall to hide, their love an act of rebellion against a world that sought to confine them.

"But once we returned to King's Landing, the king imprisoned Rhaegar. I haven't seen him since, Mother," she said, her tears cascading down her cheeks. I embraced her again, holding her tightly, desperate to shield her from the world.

"Have you spoken to Prince Daemon?" I asked, fear creeping into my voice as she shook her head, her expression a mixture of fear and confusion.

"Do you know that the king could demand your head at any moment?" I pressed, horrified at the thought, watching terror wash over her face.

"Father would never allow that, and neither would Daemon," she said, her voice filled with an unsettling conviction. I was taken aback. How could she be so sure that Daemon wouldn't wish her harm?

"I know the truth, Mother," she said, her eyes sparkling with a strange mixture of pride and fear. "Of who Daemon truly is."

"Who have you told?" I asked, my heart racing. "Does the crown prince know?"

She shook her head fervently. "I never told anyone, Mother."

"Good," I replied, relief washing over me.

"No one can ever know the truth, Cersei, because the events that would follow would not be good for our family," I cautioned, the weight of her words sinking deep into my heart. She gently shook her head, the innocence of her youth clashing with the grim reality surrounding us.

The heavy doors of the chamber creaked open, and in walked Rhaella. I stood up as she approached, enveloping me in an embrace. She looked weary, the weight of her sorrows etched into her features, her face marked with a profound melancholy.

"I wish we could meet under better circumstances," I said softly, trying to inject some warmth into the cold air between us. She offered a slight nod, her expression filled with unspoken burdens.

"Cersei, would you be so kind as to leave us?" Rhaella requested, her voice gentle yet firm. Cersei offered a small bow before exiting the room, leaving me alone with my childhood friend—the only one who understood the tangled web of our lives.

"How the times have changed," I remarked, my heart aching with nostalgia. "I miss the days when you were just a princess and I was simply a lady of House Lannister."

A small smile flickered across her lips, but it did little to lighten the shadows that lingered in her eyes. "I heard that you are going to meet Daemon," she said, a shadow of guilt washing over her face.

"Yes, I am," I replied. Rhaella reached out, touching my hand lightly.

"I am sorry for hurting you, Joanna," she said, her voice trembling as tears pooled in her eyes. "You were my closest friend, and I betrayed your trust."

"Rhaella, the past is the past. There is nothing we can do about it now," I reassured her, though my heart ached for the wounds we both carried.

"I have failed as a friend and a mother," she lamented, her voice breaking. "You should have seen how close Rhaegar and Daemon were as children—thick as thieves. I do not know what happened."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she continued, "After what happened in Duskendale, I was too harsh on Daemon, and he slowly distanced himself from me. He was such a sweet child."

Her grief was palpable, and my heart twisted at the sight of her despair. "And now, when he returned, instead of asking him how he was, I told him to forgive his brother. What kind of mother am I?" she cried, the weight of her guilt crashing down upon her like an unrelenting tide.

"He has taken after Tywin in that regard," I said gently, trying to offer her some semblance of solace. Rhaella's grief deepened, her face a canvas of anguish.

Just then, there was a sharp knock at the door, and Ser Lewyn entered, his expression serious. "Lady Joanna, the Hand of the King, Prince Daemon, is calling for you," he announced, his voice firm yet respectful.

"I wish I could help you, old friend," I said, pulling Rhaella into a tight embrace, wanting to reassure her that she wasn't alone in her suffering. The warmth of our friendship was a fragile thread in this world of pain.

As I turned to leave, I felt the heaviness of Rhaella's sorrow clinging to me, a reminder of the bonds we had forged and the heartaches we shared. I walked away, my heart aching for the wounds we bore—both hers and my own.

I walked up the Tower of the Hand, the narrow spiral staircase feeling almost never-ending as I ascended. Two knights stood at the top, clad in black armor emblazoned with Daemon's personal sigil—a snarling golden dragon, wings outstretched. Their eyes were sharp, watchful, but they gave no challenge as I approached. The thick wooden door creaked as it opened into the private audience chamber, and a wave of warmth hit me. My breath caught in my throat as I stepped inside, the sense of grandeur unmistakable, but it was tempered by intimacy.

The chamber of the Hand of the King—Daemon's new domain—was rich with Myrish rugs, deep reds and purples woven in intricate designs that spread across the stone floor. Tapestries adorned the walls, telling tales of conquests and bloody battles, but softened by hues of gold and silver thread. Above me, the golden-tinted round window let in the late afternoon light, casting an amber glow over the space.

At first glance, I almost mistook him for Tywin, an air of authority, an aura of command that bent everyone around him to his will. But the surroundings gave him away—Daemon's taste was different. Exotic. Luxurious.

Daemon sat languidly in the great chair, his dark robes pooling around him. A golden dragon crest gleamed over his heart, a contrast to the near-black fabric. His silver-gold hair, longer now than the last time I had seen him, cascaded loosely over his shoulders, catching the golden light from the window.

His mismatched eyes one violet while the other was emerald green fixed on me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. His presence filled the room, bigger than I remembered, both in stature and aura.

"Lady Joanna," he greeted, his voice smooth, almost musical, yet laced with something darker, something dangerous.

"Prince Daemon," I replied, dipping into a respectful bow, though his gaze never left mine. There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he gestured to the chair before him.

"Please, sit," he said with a smile, his voice velvety, though there was a glint of sharpness behind it, like a knife hidden in silk.

I sat down, my back straight, trying to maintain my composure as he poured a glass of rich Dornish red, its deep crimson color reminding me of blood. He handed it to me with a small flourish, his long fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment.

"Oberyn gifted me this when I arrived yesterday," he remarked, swirling the wine in his own glass before taking a sip. "It's simply amazing. The Dornish do know their wine, don't they?" He leaned back, his gaze softening slightly as he studied me, but there was a calculating edge beneath that warmth. "Though the way we parted last time wasn't on the best terms, was it?"

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tensions and old wounds. I bowed my head, the weight of the moment pressing on me.

"On behalf of my daughter and House Lannister, I humbly apologize, my prince," I said, my voice steady but soft, careful. It was not just my honor at stake here, but the honor of my family, my daughter.

Daemon chuckled softly, though there was no real mirth in it. "Oh, Lady Joanna, please don't apologize," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "We both know you had no part to play in what my former betrothed and my brother pulled off." His tone darkened slightly, and I could see a flash of something dangerous in his eyes. "No... you are innocent in all this. Your husband, however... not so much."

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could form the words, Daemon raised his hand, stopping me.

"Forgive me, my lady," he said, his tone softening again, almost tender, "but I wish to say something."

He set down his wine and leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine with a sudden intensity that made my heart race.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" he asked, his voice quiet, as if recalling a distant memory. "I was all alone in Casterly Rock... and I missed my mother terribly." His gaze drifted for a moment, lost in thought, before returning to me. "I was just a boy then, but you... you were kind to me. You hugged me, consoled me, like no one else had ever done before." His voice dropped to a whisper, filled with emotion. "I've never forgotten that kindness, Joanna."

The sincerity in his words struck me, and for a moment, I saw not the fearsome warrior, not the calculating prince, but a boy—lonely, hurt, and yearning for something as simple as comfort. My heart ached for him in that instant, but I knew better than to let my guard down. Daemon was not a man easily understood, and kindness from him could be as much a weapon as cruelty.

"You were kind to me," he repeated softly, his violet eyes softening. "And that is something a bastard never expects from the wife of his sire."

His words cut through the air like a blade, sharp and deliberate. Bastard. He said it without shame, without hesitation. I felt the blood drain from my face as I stared at him, shocked.

"Your kindness to me has always made me wonder," he continued, leaning back in his chair, his fingers tracing the rim of his wineglass. "You could have treated me badly. Scorned me. Hated me for I am your husnamds bastard an living proof of his betrayal to you But you didn't. Why?" His eyes bore into mine, searching, probing, as if he was testing me, waiting for an answer.

I swallowed, trying to find the words. "I... I treated you as any child should be treated, my prince," I said softly, lowering my gaze. "With compassion."

"You truly are a kind hearted woman lady joanna", he said with a geunuine smile.

"And now here we are," he continued, his tone growing darker, more savage. "I am no longer that boy who needed your comfort, Joanna. I am a prince. A dragon. And I do not forget those who showed me kindness... nor those who wronged me."

As the wine settled between us, I felt the tension ease, but only slightly. Daemon's presence still loomed, his gaze piercing through the softened conversation. He leaned back, swirling his wine again before lifting it to his lips, a quiet smirk playing on his face.

"I bet you weren't expecting that, were you?" His voice was smooth, teasing, as if enjoying the small disarray he had caused in me. I offered a slight nod, unwilling to deny it.

"No," I admitted, my voice steady but with a hint of caution. "I wasn't."

Daemon chuckled softly, his violet and emerald eye gleaming with satisfaction, but the amusement didn't last. He straightened, setting his cup down, and shifted the conversation with the ease of a blade slicing through silk.

"But onto other matters," he said, his tone more businesslike, though a playful edge remained. "I assume Cersei is elated at having seen her mother again."

The mention of my daughter brought a flicker of warmth to my chest, despite the circumstances. "Thank you, Prince Daemon, for allowing me to meet my daughter," I said, bowing my head slightly, the gratitude genuine, though wary.

Daemon waved his hand dismissively, though a softer smile crossed his lips. "You can call me Daemon, Lady Joanna," he said, and for a brief moment, I saw a flicker of the boy I had first met in Casterly Rock, so many years ago. The boy lost in the vast halls of the Rock, who sought kindness wherever he could find it. But that innocence was fleeting, and the man who sat before me was no longer that boy.

"My husband is grateful as well," I added, hoping to shift the conversation further into safe territory.

At that, Daemon's expression darkened, and his laughter came, but it was not the lighthearted sound from moments before. It was mocking, laced with bitterness that cut like a knife through the air. His lips curled into a cruel smile.

"He's grateful, is he?" Daemon said, his voice dripping with malice. "Grateful, no doubt, that he can get his blood on the throne—at the expense of me being shamed throughout the realm." The kindness he had shown me earlier evaporated like mist, replaced by a venomous resentment.

I tried to steady myself, but his words had weight, and they stung. I knew the intricacies of the situation, but Daemon's pain was deeper than I had realized. I swallowed, choosing my words carefully. "I assure you, Daemon, Tywin had no knowledge of your brother's actions alongside our daughter's."

Daemon's eyes narrowed, and his gaze became cold as ice. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the arms of his chair as if restraining something darker within. His voice, when it came, was low and dangerous.

"Lady Joanna," he began, each word slow and deliberate, "do you really believe anyone can steal Tywin fucking Lannister's daughter from the castle without the man knowing?" He leaned in closer, his face inches from mine. "The man has the Westerlands under his grip tighter than any septa's cunt." His voice dripped with venom, the crude language shocking, but deliberate.

My breath hitched at the vulgarity, and Daemon paused, his eyes briefly flickering with something that might have been regret. He leaned back, sighing softly. "I apologize for the crass language, my lady," he said sheepishly, though there was a faint smile on his lips, as if he relished shocking me.

I forced a smile, nodding slightly. "It is... forgiven, Daemon," I said, though the tension in the air had thickened once more.

Daemon regarded me for a moment, his eyes searching mine, as if looking for something hidden beneath the surface. After a long pause, he sighed again, this time more heavily.

"So," he said, his voice quieter now, almost tired, "just tell me what Tywin instructed you to say. No need to dance around it."

There was a weight to his words, an exhaustion that surprised me. Perhaps even Daemon, with all his fire and fury, had limits to his patience. I swallowed, gathering my composure.

"Tywin wishes to meet with you, Daemon," I said, keeping my voice calm, though the request was heavy. I watched his reaction closely, unsure how he would respond.

Daemon was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sharp breath, he stood abruptly, his dark robes flowing around him like shadows. He walked to the window, staring out at the golden light filtering through the glass. His shoulders were tense, his posture rigid, as if holding back some great internal storm.

"Very well," he said at last, his voice low but steady. "Inform Lord Tywin that I will be praying at the Great Sept of Baelor. He can join me there if he wishes." There was something cold and final in his tone, as if the matter had been settled the moment he had spoken.

He turned back to me then, and his expression softened, the edges of his savagery retreating. "It is always a pleasure meeting you, my lady," he said, and his voice was warm again, almost tender. He stepped forward and embraced me, his arms strong around me, but there was a distance to the gesture, a formality. The warmth of his earlier affection had cooled, replaced by something more reserved, more calculated.

I returned the embrace, though my heart was heavy. As I stepped back, I glanced up at him, and once again, I saw the duality in his eyes—the man and the dragon, the boy and the prince. He was both savage and kind, both fire and blood.

----

Barristan's POV

I watched as Prince Daeron, the thirdborn child of the king, practiced his strikes. The sound of wood clashing against wood echoed in the yard, each hit reverberating through me, stirring memories I had long tried to bury. Seeing him now, the boy so focused on each move, his brow furrowed in concentration, reminded me too much of another time—another prince. Daemon.

My chest tightened as Daeron shifted his stance, eyes fixed on the training dummy before him. He was quick, precise, but still had much to learn. And yet, the determination in his eyes was all too familiar. The way he wielded his sword, the way he pursued each blow as if trying to exorcise some inner demon—it was like watching Daemon all over again.

"Barry!" The voice of a child rang through my memory, and for a moment, I was back in the Red Keep, looking down at a much younger boy, barely more than a babe, wielding a wooden sword far too large for him. Daemon would never wait for his time; he had always insisted on practicing, on fighting. "Barry," he used to call me, that stubborn grin on his face, always so sure, so relentless.

"You failed him," a voice whispered in my ear, low and unforgiving. My heart darkened, my grip on the hilt of my own sword tightening. I had failed him. I failed them all.

My mind returned, as it often did, to that day in Duskendale. The day Daemon crossed the line. I had admonished him, berated him, though I knew, even as the words left my mouth, that I had betrayed something between us. His face—crestfallen, shattered—had burned itself into my memory. I would never forget the way his shoulders had slumped, the way his mismatched eyes had looked up at me, wounded. His soul had cracked that day, and I had only made it worse.

"Daemon!" Daeron's shout pulled me from my reverie. My eyes refocused in time to see the young prince run toward his brother, arms outstretched, his face lit up with a rare smile. Daeron was a serious child, a boy who had seen too much too soon. After the events of the past few moons, with the king sick, Prince Rhaegar imprisoned, and the queen retreating into herself, Daeron had grown quieter, more reserved. But now, with Daemon back… the boy had visibly improved.

Daemon bent to embrace his younger brother, and for a moment, the warmth returned to his eyes, softening his face. But as soon as his gaze shifted to me, it all vanished. His mismatched eyes, one a deep violet, the other a pale, unsettling shade of blue, hardened. His expression became a mask, cold and unreadable.

"Ser Barristan," Daemon said, his tone flat, devoid of the warmth he had just shown his brother. It was a greeting, but it was also a warning, a reminder of the distance between us now.

"My prince," I bowed my head slightly, though my heart was heavy. So much had changed.

Daemon straightened, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He turned his gaze back to Daeron, who had resumed his training, the boy's strikes now more vigorous as if eager to impress his brother.

"Continue practicing," Daemon said to Daeron, his voice firm but kind. Daeron nodded and rushed back to the dummy, his wooden sword slashing through the air with renewed energy.

"Ser Barristan," Daemon's voice broke through again, this time more pointed. "How is he progressing?"

I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling the weight of his scrutiny. "The young prince is progressing well, my lord. He has already begun besting his peers in practice, and his skills are quite advanced for his age." I hesitated, my thoughts betraying me. Not as skilled as you were at his age. But I kept that to myself.

Daemon nodded curtly, his gaze drifting back to Daeron. For a moment, he said nothing, his posture tense, as if ready to leave at any moment.

But I couldn't let him go. Not yet. "Prince Daemon," I called after him, my voice softer than I had intended.

He paused, his back still turned to me, waiting.

"How… how are you?" The words felt clumsy in my mouth. It wasn't what I truly wanted to ask. But I couldn't find the right words. I never could, not when it came to him.

Daemon laughed, but it was not a sound of mirth. It was bitter, hollow, a sound filled with old wounds that had never healed. "How am I, Ser Barristan?" he repeated, turning halfway to face me. His eyes, those hauntingly mismatched eyes, bore into me. "Well, other than my brother marrying my betrothed, impregnating her, and making me a fool in front of the entire realm, I suppose I am doing reasonably well."

His words were laced with venom, each one cutting deeper than the last. I flinched, though I tried to hide it. There was nothing I could say to that.

Daemon's lips twisted into something resembling a smile, though it was full of pain. "What's the matter, good Ser? Are you not going to admonish my brother as you once did me? Will you not tell him how he has disgraced his honor, how he has failed his family?"

His voice grew louder, the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface now rising to a boil. "After everything I did for him, after everything I did for you—saving you from the Darklyns—this is how I am repaid? This is the reward I get for my loyalty?"

I couldn't hold it back any longer. "I am sorry, my prince," I said, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. "I am sorry for everything."

Daemon's expression darkened. "For what, Barry? For abandoning me when I needed you most?" His voice cracked, and for the first time, I heard the pain beneath the anger. "You were like a father to me, Barristan. But you left me. Just like my mother did. Just like everyone did."

The guilt that had been gnawing at me for years now threatened to consume me. "Daemon…" I whispered, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder, though I wasn't sure if he would let me. "I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing what was right. But I see now that I was wrong."

He stiffened under my touch, but he didn't pull away. I could still see the boy he once was—the boy who had followed me around the Red Keep, always asking questions, always looking up to me as if I were some sort of hero. The young babe who had cried in my arms when no one else could soothe him.

"I miss you, Daemon," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I miss the boy you were. And I swear, on my honor, that I will never abandon you again."

Daemon's eyes, filled with unshed tears, flickered with something that might have been hope. He didn't say anything for a long time, just stared at me as if trying to decide whether or not to believe me.

Then, suddenly, without warning, he pulled me into a hug. It wasn't the cold, formal embrace of a prince and his knight. It was something raw, something real—filled with years of unspoken pain and longing. I felt his shoulders tremble, and in that moment, I knew that the boy I had once loved was still in there, somewhere beneath the armor of bitterness and anger.

"I'm sorry too, Barry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I've lost so much. I can't lose you too."

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away, holding him tightly. "You won't," I promised, my voice thick with emotion. "Not ever again."