Small Pieces

'Onward we dance, basked in a flight of uncertainty.'

-From 'The Early Musings of Prince Rhaenar' by Brien Flowers

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After the council meeting, Princess Rhaenyra found herself with no further obligations for the day. 

Contemplating her options, she considered a leisurely stroll through the gardens or a visit to the study to check on Brien Flowers.

Brien was the sole individual whom Rhaenar had left behind in the Red Keep, a curious departure from his usual retinue of scholars. 

Rhaenyra speculated that her brother's decision signaled his diminished reliance on Brien's assistance in managing affairs. Yet, the reason behind Brien's mandated presence was elusive.

"In truth, it matters little whether I stay or go," Brien remarked when questioned, his green eyes peeking out from beneath a curtain of dark fringe. "I immerse myself in reading and hope to glean some new insight. If that's the case, I'd rather do so within the comforts of the Red Keep. Besides, who else would dare squander candlelight in my absence?" 

Rhaenyra accepted his explanation with a hint of skepticism. Unlike Rhaenar's subtle guile, his associates tended to be more straightforward. Therefore, Brien's words struck her as particularly dubious. 

The mystery of why Brien, of all people, was singled out remained unresolved.

It was time to unravel the truth; Rhaenyra intended to press Brien further in the study. However, before she could act, her appointed protector for the day, Ser Harrold, said

"Pardon me, Princess,"

"Yes, Ser?"

"I thought might know that Prince Daemon just returned."

How good! The confusion about her father and the second son matter vanished, and she abandoned the idea of questioning Brien Flowers. 

"Very well," she said cheerfully, "Lead the way."

Their route took them to the great hall. 

"He passed through the Red Keep's gates at first light," Ser Harrold said, his helmet cradled under his armpit.

Rhaenyra scrunched her nose, "Does my father know he's here?"

Ser Harrold knew the princess would have wanted to be the only one that knew. 

"No," he said.

"Good."

Ser Harrold opened one of the tall bronze doors. Rhaenyra stepped inside.

The great hall, typically bustling during court sessions, boasted a spacious area supported by ostentatious pillars reaching toward the high ceiling. 

Nobles and knights would fill the space, while ladies showcased their finest dresses like a colorful field of fabrics.

In its emptiness, however, the hall exuded a ghostly effect. The silhouette of the Iron Throne, adorned with swords from defeated kings of old by Aegon the Conqueror, cast a pointy shadow. 

Light filtered in from tall windows behind it, while dust swirled with each step, the sound of footsteps echoing through the vast space.

The quiet was broken by birds chirping from the gardens, almost like a welcoming song heralding her arrival.

With a smile, the Princess noticed her uncle once her eyes adjusted to the room's dimness. 

There he sat upon the Iron Throne, a royal air with his head tilted slightly in nonchalance. At that moment, Rhaenyra imagined Daemon as a dragon lord of old, a warlord who rained fire on Valyria's enemies.

As a knight of the Kingsguard, Ser Harrold couldn't bear to see anyone but Viserys seated upon the Iron Throne. 

Sensing his discomfort, the Princess reassured him, "It's alright, Ser."

Though it wasn't her words that put Ser Harrold at ease.

Almost instantly, Rhaenyra commanded the room's attention. It seemed as though Prince Daemon had already revealed everything to her through his demeanor — how he lounged on the throne, the subtle curl of his lips when she entered. 

She couldn't shake the inkling that he missed her just as much as she missed him. Still...

'Why must the ones I love be so elsewhere?'

The act of swallowing that one sentence ignited the dragon within her. And as she licked those lips ablaze they glistened like morning dew.

<"What do you think you're doing, Uncle?"> she spoke in High Valyrian.

<"Sitting," > replied Prince Daemon.

Rhaenyra heard the playful tone. She rolled her eyes. 

'Is this where my brother gets it from, or do they both inherit it from my father?'

<"This could be my chair one day,"> Daemon said, his demeanor noticeably relaxed upon the cold iron monstrosity of blades he sat upon.

Rhaenyra would typically dismiss this routine. However, given the recent atmosphere at court and the tone of today's small council meeting — where her father and ministers appeared inclined towards the Queen's birth resulting in a second son, another potential heir — she couldn't help but wonder if only for a fleeting moment, that somehow, people knew more about her brother than her.

Rhaenyra shook her head, <"Not if you're executed for treason,"> she said as she strode toward the throne. <"You haven't come to court in an age.">

Daemon groaned. <"Court is so dreadfully boring.">

<"Then why come back at all?">

<"I heard your father was holding a tournament in my honor.">

Rhaenyra always felt more emboldened to speak her mind whenever she spoke their ancestral tongue. <"It's a tournament for his spare heir,"> she replied curtly.

Daemon leaned forward, a mixture of benevolence and malice in his grin, though tempered by the presence of his beloved niece before him. <"Just as I said.">

Rhaenyra no longer found this charming. <"His new spare,"> she asserted.

Still, there were no lines drawn in the sand, no divide. Indeed, that was always how it had been. The core family of Viserys, Daemon, Aemma, Rhaenyra, and Rhaenar. 

That was Rhaenyra's world. They had never betrayed that bond.

So when Daemon rambled about succession and other matters she paid it no mind. 

Daemon rose from the throne and descended the steps.

<"Until your mother brings forth another son, you are all cursed with me.">

As he drew closer, Rhaenyra's smile widened, unable to resist a playful jab at her beloved uncle. <"Then I shall hope for a brother.">

They were soon face to face, chemistry in the air.

"I brought you something," Prince Daemon said in his deep, aristocratic common tongue, holding out a necklace before her.

Rhaenyra examined the necklace, three silver rings interlocked with a deep red gemstone in the center. The gemstone caught her eye, its red hue reminiscent of molten fire. Yet, it was the strangely smooth and cold touch of the steel that captivated her.

"Do you know what it is?" Prince Daemon asked, pleased with her reaction.

Rhaenyra's lips curled knowingly. "It's Valyrian steel," she said, her voice tinged with fascination. "Like Dark Sister and Blackfy—"

Daemon closed his fist, causing the Valyrian steel to rattle as he withdrew his hand, relishing the suspense he had evoked.

"Turn around," he instructed.

Rhaenyra complied, removing her existing gold necklace. She then gathered her silver hair with a single plait, a graceful movement akin to that of an elegant swan.

"Now you and I own a small piece of our ancestry," Daemon remarked as he fastened the necklace around her neck.

"And Rhaenar," she added.

Daemon let out a deep, almost melancholic hum, speaking again in their ancestral tongue. <"For now.">

Turning around to face him, Rhaenyra observed a distrustful squint in her eyes.

Daemon regarded her and imagined she embodied the essence of a Targaryen princess. <"Beautiful." >

<"What do you mean 'for now,' Uncle?">

<"What I mean is, your brother may not live much longer, and our family's Blackfyre will revert to the king.">

Rhaenyra's body tensed with fury. <"How could you say such a thing?">

Daemon glanced at his feet. "Do you even know what your brother is doing right now?"

<"Handling his affairs in the Crownlands,"> she stated matter-of-factly.

Daemon smirked. <"I suppose that's true.">

<"Stop with the games, uncle. You saw him, didn't you?">

Daemon met her gaze, seriousness overtaking him. <"Put it this way, Princess. If I told you what Rhaenar was doing now, would not be standing here talking to me.">

Rhaenyra's eyes widened as she connected the pieces of the puzzle. Daemon had been sworn to secrecy; she knew it. That was exactly what her brother would do if he were involved in something utterly stupid.

Without hesitation, Rhaenyra turned on her heel and bolted away.

Sighing in relief, Daemon's smile lifted a weight off his shoulders as he chased after his niece, and together they ran through the Red Keep.

Rhaenyra didn't bother with her riding gear or the armored wheelhouse.

"Open the gate!" she commanded as she mounted her silver steed. Kings Guard clamored as they tried to keep up.

What a sight it must have been. The common folk marveled at their golden-clad princess as her white steed galloped through the streets, with Prince Daemon in pursuit, half shouting, half laughing phrases such as "Slow down" and "Be careful!"

Soon, they reached the Dragonpit, where they swiftly mounted their dragons and took to the sky.

Daemon was impressed. The Princess had a head start, sure, but the speed and skill of her riding threatened to expand the distance between them.

'The bond between her and Syrax has grown,' he thought.

His own dragon, Cyrax, seemed to purr beneath him almost in response. The Red Worm, as it was known, earned its moniker for its peculiar, elongated form — a creature both strange and ferocious, befitting Daemon's roguish nature.

Amidst the whistling wind, his laughter rang out, carried away on the breeze.