The Great Council
---Harrenhall, 101 AC----
As Daeron rode towards Harrenhal, he couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation and uncertainty that gnawed at him.
"How much longer until we reached there, Ser William?"-Daeron asked the old Knight sworn to House Stark that was sent to escort him. -"We have been traveling for days, I could not imagine it would take much longer."
"Soon." -The knight replied, more weary from the child's constant questions than from the harsh trip.
"That's what you said last time, and we have been riding for a day since."-Said Daeron defiantly.
"Sight. The scout that rode ahead said we should arrive within the hour, so you should be able to see it any minute now."-The knight sighted, exasperated.
At that answer, Daeron grew quiet, his mind rambling with anxious thoughts about his family and the other nobles that would attend the Council. How would they treat him? Would they embrace him as one of their own? As much as he hoped that would be the case, he also knew it was unlikely to happen, after all he wasn't one of them, he was a Bastard and there weren't many people like the old Knight that would treat him with anything if not contempt, much less respect him as a equal.
The ramblings of his mind were cut short, however, when he finally arrived at Harrenhall. The sight of the massive, blackened castle and it's melted towers looming over the landscape took his breath away. The ancient grounds were a hive of activity, with Lords and Ladys from all over the realm gathering to decide the fate of Westeros. Daeron felt a surge of excitement as he dismounted and made his way towards the castle, his heart pounding with anticipation. In the sky above, the Red Queen flew over the city, her scarlet scales gleaming under the sunlight, casting a shadow over the castle. She was just as majestic as his father's own dragon he once saw, and only one of the many dragons that had gathered for the Great Council that he was sure to see.
As he excitedly entered the great hall, Daeron was immediately struck by the opulence and grandeur of the Targaryen court. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and the sound of laughter and music filled the room. Daeron's eyes scanned the crowd, searching for his father, Daemon, and the rest of his family. He felt a pang of longing as he caught sight of a couple other children just like him, with silver hair and purple eyes laughing and chatting with the other noble children. We look so much alike, he thought, but could not be more different.
But as Daeron pushed aside his feelings of inadequacy and made his way through the dispersing crowd, he spotted the image of his father, his memory not failing to recognize him even when it was over 3 years since their last meeting. As he approached his father, Daemon's eyes lit up with recognition.
"You're late."-The first thing his father said to him in 3 years.-"The day's gathering is already over. Luckily for you, your Uncle Viserys has made it through to the last day. Tomorrow's Council will decide the heir, so you will break your fast with me and my brother's family at first light. Do not be late again."
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It was a lavish spread, standard for the royals of House Targaryen, evidencing the disparity between the people as while the smallfolk had to make do with stews and broths of dubious contents, they were served with warm fluffy bread hot from the oven, served alongside butter and honey, wedges of cheese and blueberry preserves, and rashers of bacon dripping with grease.
Honeyed ham and softboiled quail eggs, together with venison steaks spiced with fiery Dornish peppers, spicy enough to sate even a Targaryen's appetite. For dessert, there were apple tarts, and honey cakes baked with blackberries and almonds. And, to wash it all down there were flagons of mead and flagons of iced milk sweetened with honey. Mint tea had also been made available for Aemma, who was known to have a special liking for it.
As appetizing as the meal may be, Daeron could hardly taste any of it, awkwardly avoiding the gaze that was burying into him from the small child half his age that sat across the table from him, both staring at him and somehow at the same time managing to stuff herself full of apple tarts.
His Uncle sat at the head of the table, with his wife Aemma by his right, and Daemon by his left.
"So, Brother, have you thought of what to do about that matter after you're made King?"-Daemon inquired, putting aside his fork.
"Calm down Daemon, the Council is not yet over."
"Please, even in over a hundred years never has a woman sat upon the Iron Throne, and I will see the realm burnt to the ground before I see a Velaryon be made King."
"Careful Brother, what you speak of is treason. We all have sworn to abide by the Great Council's rulling. A man should never break his word."-Viserys interrupted, a hint of caution in his voice.
"For a man's worth is a man's word. Yes, I know, Brother. I am merely saying that it matters little how much gold the Sea Snake throws around, he will not succeed in swaying the Lords votes in his favor."-Prince Daemon said smugly.
"I believe you are underestimating how much gold Lord Corlys has, and how much the Lords of Westeros love gold."
"But it doesn't matter, in this all the gold in the world will not be enough to win them over"-Aemma said with a knowing glint in her eye- "as the Lords of Westeros will never let a woman rule over them. No matter how much gold, they were offered."
"Laenor is a man!"-Exclaimed Viserys.
"He is only a boy, and that too he is Rhaenys' boy. Rhaenys who was already once denied by the King. And everyone knows naming Laenor the Heir is the same as handing over the crown to Lord Corlys. The Lords of Westeros are greedy, but they aren't stupid. Not all of them, at least."-Compleated Daemon-"Tomorrow's voting was already over before it even began. Hence why I wish to discuss the matter of your succession so soon. We must show that your line is secure, and since I am your only male heir, and I already have a son of my own, we should be able to fend of the vultures that are circling around us."
"Oh? So you've decided on Daeron then?"- asked Aemma.
At this, Daeron's thoughts came to a halt.
"Yes, after the voting, I intend on bringing him with me to the Red Keep so he can receive an education fit for a prince."
Clink-Daeron dropped his fork-"I-i'm sorry "
"It's okay, my dear."- Aemma assured him.
"Don't apologize. It shows weakness."-Daemon reprimanded.
As Daeron shrunk back at the gaze of his father,
"Daemon!"-Aemma raised her voice-"he's just a child!"
"He's my son, and if he is to be my heir he needs to learn not to show any weakness in front of others."
"M-me? Your heir? But I'm just a bastard. What about your wife?"-Daeron asked, surprised with were the conversation was going.
"What about that Bronze Bitch? That matter is of no consequence. It can be resolved easily enough when you've come of age and my Brother is made King."-Daemon said with confidence.
"Does that mean that Daeron is coming with us?"-Asked Rhaenyra from her mother's side, finally letting go of the Apple tarts, a childish glint in her eyes as if she had just found a new toy.
"Enough of this matter. I wasn't even made Prince of Dragonstone yet, and you speak as if I was already Crowned. We must go, the last voting will start in a hour. We must not be late, least we don't mind losing the Crown you all think I already have."-Said Viserys, already getting up from his seat.
With this, everyone got up and followed after, leaving Daeron alone at the table, too shocked to get up until the servents undid the table, realizing that he could not be late.
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The Great Council of 101 AC was a momentous event in the history of Westeros, and as the Lords and Ladies of the realm gathered at the Great Hall of Harrenhal, tensions ran high, and the fate of the Seven Kingdoms hung in the balance. Daeron stood on the sidelines, watching the proceedings with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.
As the council deliberated on the question of succession, Daeron felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Why?- he thought to himself-Why am I feeling like this? Father just offered me the opportunity to have what I always wanted.
I should be feeling elated, not anxious. I can finally prove myself.
As the deliberations dragged on, Daeron found himself drawn deeper into his thoughts-But... Am I worthy? Will I be able to prove myself, or am I only going to prove myself inadequate, a mere bastard that dared aim too high just to fall flat on his face.
Finally, after hours of heated debate, the voting that would decide his fate and the fate of the seven kingdoms had come to an end, halting the ramblings of his thoughts. As Archmaester Vaegon Targaryen, who presided over the Great Council by order of the King held the results in his hands, everyone awaited with bated breath, all sound suddenly disappearing from the Great Hall.
The Archmaester unrolled the scroll in his hand, he said:
"In the name of His Grace Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the Frist Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, and by the rulling of all the Lords and Ladies of the Realm in accordance with the Great Council, Prince Viserys Targaryen is hereby made Prince of Dragonstone and Legitimate Heir to the Iron Throne."