Chapter 26 - A Son's Worry

276 AC

Daemon Pov

Outside my mother's chamber, I paced back and forth, anxiety coiling within me like a serpent. Pycelle's shuffling figure emerged from the room, and I dashed inside without a moment's hesitation.

Mother lay on her bed, a portrait of discomfort, her feet swollen from the weight of impending motherhood. Her belly protruded prominently, a testament to the life growing within her.

"Everyone out!" I commanded, my voice echoing through the chamber, prompting the servants to scatter like leaves in the wind.

"You too, Janna," I directed at Mace's sister, who sat quietly beside Mother, her face a mask of concern.

Once they had gone, I took my place by Mother's side, the worry etched into every line of my face.

"What did Pycelle say?" I demanded, my impatience bubbling to the surface.

"Daemon, there's no need to be rude to them," she admonished softly, but I brushed off her reprimand, my nerves frayed with anticipation.

She sighed, relenting to my persistence. "Your sister is due any day now," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll be right here, Mother by your side," I vowed, clasping her hand tightly in mine.

"My golden boy," she whispered, her fingers tracing the contours of my cheek. "You've grown so much."

Puberty had indeed left its mark on me, propelling me past my peers in both stature and demeanor.

"In a few years, I'll have to crane my neck just to meet your gaze," she remarked with a hint of melancholy.

"I'll stoop down, Mother," I reassured her, a fleeting smile gracing my lips in an attempt to ease her worries.

Just then, Mother gently placed her hand on her swollen belly, a tender moment amidst the tension.

"See, your sister kicked me," she said, her eyes sparkling with joy.

"But what if it's not a girl?" I couldn't help but voice my fear, the uncertainty clawing at my insides.

She hesitated for a moment before responding, her words heavy with my father's conviction. "Your father says that it will be a girl."

"Then he's a fool," I retorted, unable to contain my frustration, and Mother's eyes widened in shock.

"Daemon, do not speak about your father that way," she chided softly, but I couldn't hold back.

"This is all rubbish," I spat out bitterly.

"What's the point of both of you trying to have another child, just so that Rhaegar can marry our sister?" My voice rose with each word, echoing off the chamber walls.

"By the time this supposed girl reaches the age of marriage, Rhaegar will be having gray hair!" I practically growled, the anger coursing through me like wildfire.

"And for the sake of keeping our blood pure, he wants another child," I scoffed, my disdain for my father palpable in every syllable.

"Daemon, do not talk about your father in such a way," Mother's tone was stern, her words laced with a seriousness that cut through my frustration. "He is the king, and we must follow his commands."

"But what if something happens to you?" I interjected softly, the fear creeping into my voice like shadows in the night.

The events I knew of had altered the course of our lives significantly, starting with my brother Daeron's birth and subsequently Lady Joanna surviving childbirth.

What if Mother died in childbirth? The mere thought sent shivers down my spine, rendering me utterly helpless. I had issued strict orders that everyone attending to her during the birth must wash their hands with hot water and keep clean towels at hand. But still, the fear lingered like a dark cloud on the horizon.

I was shaken from my thoughts as Mother attempted to sit up, her words a balm to my troubled mind.

"Daemon, my sweet child, I will be fine," she reassured me, pulling my head down to rest on her lap.

"I will not leave you, my son," she continued, her fingers gently brushing through my hair.

"Do you promise?" I asked, desperation seeping into my voice.

"I promise," she replied, a short laugh escaping her lips as she raised my head and planted a kiss on my cheek.

"Now, tell me, where is your younger brother?" she asked, changing the subject in an attempt to distract us both from the heavy weight of uncertainty that hung in the air.

"He is playing with the wooden sword that Father gave him, with Ser Gwayne Gaunt of the Kingsguard keeping watch," I answered, grateful for the brief respite from the turmoil within.

"That's good," Mother murmured weakly, her exhaustion evident in the lines etched upon her face.

"You should sleep, Mother," I urged gently, assisting her as she lay back down, tucking the sheets snugly around her.

Exiting the chamber, I found the servants waiting outside, their faces filled with concern.

"You all may go inside, but do not disturb her," I instructed, my voice strained with worry, and the servants nodded silently before entering the chamber.

"You don't have to be so rude," Janna Tyrell remarked, her hazel-brown eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and reproach.

"There's a reason why you don't have any friends at court," she added, her words cutting through the air like a sharpened blade.

"A dragon does not concern himself with the opinions of sheep," I snapped back defensively, my frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Do you believe it will be a girl?" Janna pressed on, her tone gentle yet persistent.

"I do not care if it's a girl or a boy. All I care about is that my mother is safe," I replied curtly, my voice tinged with desperation.

"If that's all, I will leave," I said, turning away and striding towards the training yard, my steps heavy with the weight of my worries.

"Daemon," Janna called out to me, her voice filled with concern, but I didn't stop, didn't turn back to face her.

"It wouldn't hurt if you smiled sometimes," she said softly.

Hearing her words I coffed, I would only smile once I knew mother was safe.

The clash of swords resounded throughout the yard as the men-at-arms and knights of House Targaryen honed their skills in practice.

Among them was myself, engaged in a fierce bout against one of the castle's seasoned fighters. Clad in the heaviest armor I could find, with a blunted tourney sword in hand, I sought to test my mettle. Barristan observed from the sidelines, his keen eye ready to critique any misstep.

My opponent, a burly man, delivered powerful blows that tested the limits of my defenses. Each strike reverberated through my armor, slowing my movements. Yet, this was precisely the challenge I sought. The weighty armor would prove its worth in time, building my strength and endurance with each grueling session.

"Barry, one more," I called out, determination ringing in my voice. Barristan tossed me a shield, signaling the start of a new challenge. Now faced with two opponents, I found myself pushed to the brink, forced to defend against their coordinated attacks.

"You may never match the agility of your brother or the grace of Ser Arthur," Barristan remarked as my fatigue began to set in. "But you possess a strength they do not. Learn to harness it, and you will become a force to be reckoned with."

With his words echoing in my mind, I adjusted my tactics, relying on brute force and resilience to weather the storm of blows. Each clash of metal fueled my resolve, driving me to push beyond my limits and emerge stronger than before.

As I absorbed the onslaught of attacks, these thoughts raced through my mind, but my reactions were sluggish. I barely registered the jab that connected with my face, sending me crashing to the ground. Blood trickled from my split lip as I staggered back to my feet.

The man-at-arms hesitated, momentarily taken aback by my resilience. Seizing the opportunity, I closed in on him, my determination overpowering the pain pulsating through my body.

"Daemon, are you alright?" Barristan's concern was palpable, but I couldn't afford to acknowledge it just yet.

Ignoring his question, I focused on the man before me. With swift precision, I delivered a punishing blow to his groin, causing him to crumple in agony.

"That stung quite a bit," I remarked dryly, before unleashing a flurry of strikes upon the fallen opponent, channeling my frustration and adrenaline into each punishing blow.

As I continued to rain blows upon the man, I suddenly felt strong arms wrap around me, pulling me away. Barristan had intervened, yanking me off the battered fighter before I could inflict further damage.

The man-at-arms, visibly shaken by the unexpected turn of events, seemed hesitant to engage in another round, especially after being bested by a twelve-year-old boy. Clenching my fists, I struggled against Barristan's hold, still fueled by adrenaline and the desire to prove myself.

"That's enough training for now, my prince," Barristan's firm voice cut through the chaos, his eyes conveying a stern warning not to push things too far.

Reluctantly, I relented, knowing better than to defy Barristan's authority. With a final glare at the defeated man-at-arms, I begrudgingly complied with Barristan's instruction to wash my face, leaving the scene behind as Barristan dealt with disciplining the humbled fighter.

As I approached the barrel of water to cleanse my bloodied face, the sound of Rhaegar's voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Daemon, are you well?" he inquired, his tone laced with concern. I glanced up to meet his gaze, seeing my brother accompanied by his loyal entourage of dickheads - Jon Connington, his two squires Richard Lonmouth and Myles Mooton, and the formidable Arthur Dayne, whose skill with a sword was already legendary.

Ignoring Rhaegar's question, I brushed past him, feeling the weight of his disappointment and the disapproval of his companions heavy upon me.

"The prince asked you something," Richard Lonmouth interjected, his grip tightening on my arm. Anger surged through me like wildfire, fueled by their arrogance and entitlement.

"If you hold on for even a second longer, I'll beat the living fuck out of you until you're begging to see the Seven Hells," I spat, my words dripping with venom. Lonmouth's face contorted with fury at my defiance.

"Richard," Rhaegar's stern voice cut through the tension, immediately causing Lonmouth to release his hold on me. But the satisfaction of his obedience only fueled my simmering rage further.

"What an obedient pack of dogs," I scoffed, noticing even the usually composed Arthur Dayne frowning at the exchange.

Rhaegar stepped forward, his hand gripping my arm gently as he matched my pace.

"Daemon, I've noticed that you've been growing increasingly short-tempered," he remarked, his voice tinged with concern. "And I hardly see you smile anymore," he added, his observation hitting uncomfortably close to home.

Hearing his words, I couldn't help but retort sarcastically, expressing my surprise that he managed to pull his head out of his arse long enough to notice. His expression darkened at my insolence, but he pressed on, undeterred.

"Are you worried about Mother?" he inquired, his tone softening. Instantly, my demeanor shifted, betraying my concern, and Rhaegar caught the change in my expression.

With a melancholic gaze, he reached out, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Brother, do not be afraid. Mother will be fine," he reassured me.

"Fuck off, Rhaegar," I snapped bitterly, unable to contain my frustration. "You have no idea about the perils of childbirth."

"And if you truly cared about Mother, you would have visited her sooner instead of wasting time in that burnt shite of a castle," I spat, my words dripping with resentment as I referenced Summerhall with disdain.

"Summerhall has a special place in my heart, Daemon, and you will never understand it, nor do I want you to," Rhaegar murmured, his tone heavy with emotion.

"Is that all, Rhaegar?" I interrupted sharply, cutting off any further discussion. I had no desire to dwell on his sentiments.

Before he could respond, a servant came running towards us, her breaths coming in hurried gasps. I recognized her immediately as one of Mother's attendants.

"The Queen," she panted, struggling to catch her breath. "The queen's labor has started," she announced, her words sending a jolt of panic through me.

Without hesitation, I bolted towards Maegor's Holdfast, ignoring Rhaegar's futile attempts to call out to me.

As I approached Mother's room, I found the doors tightly shut, guarded by two knights of the Kingsguard.

"Let me in," I demanded, my tone edged with urgency.

"I cannot, my prince," Ser Lewyn Martell replied solemnly.

"On whose orders?" I pressed, my frustration mounting.

"The king's," he answered simply.

"And why is that?" I questioned further, my impatience bubbling to the surface.

Ser Barristan arrived, adding to the tense atmosphere. "Grandmaester Pycelle suggested that your presence might prove burdensome," he explained.

"And Father listened to that fool?" I exclaimed incredulously.

The agonized screams of Mother echoed from behind the closed doors, fueling my anxiety as I stood helplessly outside her room.

Barry approached me, attempting to offer reassurance. "If anything happens to Mother, I will hold that old fool accountable," I vowed through gritted teeth.

"Calm down, Daemon," Barristan urged, his grip tightening on my arm. "Grandmaester Pycelle will do everything in his power to ensure the queen's safety."

I scoffed bitterly at his words.

Rhaegar joined us briefly, but his inability to bear the sound of Mother's screams drove him away. Foolish idiot.

"Where the hell is the king?" I seethed, frustration boiling over. The knights of the Kingsguard remained silent, unwilling to divulge Father's whereabouts.

"Here Mother is suffering, and Father is absent," I muttered darkly. "Which damn brothel did he run off to?" I spat, my anger escalating.

"Fucking idiot," I muttered under my breath, my frustration boiling over, but the Kingsguard immediately tensed, alert to my disrespectful words.

"Daemon," Barristan interjected firmly, his grip tightening on my arm, his usually composed demeanor showing signs of anger. "Do not speak about the king in such a tone," he admonished, his voice carrying a rare edge.

Before the tension could escalate further, Janna's voice broke through the charged atmosphere from down the corridor.

"Ser Barristan, let me take Prince Daemon away," she intervened, her tone gentle yet assertive.

Barristan hesitated for a moment, then nodded in agreement. "Some fresh air will do the prince some good," Ser Lewyn added, his voice carrying a note of concern as another one of Mother's agonizing screams pierced the air.

"Daemon, come with me," Janna said softly, taking my hand in hers and leading me away from the distressing scene.

As we walked, the echoes of Mother's screams lingered, a stark contrast to the relatively swift birth of my younger brother, Daeron. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on my mind.

I was jolted from my thoughts as I realized we had entered the godswood.

"Why have you brought me here?" I questioned Janna sharply, my irritation evident.

"Because I've noticed this is the only place where you find a semblance of peace, especially when you're not training or assisting the Hand of the King," she replied calmly, her gaze steady.

Her unexpected perceptiveness caught me off guard. "You're surprisingly attentive," I remarked, a hint of bitterness seeping into my tone. "I thought you were too preoccupied with gossip, as seems to be the main occupation of the ladies at court," I added, unable to suppress my disdain.

I half-expected her to leave in offense, but to my surprise, she remained, her composure unwavering.

"The childbed is a woman's battlefield," Janna said softly, her voice carrying the weight of experience. "My mother told me that," she added, reminiscing about the past. "And there is nothing you or any other man can do about it, my prince," she concluded curtly.

Her words struck a chord within me, and I let out a short, bitter laugh. "What do you think? That I don't know that?" I replied, frustration evident in my tone. "Why do you think I've been on edge ever since I learned that Mother was with child?" I confessed, the vulnerability of the situation laid bare.

Silence settled between us, heavy with unspoken fears and uncertainties.

"I would have told you to pray to the Seven, but you do not keep to any gods," Janna remarked, breaking the quiet with a touch of concern.

"There's no point in all that nonsense," I dismissed brusquely, my disdain for religious rituals apparent.

"The High Septon is not pleased with you," she informed me, her tone carrying a hint of reproach.

"Well, he can go and indulge in his own vices with the little boys he's kept in the cellars," I retorted sharply, the bitterness of my words hanging in the air. Janna's initial shock quickly gave way to laughter, and seeing her reaction, I couldn't help but smile despite the gravity of the situation.

"Well, look at that, the grumpy prince finally smiled," Janna remarked with a playful grin, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

"Just be assured to know that it was not because of you," I replied dryly, unable to resist the urge to tease her.

"Oh, is that so?" she countered, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

"You are a prick," she shot back, her tone teasing yet laced with amusement.

"Bitch," I muttered under my breath, but she caught my words nonetheless.

"What did you call me?" she demanded, seizing my hand and unexpectedly pulling me off balance. With our height difference, she toppled over, but I instinctively reached out to support her head as we both tumbled to the ground.

As she opened her eyes, she found me bracing her head, our gazes locking in a moment of unexpected intimacy. Her hazel-brown eyes bore into mine as she slowly reached up to touch my face, but I quickly withdrew.

"I know what you're trying to do. Your mother will not be pleased with your efforts going into the wrong prince. I believe Rhaegar may be elsewhere," I stated coldly, my words intended to push her away. Immediately, I noticed the anger flashing in her eyes.

"You really are an arse, Daemon," she spat out before turning on her heel and briskly leaving the godswood, her frustration palpable in every step.

As I lingered in the godswood, watching the sun dip below the horizon until the sky turned inky black, I became aware of approaching footsteps. Turning, I found Barristan standing behind me, his figure illuminated by the flickering light of a torch.

"The queen's labor has concluded, Daemon," he announced solemnly. Without hesitation, I bolted towards Maegor's Holdfast.

Arriving at Mother's room, I noticed Janna's presence, her attention focused elsewhere. Ignoring her, I rushed inside, my heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and hope.

I heard the cries of a newborn as the baby was being cleaned and wrapped in cloth, but my focus was solely on Mother. Her face was glistening with sweat, her hair disheveled, as I approached and gently took her hand in mine.

"Daemon, my sweet boy," Mother whispered, her voice soft and tired.

"You did well, Mother," I murmured, slowly wiping the sweat from her brow.

"After all, I did make a promise to my son," she added, mustering a weak smile despite her exhaustion.

Hearing her words, a smile spread across my face, and I felt a tear escape from my eye, mingling with the sweat on her brow.

"Pycelle, how is Mother?" I inquired, turning to the man with concern etched in my features.

"My prince, the queen is tired but she will recover in time," he reassured me, and I nodded in acknowledgment.

Just then, Father entered the room, his presence commanding attention.

"Rhaella, you did well," he acknowledged, his tone distant as he addressed Mother.

"How is the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms doing?" he continued, his attention shifting to the maid holding the baby.

"My king..." Pycelle began, his voice hesitant, but Father's sharp tone cut him off.

"Yes, what is it, Pycelle?" Father demanded, impatience evident in his voice.

"It is a boy, Your Grace," Pycelle announced, and immediately, Father's expression darkened.

"What?" he exclaimed in disbelief.

It seemed that Viserys had been born, and Father's dream of having a daughter remained just that – a dream.

As I held onto Mother, I couldn't help but ponder the uncertain future, especially with Father now having to actively search for a suitable woman to marry Rhaegar.

Yet, those thoughts faded away as I focused on the present, grateful that Mother was safe from harm. I knew this was the last time she would have to endure childbirth, and I vowed to make sure of that and to ensure her well-being, no matter the cost.