Chapter 35: Dragonstone I - 123 AC

A/N: I've deleted the last two chapters (the interlude ones). big time jump on this one, also the chapters in the future might be shorter.

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[10 years later]

Beneath a sky painted in soft hues of blue and white, Clement stood solitary on the deck of his mighty ship, the banner of House Celtigar fluttering boldly against the mast. The warm spring air whispered through him, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant promise of the unkown. As he gazed across the horizon, the serenity was shattered by the sudden shadow of a gigantic dragon passing overhead. It was Vhagar, the largest dragon alive, her wings casting a vast silhouette over the sea. From her tail trailed another, a young dragon shimmering in violet, its scales glinting like amethysts in the sunlight, with her youthful rider perched atop. Both beasts soared gracefully through the sky, their destination clear—the island of Dragonstone, the seat of the heir to the Iron Throne.

From the deck emerged the two twins of the Celtigar, now fourteen years old and already strikingly different from each other. Aemon, the older of the two, was a figure of focus and discipline, his body shaped through the sharp edge of a blade and the weight of armor. In contrast, Gaemon, the younger twin, exuded a gentler demeanor, his hands carrying the callouses forged from the ink of books and the melodies of lutes. Yet, the both of them still looked similar in terms of comeliness, after all, at the end of the day, they are still twins.

Clement turned to his two sons as soon as he heard their footsteps. "Get ready to dock," he said firmly. "You will greet the princess calmly and must not have any distractions in your heads. She has just lost a child, so be respectful and show your condolences."

"Do you not have any ounce of trust in me, father?" Aemon asked, rolling his eyes. "I know courtesy."

"Do you, now?" The man raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharp. "I know your plans, Aemon. Your mother isn't as secretive as you think she is."

"Will you try to stop me?" Aemon challenged, his tone defiant.

Clement sighed and turned to the edge of the deck, leaning against it with his hands. "I will not. Ultimately, it is your own life. But I ask that you respect the owner of the land first, then do your business." 

Hearing this, Aemon looked taken aback, his defiant posture momentarily faltering. 

"What?" Clement chuckled softly. "I was once young as well, you know? I know a thing or two about reckless decisions."

From a distance, Clement watched as the ship approached the small dock of the island, preparing to lower the mast and slow its descent. He turned to his other son, who remained calm despite the imposing sight of the volcano island.

"And what of you, Gaemon?" Clement asked. "Will you follow your brother as well to your death?"

"To my death? No," Gaemon replied. "I will just make sure he comes back alive."

Clement smirked at the younger twin's response before passing them both, giving a brief, reassuring pat on their backs.

"Get ready," he said. "Wear your cloaks to greet the princess."

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A funeral pyre blazed before a somber crowd of silver-haired men and women, all draped in black cloaks that shielded them from the warm chill of the sea. Three of the strongest houses in Westeros had gathered, along with other minor houses around the Blackwater Bay that could come. Yet, amid this assembly of Valyrians, the focus was on the day's grieving figure—the princess Rhaenyra herself. She stood silently, her gaze fixed on the fire, which had been ignited by her own dragon. The flames slowly consumed the body of her sickly daughter, her fourth child, returning the girl to the volcano's embrace. Visenya had lived but one year, her life claimed by the sickness that had plagued her since birth. As the pyre burned, Syrax and Laenor's Seasmoke let out mournful shrieks, echoing the sorrow of their riders. The crowd remained silent, the air thick with grief as the flames reduced the tiny body to ash.

Amidst the funeral, Clement's eyes wandered over the gathered mourners. The king, once a figure of strength, now appeared frail and aged beyond his years, his decline evident in every movement. Beside him stood the Hand and the queen, along with the other royal children, their expressions lazy as they barely paid their respects. 

The Sea Snake and the Queen Who Never Was stood close to Laenor, offering what little comfort they could to a man in grief. Laena, too, was with them, her presence a quiet support in this moment of loss. Behind Rhaenyra, her sons stood in a solemn line, their silver hair and purple eyes a testament to their Valyrian heritage. Clement didn't know who fathered these boys, but he had a suspicion, one that lingered at the edge of his thoughts as he saw another figure in the crowd. Daemon, the one who was supposed to be banished from the capital, stood quietly in the corner of the gathering. His presence was a stark contrast to the somber mood of the crowd, yet he remained unfazed by the wary glances cast by the queen or the unease that rippled through the king at his sight. Daemon's eyes were fixed on the pyre, his expression unreadable.

They stood in silence until the last of the fire ran sparkless, the flames finally extinguished, leaving only smoldering embers behind. The first to leave were the queen's princes, solemnly descending the hill toward the castle. One by one, the mourners followed, returning to the stone walls of Dragonstone. Yet Rhaenyra remained, her gaze still fixed on the place where the fire had been, watching as the Dragonstone guards carefully gathered the ashes and placed them into an urn.

By then, only the Velaryons and the Celtigars lingered; the king had already descended, unwilling to further strain his fragile health. In that quiet, solemn moment, Rhaenyra took the urn from the guards and walked to the edge of the cliff. There, she opened it and let the ashes of her daughter scatter into the sea, the wind carrying Visenya's remains to rest in the waters below.

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Now, the mourners gathered in the halls of Dragonstone, where beverages and food were served in quiet respect for the occasion. The atmosphere was subdued, filled with the soft murmur of whispered conversations and the gentle crackling of fires in the corners of the room. People clustered in small groups, speaking in hushed tones. One by one, members of the minor houses approached the princess and Laenor, offering their condolences with bowed heads. 

Behind all the whispers, the king quietly observed the scene, his weary eyes scanning the room. Among the subdued guests, he noticed Daemon standing in the corner, his gaze distant as he stared out the window. The rogue prince seemed lost in thought, unfocused, and for a moment, the king hesitated. But after all this time, he knew he could no longer avoid the conversation that had been postponed for too long.

The king began to make his way toward Daemon, his steps slow and deliberate, supported by his cane. As he drew closer, Daemon saw his approach but made no move to evade him. The king finally reached his brother's side, standing just beside him, the weight of years and unresolved tensions heavy in the air. The king's gaze was steady and intent, thinking on how to start.

"What are you doing here, Daemon?" Viserys asked softly. "I've heard whispers of your stay here these past years. You can't even follow my words."

Daemon let out a quiet scoff, the sound barely audible, and unnoticed by the king. "I am here to comfort my niece. Is that not allowed?"

Viserys sighed, his weary gaze drifting to Rhaenyra, who had been enduring an endless stream of condolences for hours. "The gods have been cruel to her," he murmured.

"They have been cruel to you as well," Daemon replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

Viserys chuckled softly, a bitter sound tinged with self-pity. "Indeed." He took a moment to observe the room, his eyes lingering on the faces of the gathered nobles before shifting back to the window. Then, with a more serious tone, he pressed on. "You haven't answered my question. I didn't interfere with your stay here, true, but I never approved of it."

"Your daughter is the heir, brother," Daemon said. "The princess of Dragonstone. She can do whatever she wishes here. And one of those wishes is to give me a place—something you never did by your side."

Viserys shook his head slowly, a mixture of frustration and resignation on his face. "Come back to your wife, Daemon. To the Vale. Your presence here stirs whispers."

"And what of it?" Daemon countered. "Men talk, but that doesn't mean there's an ounce of truth to it."

"Then go home," Viserys urged. "What you did cannot be overlooked; you stepped out of line, and I had to punish you. But you are my brother, and there will always be a place for you at my court." 

"And why would I go back after all these years?"

"Daemon..." Viserys replied, his frustration evident as he struggled to find the right words. "Let the past go with the years. You cannot keep holding on to this—"

"What?" Daemon quietly snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. "You cast me aside, and now you want to bring me back?"

Without waiting for a response, Daemon turned sharply and walked past Viserys, his steps deliberate and unhurried as he made his way toward the exit. The room fell silent, every eye turning to watch as the rogue prince left, his departure a bold statement that did not go unnoticed by the gathered nobles. Viserys remained where he stood, the weight of the moment pressing down on him as his brother disappeared from view.

But the silence would not remain, and the nobles continued to speak in hushed tones, as if pretending nothing had happened. Meanwhile, at the other corner of the hall, Clement felt a gentle tug on his cloak. When he turned, he saw his daughter, Rhaena, gazing up at him.

"Mother is looking for you, Father," she said.

Clement hummed in acknowledgment, softly patting her head. "I'll be with her shortly."

As he leaned closer, he caught a whiff of an unmistakable scent, causing him to frown. "You smell of dragon. Have you smelled like this all evening?"

"Mother said it's fine," the girl shrugged, her tone indifferent.

Clement sighed. "You shall take a bath after this."

With a final pat on her shoulder, Clement moved past Rhaena and made his way toward Laena, who was standing with the princess and Laenor. As he approached, the conversation paused, and all eyes turned to him. He looked at Laenor, then at Rhaenyra, and finally at Laena, offering a soft nod.

"My condolences on your daughter's passing, Princess," he said. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Rhaenyra smiled thinly. "Thank you for your kind words, Ser."

"My father offers his condolences as well," Clement continued, his gaze drifting to the princess's sons, who had spent the evening staring down at the floor, their grief evident.

Noticing his concern, Rhaenyra reassured him, "They will be fine."

Laenor then spoke up, a hopeful note in his voice. "How about staying here for a few more weeks? I'm sure our boys would appreciate the company of yours."

Clement glanced at Laena, who gave a simple nod of approval. "Of course. I'm sure my children would appreciate the company as well. They've grown restless these days."

"Approaching their teenage years, as I understand," Rhaenyra remarked, forcing a small smile. "I remember when you were their age, Ser."

Clement chuckled, his eyes turning to Laena again. "Indeed, reckless and spontaneous."

Clement then turned his gaze to the window in the distance, noting the sky growing darker. "I believe we should take our leave to our chambers," he said. "I'm afraid Rhaena might sneak out to try to catch a ride with her dragon for a quick moment."

His words brought a faint smile to Laena's lips, while Rhaenyra nodded in understanding, her own expression softening slightly at the thought. The evening had been long and heavy, and the idea of retreating to their chambers offered a welcome reprieve for her.