Caraxes

That night he couldn't sleep, tossing and turning in bed as his awaking thoughts were consumed with the dread thoughts, anxiety devouring his body and in his mind a constant back and forth went on whether he should go ahead with it or should just avoid it entirely.

Dragon…

Just the mere thought of it had made him sick, he wanted to just get up from his bed and run away; take a ship to Runestone, Dragonstone, Essos, wherever he could go and not have to deal with what would be certain death.

Maybe I could just ignore it, just go about my day and just take a ship to Dragonstone now, warn Alysanne and Gael then head to Runestone and live quietly.

The now familiar pain in his chest started to burn once more, he clutched his chest and shut his eyes. Trying to force the old Daemon away, yet this time, he would not relent, instead the pain was now burning even more intensely, it felt as if a molten object was trying to break through his chest.

For just a few seconds he found even the act of breathing difficult.

"Fine." He muttered. "Fine, just stop, please." The pain slowly began to die away.

Daemon sighed and placed his hand on his eyes; caught between a rock and a hard place. 

Either I learn how to fly and maybe die in the process or live this life in constant pain…

In his mind he viewed the memories of Daemon's dragon; the Blood Wrym Caraxes, a giant serpent like creature, scales hard as plated armour, teeth like rows of sharp knives, wings like a demon from hell and the ability to breath fire from its mouth.

He remembered a younger Daemon fearlessly placing his hand on the snout of the giant monster as if petting a common farm animal. Even the image of the creature in his memories had sent a bolt of dread coursing through his body.

He didn't know how he was able to sleep that night but somehow he managed to get a few hours of sleep before the dawn had arisen and light spilled into his room. After quickly washing himself, getting dressed in the clothes given to him by the servants, outside of his room a member of the Kingsguard awaited him.

"My Prince." The knight dressed in the white plated armour and cloak of the Kingsguard greeted him.

"Ser Shaw." Daemon greeted him, he tried to remember the members of the Kingsguard from both Old Daemon's memories and from the book.

"Where to Prince Daemon? You have a few hours before your training with ser Crabb."

"To the library, ser." Daemon said "There is some things I need to research."

"Research?" Robin asked puzzled.

Fuck.

"Read, my apologises, I've been reading some books by foreign scholars, seem I've picked up some words." He lied.

"Of course, my Prince, allow me to escort you." Ser Robin then looked to Daemon side "But first my Prince, you seem to have forgotten to bring Dark Sister with you."

Fuck that's right!

Daemon quickly ran back into his room and picked up the sword that he left on the stand of his bed "Thank you for reminding me, Ser." Daemon said "It seems my memory is has yet recovered from my injuries." The Kingsguard nodded and led him to the Red Keep's Library, once more through the grand halls of the castle.

The Library in the Red Keep was vast; books, ledgers, parchments held by string or even rope and scrolls were stacked on the shelves.

"Prince Daemon." A voice called out to him, he turned to see Maester Allar "I am surprised to see you here." He walked toward him and bowed his head once he approached.

"Maester, I've been reading so many books I figured that it would be best to visit the library than ask the servants to give me more." Daemon's eyes still scanned around him at the large library.

"Have you broken your fast yet?"

"Not yet I'm afraid, I was eager to get here and do some reading first."

"That will not do." The Maester looked towards a servant who had been attending him "Bring Prince Daemon some food while he reads." The servant bowed their head and quickly scampered off.

Yeah I'm never gonna get use to that…

"Thank you, Maester Allar." Daemon said "I should find a place to sit and make myself comfortable, only have a few hours before training."

"Please, allow me to show you." Maester Allar said leaving it to a secluded spot in the large hall.

Daemon made himself comfortable on a wooden table by the window, ser Robin standing close by. "Ser Robin, can you help me find some books or scrolls?"

"Certainly my Prince, what did you have in mind?"

"Try and look for anything concerning the knowledge of dragons." Daemon asked. "I realised I've been away from mine for a while now and need to find out if perhaps pro-longed absences of the rider impacts the two's connection." He lied. "I think we could find more separated." Ser Robin looked at Daemon incredulously, Daemon tapped on the hilt of Dark sister "Worry not, I won't be far behind."

"As you say, my Prince." He responded as he walked away, disappearing into an alley of shelves. Daemon walked towards one of the shelves on the other side, pulling out one of the books. They all seemed to be bound in leather covers, rough against his fingers at times, the titles of each book written on the first cover.

Internally he cursed at God, the various authors of these books and the maesters who organised these books.

These fuckers just shoved the books on the shelves with no order to it!

He placed the book titled 'The history of House Forrester' back into the shelf as he picked out another book, then another, then another and then another. It was only until he reached the tenth book on the shelf did he managed to find something even remotely related to dragons.

"A History of Old Valyria…" he muttered before closing it and placing it under his arm.

For what must have been a good thirty minutes he walked around, scouring for more books; a small stack of them held by one arm as he continued to look before finally giving up and heading back to the table. Ser Robin waiting patiently for him, another small pile of books sat idly by.

"My Prince, I hope you find use in what I was able to get." He said, bowing his head slightly.

"No doubt, ser." Next to the books a tray sat at the centre with a plate of fried bread, cooked eggs, a healthy serving of bacon, slices of apple on a smaller plate and a slice of but looked like raspberry pie and a jug of watered down wine with a glass.

Why can't I just stay here forever; read, write and eat?

His heart then tried to claw his way of his chest, causing him to momentarily press his hand onto his chest.

Alright! Jesus! Fuck!

"My Prince, are you well?" Ser Robin turned to him, his voice was stern as if ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble.

Daemon raised his hand to the knight "I am well, Ser." He said trying to reassure him "For whatever reason this just seems to happens but it passes relatively quickly." He tried to laugh off the pain. "Like now." He sat down and opened one of the books and began to write as he read through the first book, every now and then taking a piece of bacon, egg or fried bread and biting into it. He tried to his best to eat, despite the nervousness that seemed to devour him instead.

Dragons…

He read through a book that a scholar had written of the experiences of those dragon keepers of his Grandfather, he tried not to wretch up the food in his stomach as the author had described how a dragon keeper was torn in half after being too careless.

A feeling of disappointment emanated within him, no doubt the old Daemon felt bothered that the person possessing his body didn't possess his bravery. But he knew that the old Daemon was right, he was scared, terrified about the prospect of having to see a dragon. And the more he read about them, wrote down about them, and looked at the drawn pictures of them. The more he felt himself being dragged deeper and deeper into his pit of fear and despair.

Wish I had my phone… or my laptop, just anything…

He tried to finish food as a way of occupying his mind away the feeling; he needed something to distract him, something to do and he didn't care what, he didn't want to think about…

A servant appeared in front of them, he looked to the woman dressed in the dull brown dress with a dirty apron wrapped around his waist.

"Oh!" he called out to the woman, lifting up the empty tray and standing up, the woman panics and rushes over to him.

"My Prince, please let me." She says, taking the tray off of him. "Please forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive." He said with a smile "Here, allow me to help." He said taking the half full jug and two empty plates "I'll follow and you tell me about yourself, I insist." As they began to walk, Maester Allar spotted him, a puzzled look on his face "Maester, save those books for me!" he called out to him. So he and the serving woman who introduced herself as Agatha, shadowed by ser Robin, walked to the kitchens of the red keep. Every so often a different serving maid or servant would walk by and try to take the plates from Daemon and politely each time he waved them away.

The kitchens of the Red keep were themselves impressive and interesting to look at; the numerous cooks and servants who stared at Daemon as he walked pass them, still asking Agatha about her responsibilities and life.

"So you have two small boys?" he asked her. "That's lovely."

"Thank, my Prince." She placed the tray down on a table as another servant quickly grabbed the tray, turned to Daemon, bowed their head and scurried away to a side room with large bucket of water to clean the plates.

He turned his head towards the other servants "Let me help you!" he calls out them, as he walks towards them they all stare, shoot up to their feet and greet him, bowing their heads. "How's everyone?" he asks them. They all give him some variation of "Well" he looks over to the large bucket, bits of food floated to the top of the water.

Disgusting… It seemed as though old Daemon was in agreement as his own sense of uneasy looking at it was further compounded by the person's whole body he possessed.

"Looks like you'll need a new bucket of water." He told them "Ser Robin, will you help me?" he smiled at the Kingsguard. For the rest of the hour he helped them scrub down the plates, after some insistence on his part, all while Robin stood guard; he got to know the maids around him, firing off different questions to them again and again, his hands and his rolled up sleeves soaked in water.

Anything and everything he need to do to distract himself from what was to come.

When it had been time to leave he waved them goodbye, keeping their faces in his mind as he tried to block out the memory of… it.

"If I can speak freely, My Prince." Robin had asked.

"You can."

"When did you become so invested in the lives of scullery maids?"

"These people, the maids and servants, shan't have them doing all the work around." Daemon said "Gotta-"he coughed, stopping himself "I should be more humble, despite my own standing, they are subjects of house Targaryen and even they must see their lords and Princes among them" The answer seem to be satisfactory as the knight nodded his head. "I should perhaps warm up before meeting with Ser Crab for sparring."

"Very good, my Prince."

Heading to the courtyard, Daemon had changed out of his doublet emblazon with the insignia of the red dragon and into more comfortable fitting tunic and worn pants, sowing marks and stitches marking them.

Daemon took a tourney sword from the rack and approached a dummy person stuffed with straw. Once more he searched through the memories of the old Daemon.

He slashed at the dummy, bits of straw falling the ground as it was hit out of it. He sliced at its side remembering how the old Daemon had done so when taking down a squire during the tourney that had him knighted.

Block, attack, block, attack, block, attack-

There was a feeling of want in his chest, a burst of determination, a feeling of strength.

He struck the dummy again and again at both its side, stepping side to side with his feet as if dodging imaginary attacks from the dummy.

It felt intoxicating, it felt maddening, it felt great.

He felt powerful.

Attack, attack, attack, attack-

"Prince Daemon!" the call had snapped him out of his trance as he regained control of himself, the cocktail of emotions he had indulged himself on quickly subsiding as he turned to see Clement Crabb standing nearby waiting for him, dressed in his white armour and cloak. "Shall we begin?"

The training with ser Crabb had only gotten more difficult; even with the memories of past sparring matches, lessons and some drunken brawls that the old Daemon had gotten himself into, an actual fight was an entirely different beast.

Ser Clement swung his sword to Daemon's left and he blocked the attack, the tourney sword was far heavier than Dark Sister. Daemon pushed his attack away and tried to strike at the knight's side only for him to parry the attack and strike him on the side of his body, the padded amour absorbing most of the blow.

Most.

"Argh!" Daemon exclaimed as he left to one knee.

"Again, My Prince." Clement said offering his hand. Daemon looked at Clement who stood over him; he could feel the shame and embarrassment that the old Daemon was feeling swirling in his chest.

"Yes." Daemon said grabbing his hand as Clement pulled him up.

"It's all there, My Prince, I can see your training and skill there." Clement encouraged him "But you seem to be more restrained, does something trouble you?"

Seeing a dragon is what's troubling me 

"I do have a lot on my mind." Daemon admitted, the anxiety of what was to come looming over him like a colossal shadow "But mayhaps I am still getting use to moving after my long sleep."

"It can take a man an age to regain the skill they had after an injury." Clement said "Doubtless you shall regain the skill you once possessed before." He stepped a few paces backwards and readied himself "You shan't get there speaking."

Daemon nodded his head slightly as he readied himself for the next bout, this time he went on the offensive; the searched through his memories for inspiration. Daemon swung his blade sword to the side the side, Clement parried the attack and tried to counter when Daemon reeled back and when for a stabbing motion which forced the knight into a defensive move again.

The Daemon's style was quick, swift and decisive.

Daemon used Clement's focus on defensive in that moment to close the gap and went to strike at Clement's open spots, forcing the knight to step back.

Daemon's style is overwhelming

That same feeling of power had gripped him once more as his body began to move on its own, relinquishing control over it to his emotions, to his memories... to something else. 

Daemon's style is confident…

Daemon brought his sword up and swiped downward onto the knight, who quickly stepped to the side and raised his sword to Daemon's neck.

Too confident.

"Do you yield?" Clement asked politely.

"I yield."

Clement lowered his sword and took up a guarded stance. As the adrenaline wore off and his emotions began to recede into the corners of his being did he start to feel the pain and ache within his joints. Daemon almost crumpled to the ground, just about catching himself as he knelt down, using the dull sword for support.

"You should not exert your body as such, you are still recovering, my prince." Clement said "But that was much better, much more like the you of old, with more practice you will be as you once were soon."

Daemon nodded his head as he caught his breath, noticing now the drops of sweat running down his face. He clutched at his chest; the feeling of power that had almost consumed him had now almost vanished, leaving only a chill in its place.

How much… how much of that was me?

 "Shall we go again?" Clement asked.

After another hour in the training yard, a quick bathe and some light lunch he returned to his room; there the books he had taken from the library were stacked neatly on his desk. Daemon breathed in deeply before letting out a rough sigh. He sat down at his desk and once more began to read.

He found himself engrossed in the words of Septon Barth's book on dragons yet with each word he read the pit of dread grew deeper and deeper. Doubt now began to set into his mind and visions of a gruesome death at the whim of the oversized lizard that could breathe fire.

His curiosity had gotten the better of him as he had gotten to the part of the book where Barth described what had happened to the Princess Aerea. Daemon covered his mouth with one hand as he shut the book closed, fighting back the urge to be sick all over the table.

He beat his chest with his fist a few times as the feel subsided, he sat hunched over his seat. He turned his head to the window, the sun was now beginning to lower itself.

Its almost time.

Maybe I shouldn't do it today? Maybe today was just a research day, maybe a research week or two?

The idea of postponing this was an attractive option for him.

But not for Daemon.

The burning in his chest began to spark, shimmer, flicker before then spreading in a wildfire that burned the inside of his chest.

Daemon clutched his chest as he tried to fight off the rage and defiance of the true one, yet he would not backdown or be cowered once more.

"Fine…" he submitted, his voice a pained whisper "I'll do it…"

The fire that caused him agony soon died down, yet the pain was there, hiding underneath the surface like a knife pressed just against the skin without piercing it.

Daemon stood up from his seat and walked towards his door and saw Robin standing guard. "Good ser." He said "Can you escort me to the dragon pits?"

The pit itself was on one side of the city, away from the Red Keep on a hill named after one of Aegon's Queens, Rhaenys.

The Queen who never was… Daemon thought to himself as he thought of his cousin rather than the Sister-Queen. The thought that still made him grimace.

The Queen who should have been really… that thought earnt him a 'kick' from Daemon.

Can't I have an opinion without you lashing out, you bloody cry-baby? He placed his hand on his chest as he forced the old and true Daemon away for a bit.

The dragonpit was colossal, even if it wasn't sitting upon a hill he could easily see the structure ahead. It reminded him of the capitol building in the US from his memories as a child on holiday, but instead on a scale that was almost incomprehensible.

How the hell did a medieval society build something like this?

As they arrived at the entrance of the Dragonpit both he and Ser Robin were greeted by men dressed in black armour, polished almost to a gleam that reflected the light of the sun. "My Prince." One of them said to him as they bowed their heads. Daemon and Robin dismounted their horses and approached the dragonkeepers, he could see the scales and etchings of dragons on their amour and the swords on their hips.

"Caraxes awaits you inside, my Prince." One of the keeper said.

To the Daemon of old this must have sounding like the sweetest of promises.

But to this Daemon. It sounded more like a threat.

"Thank you." He spoke, he turned to Robin, in that moment he wanted to tell him to come with him. "Wait here, ser." Robin nodded his head.

Daemon looked out to the vast entrance of the dragonpit, a gaping void into the darkness.

The lord is my shepherd… he recited a prayer his father had taught him, hoping to find comfort in it as he took the first step forward with the dragonkeeper as his guide into hell.

The tunnels of the pit were enormous, like vast ancient caverns, each wall showed patterns and drawings of dragons and the Targeryen banner. When he first glimpsed the sleeping form of a dragon, his heart shot up into his mouth; the almost unimaginable scale of the beast as it slumbered, its wings wrapped around its body, he felt small just looking at it.

He couldn't help but stare.

"My Prince." He felt a hand on his shoulder, snatching him from his trance. "Magnificent isn't it, your father's dragon, Vhagar."

That's Vhagar! Fuck me, how big was Balerion?

In that moment he felt the urge to run, yet the burning feeling in his chest kept his feet on the ground.

"Caraxes, is further down." The dragonkeeper pointed the way. The tunnels of the pit seem to go on for ages, perhaps he wished that was the case. Yet they reached it.

There in its own section of the pit, a blood red dragon; it slept curled up with its own wings wrapped around its body. Even if it wasn't the size of Vhagar it was still gigantic in it's own right.

The keeper opened the cage, the bars of the cage letting out a chilling screech of metal and rust, in that moment Daemon wanted to die.

Caraxes raised its sleepy head and looked at him with deep baited breathe as the air from Daemon's lungs had escaped.

"If you need me I shall be near, My Prince." The dragonkeeper said as he walked away, Daemon tried to think of every reason he could concoct to keep him here yet his very mind escaped him in the face of the mythical and terrible. 

Now he wanted to run, as he went to turn and leave through the gate the burning feeling in his chest almost intensified. He clutched his chest as he tried to fight back the pain that kept him here. His head began to spin as he fell to his knees as he struggled to breathe and whimpered in pain.

"Somebody help me… Please…" it came as a whisper than a cry.

Caraxes then crawled towards him, its footsteps loud, imposing and impending.

His body shaking, Daemon raised his head to see the blood Wrym now loom over him, its breathe brushing his hair. And its large golden eyes looking back at Daemon's.

"Caraxes, please… don't' kill me-" He pleaded weakly to the dragon, reaching out to him before his vision went black as he collapsed to the ground.