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🕑 Added 2024-12-30 17:44:09 +0000 UTCDisclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.
Chapter 24: The Schism
86 AC
The Red Keep
Queen Alysanne Targaryen sighed in exhaustion and frustration as she left her daughter Viserra’s chambers. Somehow, Viserra had learned that even the aged Lord Manderly was being considered as a potential suitor for her hand. Alysanne was certain her ladies-in-waiting and staff were utterly loyal, yet Viserra had still discovered the matter Septon Barth had suggested to her two days prior. Alysanne might have seriously considered Lord Manderly had it not been for old Theomore’s betrayal of her trust. He should have sought her counsel before choosing to support Lord Stark and her grandson’s reckless schemes to amass power and wealth.
Whoever had informed Viserra had conveniently omitted her sharp rejection of the idea. As a result, Viserra had attempted to seduce Baelon. The mortified prince dragged a naked Viserra before Alysanne and her royal husband. While her husband was not visibly angry—after all, Viserra had tried to seduce a Targaryen—Alysanne was livid. She understood the deep love Baelon bore for Alyssa and how devastating her loss had been for him. Loss was something Alysanne knew intimately—daughters and sons lost in childbirth left scars that never fully healed.
In hindsight, Alysanne regretted dismissing Aemon’s grief over the loss of his love. He had barely been a man then, and she had thought he couldn’t possibly be not affected considering the magnitude of loss she and her husband had endured in their youth. Yet, she was proud of the man Aemon had become, having turned his pain into strength. She even knew of his failed attempt to meet his bastard son, thwarted by the distance and the cursed Wall.
As she entered her chambers, she found solace in the presence of her six-year-old daughter, Gael. Her sweet, obedient child was a balm in these trying times, a comforting listener for all her woes—whether about her husband, her sons, or even her bastard grandson. Alysanne couldn’t understand why her love for some of her children and grandchildren felt so natural, while for others, it was an effort. Her frown deepened as her wild grandson, Daemon, barged into her chambers, calling out for Gael. Perhaps it was the boy’s name that soured her feelings, or perhaps his casual arrogance and his face, which reminded her too much of her accursed uncle.
"Daemon, how many times have I told you not to barge into my room?" she said coldly, satisfied to see the headstrong boy looking at least mildly chastened.
=================================
Rhaenys Targaryen grinned as she slipped through the secret door near her chambers, eager to escape her septa and the drudgery of lessons. She had discovered the hidden passage only recently and was determined to explore it fully. Her dress would surely be ruined by cobwebs, but she cared little. Clutching a ball of thread from her sewing lessons, she tied one end to the door handle to mark her way back, should she fail to find another exit.
Exploration was thrilling, but what she loved even more was overhearing the secrets of adults. Her Cousin, Vissy, loved hearing her discoveries, though he was far too timid to venture into the secret passages himself. Dim light filtered through cleverly concealed holes in the walls, designed for spying on the rooms beyond.
Rhaenys was growing tired when her mother’s voice reached her ears. Stifling a squeal of excitement, she hurried toward the sound, eager to eavesdrop.
"How could you do this to me, Aemon?" Jocelyn’s voice rang with anger. "You swore Daemon would never be allowed south, and now you, the King, and the Queen discuss betrothing him to Viserra, as your idiot brother baelon suggested?"
Rhaenys froze. ‘Daemon? But he was already here!’
She pressed her ear to a small hole in the wall, straining to catch every word.
"But that is not happening," Aemon replied. "Viserra is to be betrothed to Lord Cregan Stark, not my son."
Son? Rhaenys felt her heart stop. She had a brother? Wariness and anger surged within her as she jumped to the conclusion that he must be a bastard.
"Because your mother—my half-sister—had the sense to deny it vehemently," Jocelyn retorted. "And you? You didn’t even reject the proposal, not once! Is it because it was your precious brother Baelon who suggested it? Does Baelon have more loyalty to your bastard son because the boy saved my nephew Aegon?"
"Enough, wife!" Aemon’s voice turned cold, sending a chill down Rhaenys’s spine. "Never question my valonquor’s loyalty. Baelon would die for me before going against my wishes. He named his second son Daemon in my honor and because I asked it of him."
"Perhaps," Jocelyn said icily. "But that doesn’t change the facts. You went north against your promise to me, and now you’re discussing a royal marriage for a princess with a bastard. To make it happen, the King would need to legitimize him. Perhaps you truly want Daemon legitimized, and Baelon is your catspaw in this scheme."
"I had no choice, Jocelyn," Aemon snapped. "I didn’t want to go north, but I was forced."
Jocelyn snorted in derision. “Forced? The Crown Prince who defied orders whenever it suited him claims he was forced to go north? No, you went for her. For her damned son!”
“No!” Aemon snapped, his voice sharp and unyielding. “I went for Rhaenys.”
The room fell into a suffocating silence. Jocelyn’s anger faltered, her sharp retort caught in her throat. Aemon took a deep breath, his tone softening as though the admission had drained him.
“I never told you what happened that day when my father sent Baelon and me to the Dragonpit,” he began quietly. “This must not leave this room, Jocelyn.” He paused, his gaze heavy and burdened. “The King threatened me. He demanded I renounce my inheritance, Rhaenys’s inheritance, and any claim to the throne if I refused to go north. He was furious when I said no in the small council, that I ran away from my duties. He made it clear that any rebellion against his orders would have dire consequences—for us all. Do you understand, Jocelyn? The fact that we are dragonlords meant nothing to him in that moment. So tell me—what was I to do? Should I have cast aside our daughter’s future?”
Jocelyn’s anger ebbed away, replaced by a dawning realization. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Aemon exhaled, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Then you understand why I went north. It wasn’t for her. It wasn’t for him. It was for our daughter.”
Jocelyn reached for him, her hand brushing against his arm.
But Jocelyn, ever sharp, wasn’t entirely placated. “Even so,” she said, her voice regaining a measure of its edge, “you still allowed Baelon to suggest betrothing Viserra to that bastard.”
“Baelon only suggested it because he was furious over Viserra’s foolish seduction attempt,” Aemon countered. “The King would never allow Daemon Snow to come south, let alone legitimize him. You know that better than anyone.”
Jocelyn hesitated, her lips pursed in thought. “Do I?” she said at last. “We’re talking about the same King who humiliated his own half-brother, Lord Baratheon, before the entire realm by publicly confirming our great-grandfather Orys’s bastardry. This is a man who proclaimed that House Targaryen will reward loyalty greatly, even to bastards. What’s stopping him from legitimizing the boy to make a spectacle of it? After all, what greater reward could there be for saving his grandson?”
“Ah, but it was Cregan who traded the cure, not Daemon and it was House Stark who negotiated the deal.” Aemon replied. “I don’t see why you care about him, when you have not even seen him atleast once and he is banned from the south till called upon. No one is going to support him over my own trueborn daughter.”
"You foolish man. You dare ask me this? You don’t see why I would hate the living proof of my beloved’s love for another girl—a northern heathen at that? A love so strong that you lost your sanity for over two years after the death of that stupid girl!" Jocelyn snapped. Even in her anger, the sadness was evident in her voice.
Rhaenys’s eyes began to water as she grew sadder and sadder at her mother’s heartbreak, as well as witnessing the first argument between her beloved parents.
Aemon gaped at Jocelyn, processing her words.
"You are jealous? Jealous of a girl who died in childbirth almost eighteen years ago? This is unbelievable," Aemon said.
Jocelyn scoffed, her sadness suddenly vanishing. "What of it? I might have forgotten about her entirely if not for your blasted son. She gave you a son, and as much as I love Rhaenys, she is a girl—not a boy. More than that, your son has got to be some kind of prodigy, some gifted person. I knew he was trouble the moment I first heard whispers of his involvement in the northern fleet and their ventures. The only relief I’ve had is that, at least, my kinsman Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, is still more renowned and superior in that field. And here you are, still making me take moon tea to prevent me from conceiving again because of your fears, while I want to bear a son for you."
Rhaenys had to cover her mouth to stifle the sound of her sobbing, making sure her parents didn’t hear her. Tears streamed down her face as she processed her mother’s frustrated words. Anger at her supposed elder brother began to take root in her heart. She vowed to become better than her bastard half-brother.
Aemon remained silent for a time, struggling to find words to appease his wife.
"Jocelyn, Rhaenys is my heir and will be queen after me. I am already training her for that role, along with Baelon. She will claim a dragon next year and she will trained by me and Baelon. Know this—my father will never summon Daemon here, as he fears anyone laying claim to Balerion, even in the dragon’s sickly state. Even if my father does what you fear, I will ensure Rhaenys remains my heir when I become king."
Rhaenys felt a glimmer of relief and gratitude that her father supported her…
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Viserys Targaryen was glad to have his cousin Rhaenys as a companion growing up. Even though she often dragged him into trouble, their bond was a lovely one. Rhaenys was vibrant, even during lessons with the septa she hated. But for the last three days, she had been absent-minded and sad. Their parents might not have noticed, but Viserys, who spent so many hours with her, could see it plainly.
They were sitting in the library, reading Valyrian texts, when Viserys decided to break the ice.
"Rhaenys, cousin, what’s wrong? Why have you been so sad and angry these last few days?" he asked, fed up with her mood.
Rhaenys looked up from the book she was reading, frowned thoughtfully, then nodded. She glanced around to ensure their conversation wouldn’t be overheard.
"Come with me, Viserys. Let’s go to the godswood, where no one can overhear us and we can see anyone approaching."
Viserys nodded.
The godswood was beautiful as always. The red leaves of the weirwood provided shade from the sun’s heat. Viserys often felt a sense of being watched here, though he dismissed it as his imagination.
"Vissy, you must promise me not to speak of this to Uncle Baelon, my father, or anyone else. Do you know of my brother Daemon?" Rhaenys asked.
Viserys was pleased that Rhaenys considered his brother as her own, even though they were only cousins.
"I’m happy you see my brother as your own, Rhaenys, but what kind of question is this? Of course, I know my brother," Viserys replied, perplexed.
Rhaenys closed her eyes to calm her exasperation.
"Not Daemon Targaryen, you idiot. I’m talking about my elder brother—a bastard my father had with someone in the North, Daemon Snow. I overheard my mother arguing with my father about him being a threat to my status as heir. Father even said that Uncle Baelon named his second son Daemon because he asked him to."
Viserys’s eyes widened comically.
"But… but… we’ve never heard of him before. How could this be possible? And what threat does a bastard from the North pose to us here?"
"I don’t know, Vissy. That’s why I’m asking you. Is there anyone trustworthy enough to find out without anyone knowing?"
Viserys thought for a moment and brightened.
"I know someone. Ser Otto Hightower has always been helpful to me in the library. Unlike other adults, he doesn’t treat me like a child when explaining things."
Rhaenys looked thoughtful.
"Let’s see if he knows something. Arrange for him to meet us here tomorrow."
Viserys agreed to do so.
=======================
Ser Otto Hightower grimaced as he entered the godswood to meet with the young prince. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why Prince Viserys had asked him to meet in this heathen place of worship. This was not the first godswood Ser Otto had seen, but no other godswood had given him the unsettling sensation of being observed. The foolish heathens in the North might believe it was the Old Gods watching them, but a clever and learned man like Otto knew better. It was vile sorcery—man, not gods—doing the watching.
Otto had once discovered an ancient parchment in the Hightower vaults detailing the magic of greenseers and the dangers they posed. Initially, he had scoffed at the notion of such terrifying power to spy upon important people. But when he visited this godswood, he understood. The warnings about the feeling of being observed, sometimes overwhelming, sometimes absent, made sense now. It terrified him beyond belief when he realized he had no idea who was watching, where they were, or, more disturbingly, when they might be doing so.
After being knighted by Ser Ryam, Otto had ventured back to Oldtown to visit his family and was permitted to come back under the pretext of learning from the Grand Maester himself. Ser Ryam had been persuasive enough to convince the king to allow Otto’s extended stay, and the opportunity to meet the young Prince Viserys was merely an added benefit. Otto smiled to himself, knowing he had made a strong impression on the impressionable prince. With his marriage drawing near, Otto was preparing to leave King’s Landing, but whatever the prince had to discuss so secretively would surely leave a favorable impression as he departed.
“My prince, I am here as you asked,” Otto said as he approached. He found Prince Viserys standing by the weirwood tree. As the prince stepped aside, Otto saw Princess Rhaenys sitting at the tree's roots. Fortunately, the oppressive sensation of being watched was absent.
“Princess Rhaenys, this is a surprise,” Otto said, bowing as tradition dictated. He studied the young princess and noticed she seemed troubled.
“Ser Otto,” Rhaenys began, her voice firm, “I have to know something, and Prince Viserys has assured me that you are knowledgeable and trustworthy enough to ensure that no one else will hear of this conversation.” Otto detected the arrogance typical of a young royal, and it took all his self-control not to scoff or roll his eyes. Whatever had happened, it was clear the princess had shed some of her childish innocence and naivety. Yet she still failed to grasp one fundamental truth about royalty: arrogance and pride only led to foolish actions and made one an easy tool for others more cleverer than you.
Ser Otto bowed again and replied, “I will be honest, Princess, and share whatever I know about the topic you wish to discuss. I am, after all, a humble servant of the royal family.”
Princess Rhaenys inclined her head and said, “That you are. I want to know everything about my bastard half-brother, Daemon Snow.”
Otto’s eyes widened in surprise, though he quickly masked his reaction, suppressing the smirk threatening to form. The Seven have truly blessed me, he thought. Here was an opportunity to influence the future King Consort and Queen of the realm regarding one of the greatest threats to House Hightower’s goals. Perhaps he could even persuade them to deal with Daemon for him. Otto’s mind burned with anger as he thought of Daemon’s knowledge of sorcery, including miracle cures that defied explanation.
“My princess, this is a delicate matter,” Otto said, injecting a note of reluctance and feigned panic into his voice. “I must ask for your promise—and your prince’s as well—that neither of you will ever reveal that it was I who informed you, especially not to your father.”
Rhaenys scoffed. “I already told you that no one will know about this, and yet you ask for a promise from your prince and princess?”
“Apologies, Your Grace,” Otto said humbly. “But I know how unpredictable an angered Targaryen can be, especially from the tales of your father and your bastard elder brother. You might shout my name in anger after learning the truth when you discuss this with Prince Aemon.”
“We promise that no one will know of this, Ser Otto,” Rhaenys said, and Prince Viserys nodded in agreement.
Otto began his tale. “It all started when a thirteen-year-old Prince Aemon was seduced by a fifteen-year-old bastard daughter of the previous Lord Stark. Prince Aemon fell deeply in love with the girl, enough to ask the king for permission to marry her. However, the girl was punished by the Seven for her lustful ways—she died in childbirth. Your father, enraged and grief-stricken, blamed Daemon Snow for her death. The king proclaimed Daemon banished from the South. Lord Benjen Stark raised Daemon as a trueborn Stark, with all the privileges that entailed.”
Otto paused, giving the royal siblings time to absorb the story. He deliberately glanced around, as if uneasy.
“Why are you looking around, Ser Otto?” Prince Viserys asked.
“My prince, I am merely being cautious,” Otto replied. “There is a reason you have never heard of Daemon Snow in the Red Keep, not even from servant gossip. Everyone fears Prince Aemon’s wrath. He once proclaimed he would personally punish anyone who insulted his love or her son by calling them bastards. He proved his resolve during a tourney held in your honor, Princess Rhaenys. Your uncle, Lord Baratheon, was conversing privately when your father overheard Lord Connington insulting Daemon. Prince Aemon silenced him by cutting out his tongue in full view of the realm. When Lord Baratheon tried to intercede, the king declared that if they feared Aemon overhearing, they should stop speaking Daemon’s name altogether.”
Rhaenys stared wide-eyed, anger and disbelief warring in her expression. “This happened during a tourney celebrating my birth?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes, my princess,” Otto replied. “Daemon was a frequent topic of conversation at the time. He had insulted Queen Alysanne by devising a method to reclaim the Gift for the North from the Night’s Watch. He has since accomplished remarkable feats, solidifying the North as a powerful base and demonstrating his martial prowess during wildling attacks. The people call him the ‘Red Death’ for the bloodshed he unleashed against the wildlings when they killed his Stark grandfather. Your grandmother is wise to be wary of him. But the king himself proclaimed he would reward bastards if their service to House Targaryen were remarkable enough.”
Otto smiled inwardly as he observed the doubt and fear for the magical abilities of Daemon creeping into the young royals’ minds. He continued his carefully crafted narrative about the things happened in the realm due to that bastard.
===================================
The Sunset Sea
Harlan Pike watched the Mormont ships as they hunted down a leviathan—a whale. He had to admit they had turned this into an art in a remarkably short time, almost rivaling the Ibbenese he had encountered during his long years of reaving. The Ironborn had initially dismissed rumors of the destitute Mormonts venturing into shipbuilding. But as whispers persisted and several Ironborn ships, disguised as pirates reaving along the northern coast, were lost, the truth became harder to ignore. By the time the Ironborn took the threat seriously, it was too late to sabotage the shipyards at their roots.
Even now, Harlan marveled as the Sea whispered to him of the sheer number of vessels in these waters. The count was far higher than ever before, and the Drowned God was clearly displeased. Harlan Pike, the most powerful Ironborn captain outside the lords of the Iron Islands, had built a fearsome reputation. His exploits and success in raids had attracted many free captains eager to try their luck under his banner. Only the support of the drowned priests and his own cunning had kept him alive this long. The assassins he had sent to meet the Drowned God numbered too many to count. To challenge him now, any Ironborn lord would have to call their banners—something few dared, fearing the scrutiny of the Dragonlords and the end of their golden age.
Being a vassal to the Targaryens had its advantages, particularly when selling stolen goods to the Westerosi markets. For all their pride in the iron price and their ethos of taking what they needed, even the Ironborn traded when it suited them.
Harlan observed the Mormont crew through a Myrish lens, his attention drawn by the constant whispers of the Drowned God urging him to destroy these heathen vessels. Lord Greyjoy himself had issued a challenge, commanding the greatest reaver of the age—Harlan—to put an end to the Mormonts’ audacity in Ironborn waters. Between his god and his lord, Harlan had ample reason to act.
Through the lens, Harlan studied the bastard grandson of the King in the North, who barked orders to his crew and even joined in hauling the slain whale aboard. Rumors of the bastard’s martial prowess had reached even the Iron Islands, along with that insufferable song, The Red Death. Harlan begrudgingly admitted the northern version of the song was at least tolerable—Daemon Snow had paid the iron price, even in the least exaggerated versions of the tale. Harlan could believe the story; ambushes were often decisive, he should know as his own success stemmed from overwhelming his enemies through ambush and numbers, even without betrayal or a stab in the back and thus that the thousand northmen survival shows the truth of the tale.
What truly enraged the Ironborn, however, was the Riverlands’ version of The Red Death. The Tullys had dared to twist the tale, changing wildlings to Ironborn in the legend, attributing the name to their red hair. The insult was unforgivable as they were given their power by Aegon The Dragon.
Harlan’s musings were cut short when Daemon Snow turned his head and smiled directly at him. At first, Harlan thought it couldn’t be directed at him, but the arrogant smirk and a casual wave left no doubt. Bewildered, Harlan tried to make sense of it. There was no way the bastard could see him, hidden as he was.
“Skinchanger.”
The eerie whisper chilled his spine. He immediately looked up and spotted an eagle circling among the clouds. His gaze dropped back to Daemon, who smirked again, this time with a knowing shrug.
Harlan’s instinct was to order an attack, but an overwhelming sense of fear and caution swept over him. The Drowned God’s will was clear. He signaled his crew to relay the message to the other ships. With reluctance, Harlan ordered a retreat back toward the Iron Islands.
=================================
3rd Moon, 87 AC
Bear Island
It had been several moons since the Ironborn came sniffing around the Mormont boats and retreated when their leader realized I am a skinchanger. Maybe he was afraid that I could skinchange into him and control him. I hadn’t started my journey to the North in disguise, as I kept postponing it. The Mormonts are now at a stage where they could maintain the new whaling and shipbuilding efforts without my leadership, but I didn’t want to leave Bear Island now.
The only thing missing is having my friends Aethan and Cregan here. Even though we were in contact through warging, I missed them dearly. One of the reasons I delayed going AWOL was the discussion on betrothing Cregan to Viserra. After years of practice, I can now finally enter the Red Keep and look for the specific meeting in my greenseeing using the weirwood in the Godswood. Earlier, I had to manually search through memories, but now it has improved drastically enough that I can will myself to specific words or times. Whatever magic King Maegor had enshrined in the stone didn’t keep out Targaryen blood from scrying.
I was delaying my travel, as I didn’t want to meet the Targs at all if the marriage happens in Winterfell. Cregan would be devastated, but I didn’t want to meet them and show false respect when I had none for them. To disrespect them boldly when I have no dragon is utter foolishness, even for me. Just by staying silent and away from them, I am achieving what I envision.
I was broken from my thoughts by the shouting of Lyra as she called for our daughter, Lyanna.
I looked at the angry and sad face of my paramour and raised an eyebrow in query.
"Lyanna is missing from her room. She has wandered off somewhere, and we have no clue where she is," Lyra said.
"Well, she is more handful than me if that is so. Let's see where Fenrir is, and he could easily find her."
I closed my eyes, even though it wasn’t necessary, to connect with my direwolf.
I felt exasperation and wariness as Fenrir immediately showed me what he was seeing.
My two-year-old daughter was wrestling with a cave bear cub. By the looks of it, it was only two to three moons old, yet bigger than Lyanna and stronger too. Still, I could see my daughter laughing as she landed on the overturned bear cub. I was so engrossed in my daughter’s antics that Fenrir had to nudge me to notice the humongous cave bear a couple of meters away, watching its cub and my daughter.
Now that I saw the bear, I can see Fenrir was wary and had tensed muscles to intercept if the bear attacked Lyanna. I left a mental order to continue the vigil and retreated so I could personally arrive at the place.
I opened my eyes and saw a frowning Lyra looking at me impatiently.
“She is with Fenrir in a cave and playing with a bear cub,” I said as I started walking toward the location.
“Oh, that’s good,” Lyra said, her posture relaxing and tension leaving her body.
“The mother bear is watching from a couple of meters away,” I said casually.
“What? How are you not running there then?” Lyra exclaimed.
“Don’t worry. The bear cub will be bonded with her, and the mother knows it. Also, the bears in these forests know to fear Fenrir by now. He is standing guard quite near Lyanna.”
“Well, let’s hope you are correct. If something happens to her, it will be very painful days ahead for you.”
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The Skagosi Rebellion of 87 AC was nothing but a brief event for the people of the South. Even Prince Aemon waved away any concern when he heard it was his son, Daemon Snow, who was leading the armies of the North. Lord Cregan Stark, in his idiocy, had gifted the bastard his ancestral Valyrian steel sword, Ice, for the duration of the campaign. Furthermore, this is assumed to have been the final straw for Regent Bennard Stark and the true reason for the War of the Wolves in 91 AC, as Cregan went to the Iron Throne to make Daemon the leader of the northern army and went as a squire for the duration of the campaign.
It was known that Daemon was not on Bear Island at the time the banners were called and that he joined Cregan alone in Winterfell. It is speculated that Daemon and Lord Cregan had a secret way of contacting each other, but there is no way of knowing the truth. All the lords of the North were eager to answer the call, as all of them hated the Skagosi and their cannibalistic ways. The war, if it could be called that, lasted eight moons, and by the end of it, the three lordly houses of Crowl, Stane, and Magnar were ended in the male line. The ancient cruelty of the Starks was evident as their daughters were given as brides to a Karstark, Umber, and Dustin, respectively. It is said that they were happy to accept the lordship but not the daughters, but no one was foolish enough to protest against the It is said that Daemon Snow volunteered to oversee the growth of the land, just like he did on Bear Island, along with the gold granted by Winterfell. There were grumbles in the Small Council as the North assembled another fleet on the eastern shores, but The King Jaehaerys dismissed any voices of protest.
"Wooden ships burn faster than even stone castles. Winterfell has paid taxes for the building of ships. They will pay the tax for trade done by them. Let them do it."
Even though no one has confirmed it, Maesters has speculated that King Jaehaerys was always impartial regarding his bastard grandson and looking back it explains what he did later in his reign along with the consequences of such actions.
Excerpts from The Bastard King. Chapter 2: Years in Exile. Written by Maester Theon in 200AC
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Authors note: 87 AC is over and daemon participated in another battle. Also decided to tease things as we are reaching the first chapter I have ever written on this story… by my calculation by chapter 30 it will be 100 AC.
Comments
the batman
the relation will be lukewarm at best.... as of now jae regrets not bringing daemon to south when he was a child... the influence is just gone and now there is no family bond to use daemon for the good of house targaryen
Tariel Khalvashi
What kind of relationship will Daemon have with his grandfather Jaehaerys?
the batman
well, daemon is not going to save anyone... so you will get your current wish...... dragon: daemon will look for fully grown one only. Rhaneys i am not saying anything, but you can see a young rhaneys in this chapter hearing great things about corlys. a person who got something better than her prodigy brother... so there is that...
the batman
number of chapters till our boy get dragon, i don't know... depends on the writing and situations, but we are quite near..... for eg, this viserra marriage was not at all in my plans and entire 80-90AC was time skip. but thinking about the changes i couldn't see alysanne bethrothing manderly to viserra and thus saving her from untimely death...... so unless somthing like this come, we are quite near..... Aemon: well, my initial plan was never to have a aemon pov or daemon ever meeting aemon.... but that would be just waste and people are looking forwards to that meeting... both aemon and daemon wants to run away from said meeting.. lets see whether the others could make them meet.....
TyrantGod
How many chapters till our boy gets a dragon? Will he ever meet his shitty dad or Aemon will be dead?
FireKing500
I hope most of the Targaryens die in this story and the north (with Viserra’s blood; will Cregan still marry Viserra) is stronger than the Targaryens on the Iron Throne. Maybe Viserra will come to like Daemon and be on his side. Maybe Daemon can find the eggs that were stolen from Lyssa Farman (I think that is the name) and they can become independent after the dance. Maybe the North can ignore both the greens and blacks. Will Rhaenys marry Viserys or will we still get the canon pairings of Rhaenys/Corys?
the batman
looking like that as of now.... seeing your parents fighting first time... seeing your own mother see you lesser due to someone else...for a child of 8/9 year old, it is easy to blame daemon for this...
Tariel Khalvashi
Does this chapter mean that Raynis will hate his brother and they will have a bad relationship?
