The Bronze Dragon-A House of the Dragon fanfic

Prologue

The Dance of the Dragons was perhaps the most traumatic event in our land's history. Civil wars are always vicious, but with dragons on all sides of the Dance, this proved to be the worst. House Targaryen fought itself, and by the end, the family was down to a mere handful.

Less if you consider some to be merely 'half-Targaryen'.

The Maesters have written their own histories of this war. Too many accounts are romanticised or demonised views of all sides, including my father's own, which caused no little amount of consternation from him. My father always preferred hard reading of history.

The Maesters will name me liar. Let them. They were not there.

As I begin this account, I ask you to remember that this is the closest to a true story of the worst war in our country's history, meant as a reminder that the only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon was itself.

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Throne Room of the Red Keep

112 Years After Conquest

Part of him already knew why he had been commanded to the throne room, and he had been kicking himself over it. Perhaps his speech in that brothel wasn't the smartest thing that had ever been done, even with all the stunts he had pulled over the years. Dark Sister still hung from his hip, of course, but it would be of little use against his own brother. His brother was no great warrior, but he did have the Kingsguard.

Prince Daemon Targaryen entered the throne room, still apprehensive of what was about to happen. Looking up, King Viserys seemed to have taken things seriously for once. He was dressed up in his full royal regalia, complete with Blackfyre, the Sword of Kings itself, in his hand with the tip on the ground. All seven of his Kingsguard were there as well, and they seemed to be ready to fight.

"You cut the image of a conqueror, brother." Daemon said. Seated up there with Blackfyre in hand and back straight, his brother really did look every inch the king he should've been. He couldn't deny that it was an impressive sight, even to him.

"Did you say it?" His brother demanded. Daemon stopped short of the throne. His brother had always been a lighthearted man; to hear him speak with such severity gave Daemon images of their father and grandfather.

"I don't know what you mean." It was an instinctive response, more than anything.

"You will address me as Your Grace, or I will have my Kingsguard rip out your tongue." Viserys growled. " ' The Heir for a Day'... did you say it?"

Daemon had been caught, and he knew it.

"We must all mourn in our own way, Your Grace." He averted his eyes. Daemon was not usually a man to feel shame, but seeing his brother now, he couldn't help but feel it.

"My family has just been destroyed." Viserys said, struggling to hold back tears. "But instead of being by my side, or Rhaenyra's . . . YOU CHOSE TO CELEBRATE YOUR OWN RISE! LAUGHING WITH YOUR WHORES AND YOUR LICKSPITTLES! You have no allies at court but me! I have only ever defended you! And everything I have given you, you have flung back in my face!"

Daemon's gaze hardened. He couldn't let this stand. "You've only ever tried to send me away! To the City Watch, to the Vale, to anywhere but by your side! Ten years you've been King and not once have you asked me to be your Hand!"

"And why would I do that?" Viserys asked. It was a rhetorical question and Daemon knew it, but he had to respond.

"Because I am your brother. And the Blood of the Dragon runs thick." He hoped that would be able to get through to his brother, but he doubted it. Had this stupid crown torn them apart as much as he thought it had?

"Then why do you cut me so deeply?" Viserys replied. Daemon was losing control of this, and he knew it.

"I have only ever spoken the truth; I see Otto Hightower for what he is."

"An unwavering and loyal Hand?"

"A cunt." Daemon replied curtly. "A second son who stands to inherit nothing he does not take for himself." Ordinarily, Daemon would be the kind of man to praise that sort of ambition, but Hightower was an interloper. A second son of a secondary house who dared to think himself on par with their bloodline.

"Otto Hightower is a more honourable man than you could ever claim to be."

"He does not protect you. I would."

"From who?"

"Yourself." Daemon had been building to this point for a while now. "You're weak, Viserys. That council of leeches knows it; they all prey on you for their own ends."