We Are Dragons (Daemon Targaryen)

Prologue

Year 101

As the first century of the Targaryen dynasty came to a close, the health of the Old King, Jaehaerys, was failing.

In those days, House Targaryen stood at the height of its strength with 10 adult dragons under its yoke.

No power in the world could stand against it.

King Jaehaerys reigned over nearly 60 years of peace and prosperity.

But tragedy had claimed both his sons, leaving his succession in doubt.

So, in the year 101, the Old King called a Great Council to choose an heir.

Over a thousand lords made the journey to Harrenhal.

Fourteen succession claims were heard, but only two were truly considered: Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, the King's eldest descendant, and her younger cousin, Prince Viserys Targaryen, the King's eldest male descendant.

All eyes were trained on the old man sitting on a large chair, his silver hair thinning under the golden crown he had set neatly on his head. In the great rooms of Harrenhal, lords and ladies of nearly every House in Westeros were gathered, guests of the House Strong.

Lord Lyonel Strong himself was standing amongst the people, staring up at the King with the same feeling lingering in his heart. The anticipation of watching the lives of untouchable people unfold.

Despite owning the lands they rested their dragons on and commanding the staff that served them, Lord Strong did not stand on the stage with the rest of the royal family. His place was not beside them, despite his position on King Jaehaerys' Small Council.

No... this event may be taking place in his hall, but he was just a bystander like all the rest.

Only three heads of silver hair were not standing with the rest of the Royal family. Standing next to Lord Strong with a bored look on his face was Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince Viserys' younger brother. Despite history being made, the solemn air that seemed to cloud the vision of the rest didn't touch Daemon. He just wanted to get on with it and go back to eating. And fucking. And fighting.

Perhaps he could do all three at the same time.

A young man of seven and ten with no real responsibilities spent his days fucking, fighting and eating. Especially when that boy had all of the options that Daemon had before him.

His wild nature was screaming at the others through his aura, mischief glinting in his violet eyes.

Beside him stood Prince Viserion Targaryen, son of King Jaehaerys' grand-nephew. He was a year older than Daemon, but he looked much older than he was. His expression was grim, his blue eyes steel. His chin never moved an inch, but his eyes darted everywhere, taking in the expression of every Lord around them.

Between the two tall, muscular men however, stood a tiny little girl, her arms wrapped around Daemon's leg as she leaned against him, one of her feet standing on his boot. She was only three years old. Her silver hair barely reached past her small shoulders, and her intense blue eyes were filled with wonder and jealousy.

The red rim that had been the evidence of a tearful fit had just barely faded away. When Princess Maeka Targaryen, daughter of Princess Aemma Arryn's older brother and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen's younger sister learned she couldn't stand on the stage next to her grandpa and sit in his lap, she was less than pleased.