We Are Dragons (Daemon Targaryen)

Chapter Eleven

I sat beside Rhaenyra in Storm's End, the home of Lord Boremund Baratheon. Five months had passed since I wrote my letter to Daemon.

A month later, he had sent me a letter in return with three simple words.

Laenor is alive.

Wrapped in a tiny pouch inside the letter, was the necklace he gave me. It was another month of internal wrestling before I followed my heart and put the necklace on.

Now, Rhaenyra and I were two months into her tour. Lord Beric Dondarrion- a man nearly a century old- was presenting himself as a contender for Rhaenyra's hand, and I wanted the chair to swallow me whole.

"...the wall Blackhaven are unscalable vassalstone. And the castle is surrounded by a deep, dry moat. It is well fortified against any future Dornish incursions." Lord Beric rambled. He chuckled. "And though my seat may be lesser in size, it is situated most pleasingly." The old man took a breath, clearing his throat. He slowly walked over to the stand holding a pitcher of wine and filled his cup. He took a long drink, before continuing. "The view across the Marches is inspiring, so said Queen Alysanne herself when she honored my father and I-"

"And tell me, Lord Dondarrion, did you think my great-grandmother as beautiful as they say?" Rhaenyra interrupted the old lord, and I bit my lip, recognizing her antagonizing tone.

"This was half a century ago, Princess." Lord Beric stammered.

"Yes, it was." Rhaenyra remarked. The crowd that had gathered laughed, and Lord Beric had an offended expression on his face. A storm raged outside, but from what I heard, a storm always raged outside.

"That was unseemly, Princess." Lord Boremund advised quietly.

"The man is older than my father." Rhaenyra muttered back. "It's unseemly for him to put himself forward as a contender for my hand."

I leaned forward so I could see the Baratheon lord across Rhaenyra, who sat between us. "She's looking for a love match. I doubt she'll find one in a man much older than her father." I pointed out. He nodded, sighing. "I hope it's not rude to say, but she's looking for someone... her age." I added with fake politeness.

"Next!" Lord Boremund called.

A young boy stepped forward, and I immediately looked to Ser Brendan, who stood beside me, for help. He closed his eyes, as if he also wished he was somewhere else. Shadow was laying on the ground at my feet, watching them all with judgemental red eyes.

"And now a child." Rhaenyra said in concern and shock.

"The Blackwoods are an ancient house with a formidable army. In the River lands, they once ruled as kings. The blood of the First Men still flows in their veins." Lord Boremund pointed out. The boy shifted nervously. "Go on."

"My Princess... ours is a bond that has long endured, since Lucas Black wood, the grand sire of my grand sire, aided the Dragon in his war of conquest-" The boy's clearly scripted proposal was interrupted.

"Aye, the Blackwoods truly turned the tide on that one." A young man leered. Bracken Boratheon, one of Boremund's sons. Or nephews. I'd forgotten. He'd been arrogant when he presented himself to my cousin, and we both hated him on sight. The crowd gathered laughed.

"Coursed with the blood of the First Men, our history is deeply rooted in this land, which your house has made its home. If chosen as your match, Princess... your days shall be easy and nights safe under my protection." The boy said. I felt bad for him, in a way. He was just a boy, likely following his mother's instructions.