We Are Dragons (Daemon Targaryen)

Chapter Thirteen

My heart was still racing from watching Daemon pleasure himself right in front of me. He kept quiet, as to not alert Ser Brendan, who was right outside, but the name he whispered was mine. The way he said it would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life.

At Daemon's behest, I wore common clothes, a dirty shirt and trousers, put on poor, tattered boots and tucked a hat over my head, completely covering my silver hair.

I made my way through the tunnels, to the hidden stairs that led down into King's Landing. Daemon was already waiting for me. The moment his violet eyes landed on me, they blew wide with lust. He grabbed me by my waist and pulled me in for a breathtaking kiss.

"Perhaps tonight, I could show you more." He suggested softly, and I stared up at him, desire coursing through my veins. I finally had the chance to get what I deserved.

"Teach me." I breathed wildly, and he intertwined his fingers with mine, pulling me after him.

"Stay close." He said quietly, drawing me closer.

As we walked the Streets of Silk, I saw many things. A man lit his palms on fire using a trick, holding it closer to my face, and I grinned, surprised and impressed. Barely hidden in a corner, a man was holding a woman's legs around his waist. Both were half naked, and he was pounding into her while she cried with pleasure.

I looked at Daemon, who pulled his cloak hood further down his face, hiding it completely from everyone. I felt a thrill as I looked around. The seedier elements of King's Landing's nightly activities no longer frightened me.

A drunk man bumped into me, and I let out a soft gasp. "Fuck off, boy." He slurred, shoving past me. I turned to Daemon with a grin.

Tonight, I wasn't Princess Maeka, the perfect, strong one.

Tonight I was just a random boy in the streets.

"He called me boy." I whispered.

A man breathed a plume of fire using a torch, and I grinned. I looked up, seeing another man walking across a tightrope over our heads, balancing a stick that was on fire on both ends.

Daemon offered me a wine. I took a sip, but that was all. I wanted to keep a clear mind.

An old woman with empty eye sockets smiled at me, her teeth yellow and blackened. "Do you wish to know your death, child?" She asked with a happy tone.

I felt my heart fall.

I knew it would be bloody.

I turned to Daemon, pulling him away from her, not wanting to hear another word. His hand squeezed mine, and he took over leading me through the streets again.

Daemon took me to the square, where a bunch of men dressed up were standing on a stage. The Iron Throne- a toilet, in this instance- was their main prop.

"And now we come to the matter of the great Iron Chair... and whose bum it might bear." The jester announced. "Our good King... names his daughter, a girl, his heir." A man in a yellow dress wearing a white wig spun around, blowing the crowd a kiss. The crowd jeered and booed, and I felt my heart fall. "The beloved friend of the Common Princess, the second heir."

The crowd booed again, and I lowered my head. There were some shouts in my defense, but it wasn't enough to heal the prick on my heart.

All I had was my protection of the people and my love for Rhaenyra. Their indifference to my life was a strike to the face.

"But then to him, a babe is born. A son!" there was laughter and applause. "To which heir might the chair bear? Who will it be? The brother? The daughter? Or the little princeling of three?" People applauded and laughed. The man playing Daemon cried like a pouting child, while the man playing Rhaenyra sat down dramatically after lifting the toilet lid.