"Beast. Tyrant. Merciless. They whisper these names behind my back. But when I say, I love you, it is not out of desire, nor out of denial. It is not for my sake at all. I love you for what you are, for what you do, for how you fight. I have witness...
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"I mourned him in my own way,” Daemon said finally. His voice was low, reflective. Not apologetic, but sincere.
“Your own way?” Maegor repeated, stepping down from the throne. The weight of Blackfyre dragged behind him like a dragon’s tail. “By filling the Street of Silk with wine, whores, and city guards? By mocking my son’s death over cups and laughter?” His voice cracked with emotion.
“He was barely a day old,” Daemon murmured, but even he realized too late the coldness of those words.
Maegor’s eyes flared. “He was my son! He was my heir! He had a name, a cradle, a future, until the gods took him from us! And you raised your cup to toast his death like it was a joke!”
Daemon’s voice sharpened. “That was not my intent. I toasted Baelon because no one else did. The city was silent. No bells. No mourning procession. Not even the septons dared speak his name.”
“Because I could not bear to hear it,” Maegor said. “Because I could not breathe without breaking.” He drew in a sharp breath, every syllable now shaking with fury and grief. “But you, you filled the silence with mockery.”
Daemon’s eyes flickered with guilt, but only for a second. “They twisted my words.”
“Oh?” Maegor’s brow rose, deadly calm. “Then tell me, brother, who twisted the words, The Heir for a Day?”
Daemon looked away for a heartbeat. When he met Maegor’s eyes again, he was resolute.
“I said it.”
The hall was still.
“You have your answer,” Daemon added, defiant once more. “Strip me of my title. Cast me out. But I will not apologize for speaking the truth in a realm where flatterers feast on lies.”
The King slammed Blackfyre’s pommel against the stone. The sharp clang echoed. Maegor stared at him, veins bulging at his temple.
“You think yourself bold, noble, honest,” he said coldly. “But I see a snake, dressed in the skin of a dragon.”
"It was not my intent....."
"How dare you, Daemon!" Maegor bellowed. "My family was breaking apart, my wife dead on a childbed, I was grieving for a year, and my son lying dead on the pyre! But instead of standing by me, or with Rhaenyra, you chose to vanish to the Street of Silk. Laughing. Drinking. Surrounded by whores and lickspittles!"
Daemon’s face was unreadable, but something tightened behind his eyes. His fingers curled near the hilt of his sword.
"You have no allies at court but me!" Maegor continued, his voice ragged. "I’ve defended you when the Council spat your name like poison. I’ve shielded you, loved you, as only a brother could. And everything I’ve given you, every drop of grace I’ve shown, you’ve thrown back in my face like spit!"
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