The Bronze Dragon-A House of the Dragon fanfic

Chapter 17

My father's campaign against the tribes was over soon enough. Contrary to the stories told by Lord Kermit, he never met any serious resistance on the whole campaign. A few small raiding parties were encountered of course, but nothing much more serious than that; it was hardly the stuff of legend. All to my father's frustration of course; he was looking for some sort of way to release his emotions, and did not find the healthiest way of doing it.

His actions towards my uncle Daeron in the immediate aftermath of return, particularly when it came to teaching him swordfighting as a lord does with his squire, do not paint him in a very good light to say the very least. He was much quicker to anger, and far more vicious. It's disturbing when one considers that my father was four years older than my uncle.

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The two swords clashed again, but there was a clear mismatch between the people wielding them. Daevar had seemingly surrendered all pretence of actually teaching his younger cousin anything and was instead focusing on using his own skills to the full extent; Daeron was simply struggling to keep his sword or shield in the way to block Daevar's strikes. Another swing came down and Daeron shifted his sword to block it, only for Daevar to feint at the last second. "How many bloody times have I told you to keep your sword and shield together, you idiot?!"

"Daevar, calm down-"

"I have told you to keep your sword and shield together I don't know how many times, because this is what happens when you don't!" He stabbed forward, the rounded point of the drill sword hitting Daeron's breastplate and causing him to stagger back slightly. "Then this happens!" Daevar kicked Daeron in the chest, causing the boy to fall to the ground. "And once you're down there, any chancer with a dagger will be on you in half a second!"

"D-Daevar, I-"

He threw down his sword and shield next to Daeron. "Take them back to the armoury then clean them. I can only stomach so much fucking mediocrity in one day." He said before storming off. Despite knowing how unmanly it looked, Daeron could feel his lip wobble and tears stinging at his eyes. What did I do wrong? He thought.

"It's alright lad. Here." A hand reached down to him. Daeron took it and hauled himself up, coming face to face with Kermit. "Don't mind him, My Prince. He's been like this before."

"He's never hit me before though." Daeron said before the tears started running down his face. "He's never been that way with me before . . "

"He's been like this before, so I know how the cycle goes. He'll apologise to you before nightfall." Kermit assured him. He had a feeling he knew what was causing this, but didn't want to say it in front of Daeron; the boy could preserve his innocence a little longer before finding out about that side of humanity. "Though I'll speak with him before then. Ser Willam!" He called out. The Royce knight was busy drilling a few guardsmen when he heard Kermit.

"Yes, Lord Tully?"

"Can you help Daeron a bit with his sword drills? I need to speak with our lord."

"Of course. Come on, My Prince, we'll teach you how to fight." Willam said, signalling the young prince over as Kermit headed off to find Daevar. He judged that his friend would be on the way to his chambers, where he usually was after a fight. As luck would have, he ran into him before he had ascended the stairs to his chambers.

"Taking out your frustrations on Daeron's going to help things." Kermit snarked. "You need to get a hold of yourself. Preferably sooner than later."

"I know, Kermit. Believe me, I know." Daevar replied, leaning against the wall. "It's just . . . I don't know. I wish I could find a way to put it into words."