The Unburnt

Chapter 8 - Wed her to me

Hello, I hope you are all enjoying the story so far, you have no idea how this chapter has drained me, it took me four days, I re-wrote it a few times, changed the POV, I've never been more tired but I liked how it turned out. Yes there has been no smut but be patient, cause once it starts, there will be no turning back. Daemon Targaryen has to be one of the most complex, characters and describing what is going through his mind is diffuclt, he is one to act on impulses and his morals are his own. Anyway, enjoy this longer chapter!(pls don't get used to it, I suffered so much writing this)

Daemon Targayren

If most things were capable of boring me, my older brother had a mystic power of knowing how to anger me to a boiling point. The tales are never certain if a Targayren is most dangerous when bored or angered, in my case I never ceased to be dangerous. 'Twas a lovely evening, the sun began to set upon the Red Keep, soft hues of orange washed over the blue sky, yet Viserys decided to fill my ears with concerns I had little care for, would he have patience to meet the future, my plan slowly and evenily blooming under my careful tactics. I sigh aloud and suppress an obvious eye roll.

''Brother, if I wished to be remembered about the state of our legacy and house I would have taken a stroll through the Keep to inspect some of the tapestries hanged, perhaps some new sense of need shall pass through me enough to shackle myself to a lady''

''Must you always be so crude and childish Daemon? I and Aemma cannot have children anymore, and I will not let her suffer and may The Seven forbid, perish for another babe, a supposed male heir that my Hand seems to be very concerned about me having.'' His tired tone made his concern visible, the illness he has hidden for the past year slowly starting to make itself known through little changes.

''Perish...like our mother did?'' My question is met with silence as I stare at the skies, both of us know that our mother died giving birth to me, only having heard stories of how Alyssa Targaryen was, and not once have I ever heard a smidge of anything that was but to be described as a lovely, perfect, lady wife and mother, a true Targaryen that loved Meleys, her dragon at the time, and to ride through the soaring sky. Our father Baelon chose the babe over the mother, the shadow of her death following me through my entire life, a burden I was given without knowledge, a dark smoke enveloping my heart for the rest of my life. Unfortunately for me I had not had the pleasure of being in her presence, although our father Baelon did try to make up for it, and as a little babe, he took me on the saddle as he rode Vhagar, the beast that was claimed by no other than Laena Velaryon.

''Daemon, let us not dwell in the past, for we shall only look into the future. No mother should die at childbirth, both of us mourned the loss of our mother...and this is why to strengthen our house we need more heirs brother, you are certainly past your time of being just by yourself, a Prince who is knee-deep in whores,'' I snort at his not-so-veiled yet truthful accusation, ''you must wed a fine lady, a Princess perhaps, and sire children. How many of us are out there?''

"Truly, not many, considering the union of Rhaenyra and Laenor, and their fair, strong boys." Viserys, if he did comprehend the jest, made no sign thereof. The entire court was privy to the secret, should any dare term it thus, that Laenor Velaryon and Princess Rhaenyra both preferred swords. And my niece did possess a peculiar fondness for a certain Gold Cloak, one whom I recall training myself. Though the allegations were indeed base, none ventured to voice them aloud, for she was to be heir, heir with a bastard son who did naught but weaken a Kingdom that was crumbling. Viserys coughed and brought a handkerchief to his mouth, blood staining his spittle, yet none of us addressed it, once more a display of how the Realm would falter within months. He wiped his mouth and tucked the fabric back within his cloak.