𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆, daemon targaryen

020.

THE SUN rose over King's Landing, casting a warm glow across the Red Keep, but inside the council chamber, a storm was brewing. Daemon Targaryen sat at the long table, his fingers drumming nervously against its polished surface. The tension in the room was palpable as lords and advisors engaged in heated discussions about the realm's growing unrest. Daemon's brow furrowed with frustration as he listened to the endless chatter about taxes, alliances, and distant lands.

"Your Grace, we cannot ignore the growing unrest in the Riverlands," Lord Hightower insisted, his voice grating on Daemon's nerves. "The peasants are restless, and if we do not act quickly, we risk losing their loyalty."

Daemon clenched his jaw, feeling the walls close in around him. He was tired of these discussions that seemed to revolve solely around politics and power. "Loyalty?" he snapped, unable to contain his irritation. "What good is loyalty if it comes at the cost of our people's suffering?"

"Your concern for the common folk is commendable, Daemon, but we must be practical," Lord Lannister interjected, his tone dripping with condescension. "A firm hand is necessary to maintain order."

"Or a kind one," Daemon replied sharply, the tension rising in his voice. He could feel the eyes of the council members boring into him, judging him as if he were a mere child in a game far beyond his understanding.

Eleanor was not present in the chamber, and he wished she were. He had been pushing her away lately, convinced that his burdens were too heavy for her to carry. But she had always understood him, perhaps better than anyone else, and without her here, he felt a gaping hole where her presence should be.

"Perhaps if we sent aid to those in need," he suggested, desperate to steer the conversation in a more compassionate direction. "We could win their hearts, not just their loyalty."

Lord Hightower shook his head. "Charity will not save the crown when the people rise against us. We need a show of force."

As voices rose in disagreement, Daemon felt his frustration boiling over. "You're all too blinded by your own ambition to see what's at stake here! These are our people, not mere numbers on a ledger."

With that, he stood abruptly, unable to endure another moment of the council's empty rhetoric. "This meeting is pointless!" he exclaimed, the words escaping his lips before he could stop himself. "You're all too focused on your own power plays to see the real issues at hand."

He stormed out of the chamber, the heavy door slamming behind him. He leaned against the cool stone wall of the corridor, taking deep breaths to calm the storm within. He could feel the frustration clawing at him, and for a fleeting moment, he wished he could confide in Eleanor. But he had pushed her away, convinced that he needed to shoulder his burdens alone.

Later that day, as the sun began its descent, Daemon wandered the halls of the Red Keep, his heart heavy. He tried to shake the darkness that enveloped him, but it clung to him like a shroud. The laughter of the court felt distant, as if he were separated from them by an invisible wall. All he wanted was to escape—to feel the wind against his skin and the warmth of Eleanor's presence beside him.