Lucerys the Menace: Reborn

Chapter 8: The Black Council Part 1

The council chamber was filled with tension, a palpable mix of worry and urgency as Lord Lymon delivered news that sent a ripple through the gathered lords. "The Sea Snake's fever has broken, and he has left Evenfall," he announced, his expression one of guarded hope.Daemon's eyes narrowed, his mind already racing with possibilities. "Where is he sailing?" The Maester looked uneasy, glancing down at his scrolls. "That much is unclear, my prince. We'll send ravens to our nearest allies—Lords Darklyn, Massey... and Bar Emmon."

Just as the Maester finished his sentence, a heart-wrenching wail echoed from the chambers where Rhaenyra was laboring. The sounds of her agony cut through the discussions, silencing everyone in the room.

"Daemon!" Rhaenyra's cry pierced the air, raw with pain.

"Do you want to speak to the Maester, my prince?" Lord Bartimos asked, hesitantly pointing to the elder man who stood ready with his quill and parchment.

But Daemon, his mind focused on his wife's suffering, dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "I'll fly to the Riverlands myself and affirm Lord Tully's support," he declared, determination etched on his features.

"You will do no such thing," Lucerys interjected, stepping forward, his youthful voice steady yet filled with concern. "My mother has decreed no action be taken while she's abed."

Daemon shot him an incredulous look, a mixture of respect and irritation flaring. "It's good you're here, young prince. But tell your brother he is needed to patrol the skies on Vermax. Did you hear what I said?"

Lucerys felt his heartbeat quicken. "Mother needs you more. We can't let politics distract us now." As he spoke, Rhaenyra's grunt echoed down the halls, a reminder of the urgency of their situation.

Daemon placed a strong hand on Lucerys's shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind. "The ravens, Lord Bartimos. I shall see it done." He stepped close to Lucerys, his voice dropping to a low growl. "But we cannot afford to be stationary, either. If our enemies smell weakness, they will pounce."

"Right now, weakness is inevitable," Lucerys shot back, determination blossoming despite the fear in his heart. "But if you leave, it may break her spirit. She needs you here!"

The struggle hung in the air between them—the push and pull of duty versus love. Daemon's gaze darted towards the chamber where Rhaenyra labored, the sounds of her pain spurring an internal conflict. He was torn between the call of duty to ensure their support in the realm and the urgent cries of his wife fighting to bring new life into the world.

Lord Bartimos cleared his throat, attempting to reestablish order amidst the chaos. "Perhaps we can send messengers rather than risking your presence in the Riverlands, my prince?"

Daemon averted his gaze, wrestling with the mounting pressure of responsibility and familial duty. "Gather the ravens," he finally conceded, his voice quieter now. "We will not act recklessly, but we cannot remain completely idle either. We will ensure Rhaenyra has allies waiting once she recovers."

The lords exchanged glances, recognizing Daemon's reluctant acceptance of the situation, even as outside forces pressed upon them. In the distance, Rhaenyra's cries faded momentarily, replaced by an intense silence that filled the chamber, and for a brief moment, all that mattered was the fragile line between life and the relentless tide of threats looming over them.