Lucerys the Menace: Reborn

Chapter 8: The Black Council Part 1

The council chamber was tense, the air thick with urgency. Lord Lymon spoke, delivering news that rippled through the gathered lords. "The Sea Snake's fever has broken. He’s left Evenfall," he said, hope guarded in his voice.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. "Where is he going?"

The Maester shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his scrolls. "That’s unclear, my prince. We’ll send ravens to our allies—Lords Darklyn, Massey... and Bar Emmon."

Before anyone could respond, a scream echoed from the chamber where Rhaenyra labored. The sound of her agony silenced the room.

"Daemon!" Rhaenyra’s voice cracked through the air.

Lord Bartimos hesitated, his voice tentative. "Would you like to speak to the Maester, my prince?"

Daemon waved him off, his focus fixed on his wife’s cries. "I’ll fly to the Riverlands myself and confirm Lord Tully’s support," he said, determination setting in.

Lucerys stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Mother has decreed no action be taken while she’s in bed."

Daemon shot him an incredulous look, blending respect with irritation. "You’re here, young prince. But tell your brother to patrol the skies on Vermax. Did you hear me?"

Lucerys’ heartbeat quickened. "Mother needs you more. We can’t let politics distract us now." The sounds of Rhaenyra’s pain pressed on.

Daemon put a firm hand on Lucerys’s shoulder, his grip steady. "The ravens, Lord Bartimos. I’ll see it done." He stepped closer to Lucerys, his voice low. "We can’t sit idle. If our enemies sense weakness, they’ll strike."

Lucerys shot back, his voice hardening. "Weakness is inevitable right now. But if you leave, it’ll break her spirit. She needs you here!"

The tension between them was palpable, the pull of duty clashing with the urgency of family. Daemon glanced toward the chamber where Rhaenyra cried out. His internal conflict was clear—duty or his wife.

Lord Bartimos cleared his throat. "Perhaps we can send messengers instead of risking your presence in the Riverlands, my prince?"

Daemon paused, wrestling with the decision. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter. "Gather the ravens. We’ll be careful, but we won’t sit back. We’ll make sure Rhaenyra has support when she recovers."

The lords exchanged glances, sensing Daemon’s reluctant decision. Rhaenyra’s cries briefly faded, replaced by a heavy silence that stretched throughout the chamber.

Daemon’s voice broke the quiet. "Summon Ser Steffon. The Kingsguard are needed at Dragonmont. Follow me. I’ll show you what loyalty means."

Lucerys couldn’t suppress a swell of pride. Daemon’s presence was undeniable—forceful and unwavering, the epitome of Targaryen spirit. He smirked, adding, "You see? When it comes to loyalty, my dear father looks like an amateur."

The Kingsguard assembled, and Daemon addressed them, his tone sharp. "You swore an oath to the Kingsguard, did you not?"

"As do all who wear the white cloak, my prince," replied one guard.

"To whom?" Daemon pressed.

"I swore to King Jaehaerys, my prince. Then to King Viserys when he succeeded him," Ser Steffon replied firmly.

Daemon’s gaze cut through him. "Do you acknowledge the true line of succession?"

"Yes, my prince."

"Do you remember who King Viserys named as his heir before he died?"

"Princess Rhaenyra."

Daemon nodded, his tone softening slightly. "Good. You’ve served the Crown well, Ser Steffon." He paused, then his eyes hardened. "Now, I present you with a choice."

Outside, Caraxes roared in the distance, the sound a reminder of the weight they carried.

"Swear your oath anew to Rhaenyra as your queen, to Prince Jacaerys as the rightful heir," Daemon’s voice was low but powerful.

Ser Steffon hesitated, tension in the air. "I—"

"Or," Daemon cut in, his voice hardening, "if you support the usurper, speak it now."

Ser Steffon began to protest, but Daemon’s gaze pinned him. "And you’ll have a clean death. But if you turn cloak, your end will be... less dignified."

Lucerys couldn’t resist. "Seems like an easy choice, Ser Steffon. A noble death or a—well, let’s say less than pleasant exit?"

Some of the men shifted uncomfortably, but Lucerys pressed on. "I’d rather not die screaming. But if excitement’s what you want, I’d pick something other than a dragon’s jaws."

Daemon shot Lucerys a glance, amusement flickering in his eyes. "A brave jest, young prince, but this is no game."

"I know," Lucerys replied innocently, leaning back casually.

With the tension slightly eased, Ser Steffon stepped forward, his voice steady. "I swear allegiance to Princess Rhaenyra and her heirs. My loyalty lies with the rightful queen."

Daemon’s approval was terse, but a smirk played on his lips. "Very well. Follow me. Let’s show the realm that the Targaryens are not easily cast aside."

The group, bolstered by their loyalty and determination, followed Daemon and Lucerys. The drums of war grew louder, but with loyalty forged in fire, they stood unbroken.