Dragon's Forge, Bloodstone
110 AC
Laenor was making his way to the dining hall of Dragon's Forge to break his fast. The day before had been hectic—and a day of revelations, to say the least. Daemon's erratic and temperamental behavior after casting his first spell had been a surprise; even Laenor hadn't anticipated such a reaction. And to make matters more peculiar, Daemon hadn't woken up until morning—not since Laenor had knocked him out cold.
Truth be told, Laenor hoped Daemon could explain what had provoked that furious outburst. He feared this would become another hurdle—Daemon's personal struggle to wield magic. Because it might compromise Daemon's ability to cast magic if such uncontrollable behavior erupted every time he cast a spell. It would have no hurdle for Laenor if not for a darker thought that lurked in the corners of Laenor's mind the whole night: what if it wasn't just Daemon? What if this reaction were common to all Targaryens?
Not that Laenor particularly cared for the entire House Targaryen—but his mother, father, and sister all had dragonlord blood. Their magical potential likely stemmed from it. And if this same madness manifested in them as well, it would be a devastating blow. He'd been excited—eager, even—to craft wands for his sister and mother and teach them magic when he returned to Driftmark, which would be soon.
Pushing open the doors to the dining chamber, Laenor stepped into a dark room adorned with deep red tapestries and white weirwood furniture. The scent of warm bread and roasted meat drifted in the air.
He spotted Daemon already breaking his fast, his face grim—an expression Laenor had come to recognize often on those who had overindulged in wine the night before. Daemon looked up, and when his eyes met Laenor's, he shivered. A rare thing. Daemon didn't shiver—certainly not at the sight of Laenor.
Laenor shrugged the moment off. He moved to sit beside him, nodding briefly to the maid who served him, and began to eat.
Nearly ten minutes passed in silence, broken only by the soft clinks of utensils and shifting plates, before Laenor finally spoke.
"So," he said, wiping his mouth with a cloth, "I quote: 'I'll aim my flames toward you next.' End quote. Are we not going to talk about that?"
Daemon groaned and dropped his head against the table, his brow nearly touching the surface of the table. The food in front of him lay forgotten. After a long pause, he finally answered.
"I wasn't in control," he said quietly. "Even now, my head feels like someone is driving a hot nail through it. The sheer rage I felt after your little show… I can't describe it in words. My body—gods, it was weak. So weak I couldn't even walk properly, as you saw. Maybe it was magical exhaustion, I don't know. I wasn't fully in control of myself to tell."
He raised his head to meet Laenor's gaze, eyes solemn and unnerved.
"If I had to describe what happened, as close as I can," he said slowly, "then my answer would be this…"
Daemon's lips curled slightly, and his voice dropped to a whisper.
"…the dragon in me was woken up."
"Are you serious?"
"I wouldn't jape about something like this, Laenor. I've been angry before—countless times. Even when Viserys disowned me as heir and married that cunt Otto's whore of a daughter, I didn't feel the kind of rage I felt yesterday. What I felt then was something primal. It saw no reason—only a desire to lash out. And your display of power didn't help," Daemon said grimly.
But then his eyes narrowed, turning accusatory, suspicious.
"There was one detail I can't shake. In that rageful state, I felt less a man than I've ever been. And when I looked at you, all my instincts screamed: run… or take my last stand and try to take you down with me. Cripple you for life."
Laenor, initially shocked at Daemon describing himself as nearly animalistic, furrowed his brows in confusion. "It must've been your baser instincts warning you, then. Or do you think I have some plan to betray you? Backstab you?" he asked, visibly aghast that Daemon would even entertain such a thought.
"Oh, I know you'd never betray me," Daemon said with complete certainty. "That's not what troubles me. What does is how powerful you've grown… in so little time."
Laenor blinked, his thoughts spiraling, but Daemon wasn't finished. After a long moment, he sighed and continued.
"For a time, I saw something. When you doused me in seawater, the magic was still flowing through me. I could feel it—this steady current running from my heart to my hand, into the wand. And when I turned my eyes to glare at you, to cow you… the magic shifted. It flowed into my eyes. That's when I saw it. And that is what shocked me."
Daemon paused, as if to test whether he'd imagined it all.
"I clearly saw your body, but it wasn't your form that startled me—it was the sea-green liquid energy surrounding you, with the golden spark shining like nothing I have ever seen before. I dare say it look divine. The spark… it caught my attention. My blood sang. It demanded I steal it from you, rip open your chest, mangle your body, and take it—to sate something inside me I didn't even know was hungry."
He went quiet for a heartbeat, then added, almost reverently, "And then it appeared."
Laenor's eyes narrowed. "It?"
"It was colossal," Daemon whispered. "Took the shape of a bare-chested man, but even maddened as I was, I knew it was no man. A warrior of the Seven, like those the Andals worship, built of fury and divine muscle, each movement brimming with overwhelming strength. He carried a three-pronged spear—like those the neck barbarians use—and his presence made me fall. That… that's why I stumbled. Do you know anything about that, Laenor?"
Daemon's stare was hard, as if daring him to lie.
"You sure have no shame or hesitance in admitting to my face about your thoughts of mutilating me, do you?" Laenor asked dryly.
Daemon scoffed. "Of all the things I said, that's what you focus on? And what if I did think that? I couldn't do anything against you anyway. I've always known you were powerful. But seeing you move water is one thing. Sensing what lies inside you… that's something else entirely. Now, my answers?"
Laenor smirked. "I have to say, I'm flattered. The Rogue Prince himself thinks I'm so powerful."
Daemon glowered in response.
"And to answer your question—how would I know what you saw? I didn't see it. And the idea of tearing open my own chest to look for a spark never once crossed my mind. This is all new to me, as it is to you, Daemon," Laenor lied smoothly, shrugging.
In truth, he had a very good idea what the spark and the figure represented. The spark of divinity. And the colossal man Daemon described—there was little doubt in Laenor's mind: it was Poseidon, Sea God and Lord of Storms.
Though Laenor did wonder how Daemon was able to see Poseidon—it shouldn't have been possible. Not that he could entirely rule out the idea that it might be because of Daemon now possessing some kind of "mage's sight" or "wizard eyes" or whatever else people liked to call it back in his world. Laenor himself had never tried channeling magic into his eyes, but even he doubted such an act would be simple—or safe. That said, the possibilities were too tempting to ignore. To be able to see magic with his eyes? The utility alone made it worth the risk, at least once. Besides, he could always rely on his water healing, and hope it could restore his vision if things went wrong.
Daemon sighed and shook his head, his gaze fixed blankly on the chamber doors. He was deep in thought, Laenor presumed.
"If I were you," Laenor said, leaning in and placing a hand on Daemon's shoulder with a firm squeeze, "I wouldn't dwell on it too much. Like I said yesterday, we're just taking baby steps into the realm of magic. The answers we seek will come with time—as we progress."
He let go and nodded toward him. "Now, I think your next task should be trying to cast magic again. This time, aim for something a bit less… explosive. Not that I can blame you—the inferno was partly my fault, considering I encouraged it. But now, see if you can cast in smaller amounts, without relying on rage or overwhelming emotion. Perhaps try a water spell instead. It doesn't draw from anger or hate—it requires calm, serenity. Control."
Daemon waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about me losing control like that again. I've gone over the whole thing in my head more times than I can count. It was a mistake, and I know that now. I bit off more than I could chew. That flame… it wasn't just ordinary magic. Not the kind you'd find in a basic spell."
"Hmm. So you're saying it was some kind of cursed flame?"
Daemon frowned, considering. After a moment, he shook his head. "No, not cursed. But… flames that require dark emotions to manifest. And when you extinguish them—especially without satisfying their hunger—they feed back on you. They amplify those dark feelings tenfold."
Laenor raised an eyebrow. "Oh? For someone who cast only once, you've deduced quite a lot."
Daemon scoffed. "I had the whole gods-damned night to relive it again and again. I didn't sleep a wink." The scowl on his face was equal parts frustration and exhaustion.
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