Chapter 8: Dragon Battle
Inside the grand banquet hall, the singers continued to perform.
Since Princess Rhaenyra's mother, Aemma Arryn, hailed from House Arryn, they began with ballads celebrating the Winged Knight and the Battle of the Seven Stars—praising Artys Arryn, who once defeated the High King Robar Royce in the Vale.
When the minstrels sang of Florian the Fool and his love Jonquil, Queen Alysanne frowned. Years ago, during her first pregnancy, she had nearly been assassinated in Maidenpool—ironically, the same place where Florian and Jonquil were said to have met. Even after so many years, that memory still haunted her.
Thankfully, the song ended soon enough, replaced by a gentler tune about Garth Greenhand.
Among the performers was Diamante Waters, the singer brought by Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake. With long, silvery-white hair and striking purple eyes, his Valyrian heritage was unmistakable. The court maidens—Gael, Laena, and Lily Rosby among them—screamed and clapped as Diamante played. His harp, inlaid with diamonds, bore the sigil of House Velaryon: the seahorse.
It was said that Diamante was Lord Corlys's favorite singer, raised in Driftmark and beloved in the court. He was only sixteen or seventeen—close to Daemon's age—and his beauty rivaled that of the Valyrian dragonlords of legend.
Daemon watched him play, and a thought stirred in his mind. In the ages to come, there would be another Targaryen prince of dazzling beauty—silver-haired, violet-eyed, and dangerous. But for now, that bloodline ran quietly through the bastards of Old Valyria's descendants.
Though the right of the first night had been abolished decades ago by Queen Alysanne, its shadow lingered in some corners of Westeros. On Driftmark and Dragonstone, where the lords bore Valyrian features that seemed almost divine, many women willingly sought them out—believing that bearing a child of such blood was a blessing. Thus, bastards with the pale hair and purple eyes of Valyria were still born in secret.
Daemon suspected that Diamante himself might be one of Sea Snake's many unacknowledged sons.
When Diamante finished his song, the hall erupted in applause. Gael and Laena rushed toward him, eager to speak.
"You play beautifully," Gael said, eyes shining.
Daemon approached with a smirk. "So young, yet performing for Lord and Lady Velaryon already? Are you from Driftmark?"
Diamante nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. I was raised in a convent. My mother was once a nun—after she broke her vows and bore me, she became a Silent Sister. She's never spoken since, so I never learned who my father was."
Gael giggled. "Daemon, you should learn to play the harp from Diamante. He could teach you a few things."
"I don't have time," Daemon replied, taking Gael's hand. "Grandfather wants me to go to the Dragonpit tomorrow—to choose my dragon. I'm about to become a dragonrider."
Gael gasped with delight. "Truly?"
"Congratulations, Prince Daemon," Diamante said with a graceful bow. "I must compose a song to mark the occasion."
"You may," Daemon said with a grin. "But make sure Gael appears in it. I'll take her to the skies with me."
As the banquet drew to an end, King Jaehaerys rose. "To celebrate the birth of Princess Rhaenyra," he announced, "we shall hold a tourney at the Dragonpit seven days hence!"
Cheers filled the hall.
Then he added, "Tomorrow, Prince Daemon will choose his dragon. The Queen and I shall witness his first flight."
At once, Princess Rhaenys frowned. She knew too well which dragon Daemon desired. Rising from her seat, she said quickly, "Grandfather, Daemon must not choose Caraxes. That was my father's dragon. I wish for my son, Laenor, to inherit him."
Lord Corlys nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Your Grace. The spirit of Prince Aemon of Dragonstone would surely wish to see his grandson take his place upon Caraxes."
Caraxes—the Blood Wyrm—was one of the fiercest of the younger dragons, a veteran of war. Years ago, when Dorne had invaded the Stormlands, Prince Aemon had ridden Caraxes alongside King Jaehaerys on Vermithor and Prince Baelon on Vhagar.
Under cover of night, the three dragons descended upon the Dornish fleet, setting the sea ablaze. Hundreds of ships burned like candles upon the waves, and the sea itself boiled beneath dragonfire. That battle, remembered forever as the "Battle of the Hundred Candles," ended with the death of the Dornish prince and countless sailors.
Because of that, Rhaenys and Corlys longed for their son to ride Caraxes—not only for the dragon's strength, but to remind the realm that Laenor carried the pure blood of Prince Aemon's line, and thus, a rightful claim to the Iron Throne.
But the old King saw through their intentions.
"Daemon is of age," Jaehaerys said firmly. "He has the right to choose. Laenor is but three years old—he must wait."
"That's not fair to Laenor," Rhaenys protested.
Queen Alysanne glanced at her husband and sighed softly. "Perhaps Rhaenys has a point, dear."
Jaehaerys hesitated. But before he could speak, Daemon stepped forward.
"We're all family," he said smoothly. "Rhaenys rides my mother's dragon, the Red Queen Meleys. If I ride my uncle Aemon's Caraxes, it will show our family's unity—and silence any rumors of discord."
King Jaehaerys's expression softened. "Very well. Let both Daemon and Laenor attempt to claim Caraxes. Let the dragon choose his rider."
Rhaenys's voice trembled. "Grandfather, Laenor is a child—this is not fair!"
The King's eyes turned cold. "Fair? When your father died, you fled to Driftmark and sulked for years. You returned only to demand a dragon. Is that fair?"
"There are many young dragons in the pit. Let your son choose one of them."
The hall fell silent.
After the feast, Daemon and Gael accompanied the King and Queen to their chambers.
Daemon said quietly, "The dragonlords of Valyria married their kin to preserve the blood of the dragon. We Targaryens have done the same—to keep the gift of riding dragons within our family."
"The Velaryons were once our shipmasters," he continued. "Now, they hold fleets that rival nations, and with Rhaenys's dragons, they'll soon rule the seas and the skies. If this continues, Driftmark will become another Dragonstone."
Queen Alysanne sighed. "Rhaenys is Aemon's daughter—she shares our blood."
Daemon's eyes gleamed. "But her descendants may not. Sea Snake's ambition grows bolder every year. If Red Queen lays eggs, he'll build his own dragonpit soon enough. Too many dragons, grandmother… too many dragonlords. That's how wars begin—a dance of dragons."
Jaehaerys looked at his grandson with quiet admiration. "Daemon, you surprise me again. You speak true. It's why your grandmother and I once gave our daughters to the Faith and sent Vaegon to the Citadel. We feared what too many dragons might bring."
He smiled wearily. "Rhaenys is family, yes—but her children's loyalty may not be. Still, we have greater enemies beyond our walls: Dorne, the pirates of the Stepstones, and the Free Cities. For now, let us hope Sea Snake and Rhaenys stand with us."
Daemon bowed. "As you wish, Grandfather."
That night, as moonlight fell upon Dragonstone, Daemon gazed out the window toward the Dragonpit. Somewhere in the darkness, the Blood Wyrm slept—waiting for its rider.
And Daemon knew, deep in his bones, that Caraxes would choose him.
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