Chapter 54: Dragon Law
The air in the Small Council chamber was thick with tension and candle smoke. King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, the Old King, sat at the head of the long table, silver-bearded and weary but still sharp of mind. Around him gathered the might of the realm—Prince Baelon, the Master of Laws; Prince Viserys; Prince Daemon; Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake; Maester Barth, the King's Hand; the High Septon in white and gold; and a scattering of lesser lords and advisors.
The topic that morning had been routine until Daemon's name was raised.
"Prince Daemon," said Jaehaerys, his tone measured, "you will oversee the lands south of the Blackwater Rush. The outlaws along the borders of the Crownlands and Stormlands have grown bold. You will ride there, root them out, and restore peace."
The Sea Snake's calm expression faltered.
This was not the outcome he had schemed for.
Corlys had intended to use Daemon's "inefficiency" against him—to prove to the king that the Rogue Prince's ambitions outweighed his discipline. But Jaehaerys, in his wisdom—or perhaps his affection—had instead entrusted Daemon with even greater authority.
The Rogue Prince inclined his head, masking a flicker of triumph.
"As you command, Your Grace. I shall lead the Kingsguard and cleanse the Crownlands of scum and thieves."
His words were crisp, his tone deferential—but his violet eyes gleamed like embers.
Daemon's jurisdiction had once been limited to the lower banks of the Blackwater and the King's Road crossing. Now, the king had expanded his reach to include the Kingswood, the Vendel River, and all lands south of the Blackwater. Half of the Crownlands would soon fall under his influence.
The Sea Snake folded his arms, his voice silk hiding steel.
"Your Grace, suppressing bandits is not a task accomplished overnight. If Prince Daemon intends to lead his men into the field, perhaps Prince Viserys might assume temporary command of the City Watch, to ensure the capital's safety."
A subtle strike—meant to divide brothers.
Viserys's expression stiffened. He was no fool; he saw the Sea Snake's trap as clearly as Daemon did.
"Lord Corlys," he said evenly, "the City Watch and the Kingsguard were built by my brother's hand. I have neither the soldiers nor the knowledge to command them."
Daemon's lips curled faintly.
"My lord of Driftmark, I have no shortage of loyal men—only a shortage of gold. If you'd lend the crown a few chests from your fleets' coffers, the bandits will vanish faster than smoke."
Corlys's answering smile was brittle.
"Alas, my ships have suffered dearly in the autumn storms. The Narrow Sea has been unkind."
Daemon leaned forward slightly.
"The storms you speak of come not from the sea, but from the Stepstones. The so-called Triarchy—Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh—tightens its hold there. And you, Lord Corlys, whose fortune flows from trade, will be the first to bleed if they choke the routes between Essos and Westeros."
The Sea Snake arched a brow.
"I am the Master of Ships and Lord of Driftmark. I will not let foreign merchants strangle Westerosi trade. Still, the Triarchy has been friendly of late. Would you have us declare war without cause?"
Daemon's voice hardened.
"I would have us prepared. The alliance of Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys is a tempest gathering strength. Ignore it, and it will sweep us all into the depths."
Maester Barth spoke quietly, his voice wise but cautious.
"Prince Daemon, alliances among the Free Cities seldom endure. Myr and Lys have warred for generations. Betrayal among the Three Daughters is as certain as sunrise. What makes you so sure this one will last?"
Daemon met his gaze evenly.
"I saw it," he said. "In a dream."
The chamber went still.
The Sea Snake gave a sharp, humorless laugh.
"So now the Rogue Prince claims to be Daenys the Dreamer reborn? The prince of whorehouses turned prophet?"
Daemon smiled thinly. "Mock me if you wish, my lord. My dreams will speak for themselves soon enough."
Corlys's smirk deepened. "Or perhaps it is your attendant, young Tom Staunton, who dreams. The sailors whisper that he has the greensight, that he sees the future in mist and fire. Do you mean to steal the boy's visions for your own?"
Daemon's gaze was unreadable. "You give too much credence to tavern gossip."
"Then perhaps," Corlys pressed, "your so-called visions come from your witches—Terra Uller of Witch Isle and Alys Rivers of Harrenhal. Are they the ones whispering your prophecies into your ear, my prince?"
A ripple of unease passed through the chamber. The High Septon frowned, and even King Jaehaerys's brow furrowed.
Daemon laughed softly.
"Rumors, nothing more. Terra and Alys are handmaidens. Tom dreams, it's true, but my visions are my own."
Corlys's eyes glinted. "Then tell us, O Dreamer Prince—what do your dreams reveal?"
Daemon tilted his head thoughtfully. "I dreamed I would win the tourney held for His Majesty's fiftieth year upon the throne."
The room broke into laughter.
Ser Ryam Redwyne, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and champion of a dozen tourneys, roared with amusement.
"As long as I ride in the lists, boy, your dream is doomed!"
Daemon's smirk remained. "Then perhaps the gods wish to see which of us they favor."
Maester Barth shook his head, smiling faintly.
"Winning a tourney is no prophecy, Prince Daemon."
Daemon's eyes narrowed. "Then hear another. I dreamed of a Bronze Fury, its right wing shattered in the wind."
Jaehaerys's head lifted slightly.
"My dragon is Vermithor—the Bronze Fury. What do you mean by this, Daemon?"
Daemon's voice dropped, solemn and cold.
"Dreams speak in symbols. I believe the Bronze Fury represents the crown itself—and the broken right wing, the Hand that steadies it. Forgive me, Your Grace, but the dream foretells the passing of Maester Barth."
Gasps filled the chamber. Queen Alysanne laughed nervously.
"Nonsense! Barth is strong as an oak. He'll outlive us all."
Barth merely smiled. "If the gods call me, I'll go willingly. I've lived a good life."
Corlys's smirk returned. "And what of me, Prince Daemon? Did your dragons whisper my fate as well?"
Daemon's reply was cold as dragonsteel.
"I dreamed of a serpent swimming through storm-tossed seas, its children devoured by the depths. The Sea Snake died alone."
The room fell silent. Corlys's face darkened.
"You dare curse me before the king?"
"Not a curse," Daemon said softly. "A warning."
King Jaehaerys raised a hand for silence. "Enough of dreams. We have real matters to discuss."
The old king's gaze moved to his son.
"Prince Baelon, present the law you and Daemon have drafted."
Baelon, the Spring Prince, rose. "It is called the Dragon Law. From this day forth, all dragons and dragon eggs, living or unborn, belong to House Targaryen. No lord, knight, or commoner may claim, trade, or hatch a dragon without royal consent. Such acts shall be deemed treason, punishable by death."
A stunned hush filled the room. Even the High Septon paled.
"My lords," he stammered, "such a decree will spread fear across the realm! The Faithful will see this as arrogance, as blasphemy against the Seven!"
Daemon's tone was calm, but his words were iron.
"Then let them remember what blasphemy burns like. The great lords have gathered for the Jubilee. If they doubt the Targaryen right to rule, let Caraxes, Vhagar, and Dreamfyre remind them."
In truth, he had planned this perfectly—timed for when the High Septon and Lord Hightower were far from the Starry Sept, unable to rally resistance.
Corlys spoke again, his voice tight.
"My wife, Princess Rhaenys, rides Meleys, the Red Queen. Does this law forbid her as well?"
Daemon's smile was sharp. "Rhaenys is Targaryen by birth. She is no thief of dragons. But her children—Laena and Laenor—are Velaryons. Unless you mean to change their name to Targaryen, the law is clear."
Corlys bristled. "This is an affront to women and to my house!"
Queen Alysanne interjected, her eyes narrowing.
"Daemon, are Targaryen daughters to be denied their right to ride dragons as well?"
Daemon inclined his head respectfully. "Never, Grandmother. The law ensures only that dragons remain bound to Targaryen blood. Nothing more."
He paused, letting his voice drop to a haunting whisper.
"For I dreamed of a darker age to come—of black dragons and green dragons locked in war. Of Oldtown and Lannisport burning, of Winterfell, Storm's End, and the Eyrie drowned in dragonfire. Of Westeros itself turned to ash. If we are not vigilant, our doom will come not from without—but from within."
A cold silence followed. Even the Sea Snake said nothing this time.
Queen Alysanne shuddered faintly. "Perhaps you are right, Daemon. We must keep the blood pure—and the dragons close."
Jaehaerys's voice was final. "Then let it be written. The Dragon Law is passed."
One by one, the council nodded—some out of fear, others out of awe.
When the meeting ended, Daemon lingered at the window, watching the sun glint off the sea. Behind him, Corlys Velaryon stormed from the room, his silken sleeves trembling.
Daemon smiled to himself.
The Sea Snake has lost this battle. But soon… he'll learn to swim in deeper waters.
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