Chapter 53: The Sea Snake's Provocation
The clang of steel echoed across the Red Keep's training yard.
Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City, swung Dark Sister in a brilliant arc, its Valyrian steel edge shimmering under the sun. Across from him, Ser Gareth Crakehall, called the Wild Boar, grunted as he parried with a greatsword that was more brute than beauty.
Crakehall was massive, his strength the stuff of songs in the Westerlands—but Daemon was something else entirely. His movements flowed like water and struck like fire. His blows were too fast, too precise, his footing too light for a man in armor. When Dark Sister met the greatsword, sparks danced and steel sang.
Daemon pivoted, letting Crakehall's strength carry him off balance. With a dancer's grace, he vaulted high, Dark Sister coming down in a brutal overhead slash. Crakehall barely blocked in time, the impact driving him to one knee. Daemon's boot struck the knight's chest a heartbeat later, sending the Wild Boar sprawling to the dirt.
Gasps and applause erupted from the gathered spectators. It was the seventh renowned knight Daemon had bested that week—after Ser Stevron Tarly of Horn Hill, Ser Donovan Tully of Riverrun, Ser Hugo Connington of Griffin's Roost, Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone, Ser Jon Manderly of White Harbor, and Ser Ronald Vance of Wayfarer's Rest. None had lasted long against him.
Daemon sheathed Dark Sister with a faint smile. His violet eyes flicked toward the small crowd gathered near the yard's edge—young nobles, squires, and courtiers. Among them stood Alicent Hightower, not yet fifteen, her auburn hair catching the sunlight like autumn fire. She clasped her hands before her, eyes bright with admiration.
"You are truly a prince out of legend," she whispered.
Daemon inclined his head, his smirk subtle. Alicent Hightower… a dangerous flower yet to bloom. In another life, she would poison all of ours.
Nearby, the Lannister twins, Jason and Tylan, both golden-haired and green-eyed, argued playfully.
"Prince Daemon fights like a god of war!" said Tylan, his voice full of youthful awe.
Jason snorted. "He's good, but not that good."
Daemon's gaze lingered on the twins—heirs of Casterly Rock, lions in cub form. Jason carried the arrogance of a born heir, while Tylan, as the younger, watched and learned with cunning patience. Daemon noted both carefully.
Then came Matthew Tyrell, heir to Highgarden, his cheeks flushed with excitement.
"Prince Daemon, will you teach me swordsmanship?"
Daemon drew Dark Sister an inch from her scabbard, letting the Valyrian steel glint ominously. "I already have one squire, Tom Staunton. He polishes my armor and tends my sword. What have you done for me, young rose?"
Matthew thought for a moment. "If it pleases you, my prince, I can serve as your squire as well."
Tylan Lannister quickly interjected, "I would serve you better, my prince. I learn quickly."
Jason rolled his eyes. "Bah. If Prince Daemon lets me ride Caraxes, I'll be his squire. I'll feed the dragon myself!"
Their father, Lord Tymond Lannister, frowned. "Jason, enough foolishness. Feeding a dragon is perilous, and Prince Daemon would not risk a lord's heir. Your brother may serve him, but you will not."
Daemon's lips curved faintly. How useful these lions could become, if trained early enough.
He turned to both boys and the Reach heir. "Very well. Tylan Lannister and young Matthew Tyrell—both of you shall serve as my squires. Learn well, and one day you'll command men of your own."
Lord Mace Tyrell, standing nearby, bowed deeply. "Prince Daemon, I thank you. With your guidance, my son will become a knight to be proud of. Perhaps one day, a Kingsguard."
Daemon smiled thinly. "The roses of Highgarden always bloom bright in King's Landing."
Watching from a short distance stood Rhea Royce, heir to Runestone, clad in bronze plate. Her sharp eyes were full of disdain.
"You only impress children, Daemon," she said coolly. "When the tourney comes, can you defeat real knights—Redwyne, Westerling, Crabb?"
Daemon arched an eyebrow. "If I wished, I'd claim the champion's crown in every tourney from here to Sunspear. But alas, you'll never know—women aren't allowed to compete."
Rhea smirked. "Be thankful for that, or I'd bruise that princely ego of yours."
Daemon chuckled darkly. "You've spirit, Bronze Bitch. I almost admire that."
As the crowd dispersed, Daemon remained with his new squires, instructing them personally in the proper care of armor and steeds. Overhead, Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, coiled lazily upon the ramparts, watching all with molten eyes.
From the same wall, two men observed: Prince Viserys Targaryen and Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake.
"Daemon wins hearts easily," Viserys said with a fond smile. "Even the children adore him."
The Sea Snake's expression was cold. "You are far too trusting, my prince. Daemon surrounds himself with second sons and sellswords. The Kingsguard bends to his will, and his domain along the Blackwater swells with refugees who call him lord more than prince. Do you not see the danger?"
Viserys blinked. "Danger? He is my brother—my blood. We both serve Grandfather Jaehaerys. What danger could there be?"
Corlys folded his arms. "History remembers such faith as folly. Aegon the Conqueror and Aenys both ruled with dragons. When Aenys died, his son Aegon was rightful heir—but Maegor, astride Balerion, took the throne by force. You, Viserys, are dragonless. Daemon is not."
Viserys frowned. "Daemon is no Maegor. He is the pride of our House."
The Sea Snake's gaze turned to the crimson wyrm upon the wall. "Pride has burned more kings than dragons ever did."
Viserys left, shaking his head. Corlys watched him go and muttered, "Foolish boy. You'll rue your blindness."
Unbeknownst to them, Caraxes had heard every word. Through the link of fire and blood, Daemon heard them too. His eyes narrowed, thoughts turning like sharpened gears.
So the Sea Snake seeks to sow distrust between brothers. Let him try.
He would remember this insult.
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That night, the Small Council convened in the Red Keep.
King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, the Old King himself, presided over the meeting beside Queen Alysanne, radiant despite her years.
Present were Prince Baelon, Prince Viserys, Daemon, Lord Corlys Velaryon, Lord Lyonel Strong, Archmaester Yalar, and the High Septon from Oldtown—an elderly man in white and gold robes, his voice soft as prayer.
"The Great Sept upon Visenya's Hill nears completion," the Septon said piously. "It will stand as your greatest offering to the Seven, Your Grace."
Jaehaerys smiled faintly. "And how was your voyage?"
"Smooth," said the Septon. "The Triarchy holds the Stepstones now—no pirates, only customs dues. A blessing, perhaps."
The Sea Snake nodded approvingly. "Their rule brings stability. Perhaps even partnership."
Daemon's voice was calm, but his words cut like steel. "Partnership? The Triarchy will strangle our trade routes soon enough. Three daughters of Valyria they may be, but they are as venomous as the Free Cities' serpents. The day will come when they bleed us dry of gold and salt."
Queen Alysanne chuckled softly. "Perhaps we should invite them to conquer Dorne while they're at it."
The room laughed lightly, save for Daemon.
King Jaehaerys raised his hand. "We shall discuss the Stepstones after the tourney. For now, I would hear of the banditry near the Blackwater."
Prince Baelon spoke. "Lord Baratheon of Storm's End complains of raids along the King's Road. The Kingswood and the isles of the Wendwater are thick with outlaws."
The Sea Snake's lips curved in amusement. "Strange that our mighty Prince of the City, famed slayer of pirates and wildlings, cannot handle mere bandits."
Daemon met his gaze without blinking. "The Kingsguard maintains order in King's Landing, not in the woods. But if His Grace grants me leave, I'll scour the Kingswood clean. Flies are easy to swat, once the feast is done."
Jaehaerys nodded. "So be it. Prince Daemon shall have full command south of the Blackwater. End this chaos before it grows."
Daemon bowed slightly. "As you command, Your Grace."
But in his heart, he was already smiling.
Let the Sea Snake provoke me. Soon enough, he'll learn that dragons do not swat at flies—they burn nests.
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