Chapter 64 — Two Sons and the Young Dragon: The Rise of Blackwater City
Outside the Queen's chamber in Maegor's Holdfast, the air was thick with the stench of blood and poppy milk. Within, Aemma Arryn lay pale as parchment. Without, two great lords — Ser Otto Hightower, Hand-designate of Oldtown, and Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake — circled Prince Viserys Targaryen like carrion hawks around a dying stag.
Otto stroked his thick beard, his voice slow and heavy.
> "Prince Viserys, forgive my frankness — but the miscarriage of your wife bears a dark resemblance to those that befell Queen Alys Harroway and Queen Jeyne Westerling in Maegor's day. Have you considered that witchcraft may again walk the halls of the Red Keep?"
Corlys added grimly,
> "The women about your brother — the River witch Alys Rivers and the Dornish enchantress Terra Uller — are spoken of as Maegor's Tyanna reborn. You would be wise to guard against them."
The two men had become unlikely allies — bound not by friendship, but by a common foe. Prince Daemon Targaryen now commanded the City Watch, the garrison of the south bank, and the loyalty of half the smallfolk along the Blackwater Rush. To Otto and Corlys, such influence was dangerous; to Viserys, it was merely his brother's nature.
But not even grief could dull his temper. His nostrils flared.
> "My brother Daemon is of my blood. He would never raise hand or spell against me. Those women are his companions, nothing more."
Corlys's lips tightened.
> "You are blinded by love, my prince. Your wife lies dying, and yet you defend the very witches whose presence darkens your House. Alys Rivers's milk never dries, they say — unnatural for a mortal woman. And Terra Uller hails from Witch Isle, where my ships vanish without a trace. If that is not witchcraft, what is?"
Otto's tone softened, though his eyes gleamed cold.
> "I would never accuse Prince Daemon of malice. But even he might be ensnared by sorcery. Maegor's own queen was cursed by Tyanna of the Tower — her womb barren, her children born twisted and dead."
Viserys turned away.
> "Enough. I will consider your counsel."
He left them standing in the corridor and stepped inside — where Daemon waited silently by the fire.
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Brothers and Shadows
Daemon's gaze went to Aemma, sleeping under the maester's care.
> "Archmaester Yalar gave her poppy milk. She will rest now," he murmured. "Perhaps my women — Alys Rivers and Terra Uller — could tend her. They have skill in healing and childbirth."
Viserys clasped his brother's arm.
> "Corlys and Otto just accused them of killing my child, like Tyanna did to Maegor's wives. I would have laughed, if I were not so weary."
Daemon's expression darkened.
> "So that is how far their poison spreads. They wish us divided, for united we make House Targaryen strong. Yet it may not be mere slander. There are a dozen attendants in this castle — any one of them could have slipped poison into Aemma's cup. A convenient death can ruin more than an enemy's heart; it can ruin his name."
Viserys shook his head.
> "You see plots everywhere. I am too tired for such games. Women miscarry — even queens. Let this day be free of suspicion."
Daemon did not answer. Through the window, he could see Corlys and Otto still whispering beyond the torchlight. Their shadows bent long across the courtyard like two serpents twining together.
Perhaps, he thought, Maegor had not been so wrong after all.
---
The Birth of Fire
When Daemon returned to his own chambers, Princess Gael Targaryen was resting with their infant son, Aegon, sleeping beside her cradle. The dragon egg placed by King Jaehaerys gleamed black as obsidian, warm to the touch.
Daemon brushed his fingers over it — and felt the pulse of heat within.
> "It burns like the heart of a forge," he murmured. "How long until it hatches?"
Alys Rivers, standing nearby in shadow, answered softly,
> "Not long, my prince. I feel the fire stirring. Blood calls to blood."
Seven days later, her prophecy came true.
Under the gaze of Daemon and Gael, the egg cracked open with a hiss. A hatchling emerged — no larger than a cat, scales black as night, claws golden, eyes like molten amethyst.
The smallfolk whispered that a dragon had been born in the cradle, the first since the Conqueror's age.
King Jaehaerys himself came to see it, leaning upon his cane as the infant dragon hissed at him.
> "Black as Balerion," he said softly. "The old dread lives again."
Queen Alysanne laughed through her tears.
> "This one spits fire as Silverwing once did. Gods bless him."
Viserys watched silently — torn between joy and grief. His own son lay unbirthed, his wife broken. Daemon's boy thrived, crowned with flame.
Daemon placed his hand on his brother's shoulder.
> "He will need a name, this dragon."
Viserys forced a smile.
> "Then call it Black Dread — in memory of the beast that carried our forefathers to glory."
Daemon nodded. "So it shall be."
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Dreams and Shadows
That night, as Aemma lay weak and pale, Viserys sat by her bedside.
> "Daemon's child has his dragon now," he said quietly. "We will have our own soon."
Aemma frowned.
> "Archmaester Yalar warned that my body needs rest. I have lost too much blood."
Viserys's eyes shone with feverish light.
> "I dreamed of him, Aemma. Our son — silver-haired, violet-eyed, crowned in gold. He will rule the world of men. The khalasars will kneel, the traders of Qarth will call him god, and even dragons will wake at his command."
She looked away.
> "Dreams are kind, my love — but cruel when they lie."
---
The Rise of Blackwater City
In the moons that followed, Daemon's ambitions took root along the southern bank of the Blackwater Rush.
He summoned craftsmen from across the Narrow Sea — shipwrights from Braavos, glassmakers from Myr, dyers from Tyrosh, and weavers from Lys. Many were slaves who found freedom beneath his banner.
He paid them in silver and land, and under their skilled hands rose a new city — Blackwater City, stone by stone, tower by tower.
Its streets were cobbled, its wells deep, its fountains clear. The sewers ran beneath in neat tunnels — a marvel unknown even in Oldtown. Daemon decreed that every home should plant fruit trees: cherry, pear, apple, and plum.
> "A city must feed its own," he said. "Even dragons cannot eat gold."
He established a seed hall to store the best grains, and used dragon manure from the Dragonpit to enrich the fields — a secret that doubled the harvest within a year.
At the center of it all rose Flame Castle, Daemon's seat — half keep, half forge, where blacksmiths worked day and night forging weapons marked by the sigil of a red three-headed dragon wreathed in black smoke.
His subjects were recorded in the Dragon Rolls, bound to him as freemen and laborers of the prince. His city guards — the Blackwater Watch — wore crimson cloaks in echo of the gold cloaks Daemon once led.
Soon, thirty thousand souls called the city home.
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The Prince's Fleet
From the shipyards below Flame Castle, ten great oared warships were launched — gifts from Braavos and Qohor. Daemon hired Ironborn and Sistermen sailors, ruthless but loyal when paid in gold and blood.
His fleet patrolled from the Mouth of the Blackwater to Dragonstone, protecting merchant ships and seizing pirates who dared the bay.
Blackwater's banners now flew proudly beside those of House Targaryen — and the realm whispered that a new royal power had risen beside King's Landing.
---
The Bloodline Grows
By the turn of the year, both Gael and Aemma were again with child.
In Dragonmount's shadow, Alys Rivers bore a bastard son, Hal Blackwater, and soon after Terra Uller gave birth to another, Wally Blackwater.
Daemon entrusted both to Septon Eustace of Blackwater Sept, raising them as his sworn kin.
Later that winter, Gael bore Daemon a second trueborn son — Jaehaerys Targaryen. The King himself blessed the child, placing a light-blue dragon egg in his cradle.
Ten days later, the shell broke, and a dragon with pale azure scales emerged.
Daemon named it Blue Sprite, twin to Aegon's black hatchling.
---
Viserys's Envy
But Viserys's joy had long since curdled. His own wife miscarried again, her tears soaking the sheets.
That night, he whispered to her,
> "Why do the gods grant Daemon sons while ours perish? I dreamt of our boy, Aemma. He was meant to rule."
She turned her face to the wall.
> "Perhaps it is no dream but a curse. The whispers say Alys Rivers and Terra Uller meddle with witchcraft. Witch Isle is real, my love — I've seen its shadow from the Eyrie."
Viserys said nothing. Outside, thunder rolled over the bay, and the newborn dragons of Daemon Targaryen cried out from their cradles — small, shrill, and fierce, echoing the roar of destiny itself.
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