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🕑 Added 2025-06-11 14:40:54 +0000 UTCChapter 36: The Great Council of 101 AC - II
Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.
Moons later
The Rogue Prince
Daemon Targaryen cursed his bad luck as he shivered in the freezing cold, pressing himself as close as possible to the hot, scarred scales of Caraxes as they flew above the dreary North.
The snowbound lands possessed a certain haunting beauty—different from the Vale—but the cold was intolerable to him.
“The things I do to get my annulment... and for you, my king,” Daemon muttered harshly thinking about his grandfather.
His journey to the North had two purposes, both thanks to the idiotic Great Council. The clever fool, Maester Vaegon, had suggested to his father, the King, that they form a council to choose the next heir. That damned fool had said that even in Valyria, the Freehold faced fewer problems thanks to the Council of Forty, which voted on important matters—so the same should be done here.
Daemon had violently opposed the idea of granting foolish nobles any say over the blood of the dragon. But the Old King valued Vaegon’s words more—perhaps even enjoyed humiliating his ‘good son’ more than any harm by allowing a Great Council and the precedent it will create.
Daemon still remembered the private meeting with his Grandfather.
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“Your Grace,” Daemon said, bowing his head slightly in a token gesture of courtesy as he greeted the King. That was as much he could get away with—and he’d already decided he would never follow such traditions when Viserys became king.
The old king stared at him harshly for a moment, then his gaze relaxed.
“Daemon, I hear you’re flying to Winterfell to convince them to vote for Viserys.”
Daemon’s eyes widened slightly. It was supposed to be a secret. He never dared ask how the king knew—but answered calmly.
“Yes, Your Grace. I am indeed going to Winterfell. I need to convince Aunt Viserra not to press her or her children’s claim—it would only further divide the votes meant for Viserys.”
“Clearly you know nothing of the Starks if you think that is all you need to do in Winterfell.” The King mocked.
Daemon grited his teeth. He hated being mocked more than anything—but he had to keep his composure before the King, especially now.
“Anyway, I don’t care about that,” the king continued. “I have another errand for you in Winterfell. This is a letter for Lord Stark—one you will deliver personally. It carries the order of his king.”
Daemon frowned, curious. “And what is the order, if I may ask?”
“The order is that Daemon Snow is still officially exiled from ever stepping into the south of the Neck, and no one from the North is to raise his claim in the Great Council. Anyone who dares to do so will be considered a traitor to the Iron Throne.” The Old King said.
Daemon’s eyes widened in surprise before he scoffed in derision.
"What? You think Cregan Stark will come and raise his bastard cousin’s non-existent claim while his own wife and children have more chance of being chosen? I will, of course, follow your command, my king, but I don’t see the relevancy of it."
The Old King just smirked.
"See that you follow my commands and deliver it."
Daemon bowed and walked away, knowing he was dismissed.
Daemon had the letter secured, and he would follow the simple command when he reaches Winterfell. He remembered the other meeting he had with his brother long before the meeting with the King.
"Daemon, be serious for once in your life," Viserys snapped at his mocking laughter.
"Don’t worry, brother dearest. Clearly, you will win the council and be the heir to the Iron Throne. The only support Corlys has is the damn Baratheons, and you have the Vale to compensate," Daemon finished with a frown. "The men of the Reach will never vote for a woman over men, and the Riverlands will follow both of you making it an non-entity in final decision making."
Viserys just sighed. "Be that as it may, we don’t want to take the chance. You must fly north and convince Aunt Viserra not to support Rhaenys. She was always close to Rhaenys, with all their giggling and secret meetings."
Daemon just scowled at the thought of such a long journey.
"So, brother, what about Viserra’s and her own children’s claim?" Daemon asked. "Don’t you think our vain aunt will be more likely to do that than support Rhaenys? No one is that ambitionless."
Daemon’s eyes widened as he registered Viserys’ surprise at the thought, making Daemon realise his foolish brother hadn’t even considered it.
"But," Viserys said with hesitation, "Cregan Stark had no interest in the South ever since he became Lord, and Starks usually have no interest in the Court. Why would they make this claim now?"
"Brother dearest, this is the Iron Throne we are talking about. It attracts even the greatest priests. Anyway, I’m not wasting my time and comfort on something that’s going to be entirely unnecessary. I can save both by being in the South, charming or threatening the fence-sitters as needed."
Viserys gaped at the audacity of his younger brother, which Daemon received with a smirk.
"Enough, Daemon," Viserys said with a sternness he tried to copy from their father. "Brother, we can’t leave things to chance. I need you to do this for me, so that I can be king, as desired by our grandfather and even our father. I need to be king to take better care of you, Aegon, and even my sweet Rhaenyra. Do this, and you will have my eternal gratitude—more than what you’ve earned from me till now, brother."
Daemon’s eyes gleamed as his thoughts immediately turned to an annulment from the Bronze Bitch. A reward like that would be perfect for him and the perfect way for Viserys to show his gratitude.
"I understand, brother. I’ll do the needful. Anything to get away from the Bronze Bitch," Daemon said with a grin.
Even Viserys grinned and only tried to chastise him half-heartedly for insulting one’s lawful lady wife.
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Winterfell
Daemon Targaryen was enraged beyond measure as he snarled and jumped to his feet again from the muddy training yard. The Stark men cheered for their Lord, Cregan Stark, and Daemon gritted his teeth in pure frustration. To his dismay, he even heard some men cheering for him, not out of respect, but because he bore the name of their gods-blessed Daemon Snow. Daemon really wished he could just bash the idiot’s face in when he heard, of course the prince is talented, how could he not when he is named Daemon. It really got on his nerves that the respect he deserved alone was being projected to his bastard cousin just because he is named Daemon.
Daemon drew harsh breaths, his hand tightening around Dark Sister’s hilt as he dropped into a guarded stance. He swallowed his anger at the approving nod Cregan gave, just before the older man raised Ice into an attacking position.
Intellectually, Daemon knew he had nothing to be ashamed of. The grudging respect the warriors had for him now was proof enough. He had held his own against a man seven years his senior, a man with experience from two wars—while Daemon himself had only fought in training matches and against a few scattered bandits.
But ever since his father explained the advantages of Valyrian steel and made him bond with Dark Sister, he had been in an entirely different level. His already considerable skill had increased drastically, and he had been unbeaten in the yard when he had Dark Sister in his hand—until Winterfell.
Daemon’s pride wouldn’t allow him to admit defeat. Clearly, the Starks retained the supposedly lost secret, he thought bitterly, as he parried the greatsword Ice.
No one without the bond could wield that sword so fluidly and casually, Daemon thought, watching as Cregan attacked with relentless precision.
Grudgingly, he had to admit: Cregan wasn’t just good—he was one of the best swordsmen Daemon had ever seen. The sheer speed and strength is something that Daemon has only seen in select few before.
For a moment, Daemon lost focus, distracted by a chilling thought—if the so-called ‘Red Death’ was even better with a blade than this “discount version,” what kind of monster would he be?
That lapse cost him. The smoky tip of Ice stopped just short of his throat. Daemon glared, then sighed, before muttering:
“I yield.”
The tension in his coiled muscles relaxed slightly as he stepped off the field. He made his way to the man who held the sheath of Dark Sister—an older warrior who had openly scoffed at being tasked with carrying it. But now, the man looked at him with respect. And slight fear.
Good, Daemon thought with satisfaction. The sheep has learned I’m not some pompous fool. I’m one of the best with a blade in hand.
Even so, a sliver of unease crept into his mind. How much of it is the blade? How much is truly my skill? he wondered morbidly.
Daemon sheathed Dark Sister and secured it to his waist. He sighed tiredly as he spotted the mocking grin of his aunt, Viserra, approaching with Cregan beside her.
They stopped before him, and a soft laugh escaped her lips.
“I told you, nephew, my husband is the best. You should practice again while you still have the chance,” Viserra said. Daemon blinked, caught off-guard by the sincerity in her voice. There was teasing, yes, but the kind that came from family—not contempt.
“Aye,” Daemon said with a small nod. “You are correct in this, dear aunt. It seems I must hone my skills against true Valyrian steel-wielding warriors after all.” He said it pointedly, eyes locked on Cregan, searching for any sign that he’d speak of the secret they both shared.
“Prince Daemon,” Cregan said, stepping forward. “Come with us to the private dining room. Let us finalize the discussion you came here for. Perhaps the spar has calmed your youthful temper enough.”
Daemon frowned, but said nothing. He merely nodded.
==============================================
Daemon ate in silence, making occasional small talk with his aunt and her husband. The thought that was bothering him was the food and drinks. It was delicious, but that was not the matter. For some reason, Daemon could feel the energy filling him and the tiredness vanishing. For the life of him he couldn’t see what made it possible to have such effect.
Then Viserra spoke, her tone light but probing. “So, nephew—you’ve come to convince us to vote for Viserys and as the king’s messenger as he ordered. A very... interesting order, isn’t it, husband of mine?”
“That it is,” Cregan muttered, frowning.
Daemon shrugged. “It is the king’s will. I didn’t even see the need for that order, not when I’m more concerned about your claim, Aunt. You must support Viserys, and not dilute the votes further.”
Viserra smirked. “Dearest nephew, it seems you still have much to learn. My father was wise to issue that order. If Daemon Snow wants to win, he could. Easily. This farce of a Great Council wouldn’t stop him.”
Daemon’s face twisted at the mention of the name Daemon, and he was sure neither of the Starks missed it.
“Oh?” Viserra continued. “Still not fond of your name, are you?” Both Starks chuckled softly. “You’re still that little boy who threw the legendary temper tantrum of 90 AC somewhere inside, nephew,” Viserra said warmly.
Anger overtook Daemon, making him hit the table hardly with his hand and he snapped while still looking at the table. “Enough. I will not be mocked. I am Daemon Targaryen, rider of Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, and a trueborn prince of the blood. That bastard should be grateful he shares my name—a name I was given in honor of Uncle Aemon, not his bastard son.”
He turned to glare at them both.
“And you think Daemon Snow has any chance of winning the Great Council? I thought you were clever. And you—Aunt—I believed you ambitious enough to claim the title of queen, as you have even tried to seduce my father for it, when he was mourning my mother, your own elder sister.”
Viserra just scoffed. “And here I thought you were clever enough to see through the delusions of my dear mother. Please tell me Daemon how in the gods name would I be queen when Aemon was alive with Rhaenys as his heiress when I tried that foolishness to escape the fat Manderly.”
Even before Daemon could form his reply, Cregan interrupted.
“Boy, we’re having this conversation in Winterfell because of Daemon Snow. Your father came to me, begging for a way to save your younger brother. He offered anything. In return, I asked for a royal marriage.”
He leaned forward.
“Don’t think Daemon won’t do it again. He’ll bargain with other lords too. Everyone will beg for his healing, and he can prove it, right in front of them.”
Daemon was struck silent. He hadn’t considered that.
Viserra said, voice gentler now. “And you have nothing to worry about, nephew. And I mean nothing. As long as my father, King Jaehaerys, lives—Corlys Velaryon will never come near the Iron Throne. He won’t win, even if he bribes or charms every other lord. He’ll lose, because the Council is rigged from the start. The king’s will shall prevail.”
She grinned mischievously.
“If it weren’t, I might have tried to convince my husband to vote for Rhaenys—just to needle Father. Also, if the king could meddle in the result, then Daemon could easily infiltrate and change the name to his own from Prince Viserys, if Daemon’s claim is raised. The king is clever enough to not even give a chance for that.”
Daemon was silent as he processed the matter.
“You believe my brother’s victory is secured. That this is all just a show to embarrass the king’s son-in-law. And you truly think that my bastard cousin can convince the Faith-loving Andals of the virtues of magic?” Daemon scoffed.
Cregan just smiled. “Everyone has a price, nephew. Even you. If Daemon came to you offering to save your father in exchange for Dark Sister... would you covet the blade—or your father?”
Daemon’s eyes widened with realization.
“Exactly,” Cregan said quietly. “My brother is exceptional at getting what he wants by manipulation.”
Daemon said nothing.
Then, with his Stark mask firmly in place, Cregan stood.
“Prince Daemon, here is the North’s answer. The North bows to House Stark, and House Stark answers to King Jaehaerys Targaryen. We will continue to bow to him and to his chosen heir, whoever it may be. The North will abstain from wasting coin and time by coming to Harrenhal—since the candidate we favor is not even permitted to raise his name.”
Daemon could see that even Viserra looked surprised by how rebellious that sounded.
Daemon stared at them, wary. “The king has summoned every lord to Harrenhal to make their claim and vote for his heir. You’re the Lord Paramount of the North—and you’re ignoring the summons? There is pride, and then there is foolishness.”
Cregan didn’t flinch. “You need not worry, my prince. I’ll send one of my bannermen as representative to present these terms to His Grace. He is pragmatic enough that he will understand—the North is full of summer snows, and the roads are perilous, after all.”
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Daemon Targaryen groaned in frustration as he walked through the trees near where Caraxes was roosting. He needed a flight to clear his head after the meeting with the Starks.
"I can’t believe Viserys actually buried her ambition and chose to follow Cregan’s lead," Daemon muttered.
His thoughts were interrupted by a melodic sound of singing, coming from where he could sense Caraxes. He was already annoyed that he would likely have to explain the death of some foolish nobody at Caraxes' hands. But to his surprise, through the bond, he could only feel peace and melancholy instead of anger and agitation.
Now more curious than ever, he quickened his pace and stepped into the clearing. A figure was standing beside Caraxes, singing and gently scratching the dragon’s scales. The figure was clearly female, with wide hips and waist-length hair.
“Enough,” Daemon snapped. “Do you have a death wish, lady—whoever you are? It's just luck that Caraxes is in a good mood and didn’t kill you on sight.”
The girl turned around, stopping her singing, and Daemon’s anger gave way to curiosity. She had the inhuman beauty often attributed to Valyrian blood, but he frowned upon seeing the absence of the traditional Valyrian features.
So, this is the vaunted Lady Lyanna Mormont, Daemon thought, his gaze lingering on the bear-shaped pommel of the sword at her waist.
His irritation returned when he saw the disgust on Lyanna’s face.
“Not the Daemon I wanted to see,” Lyanna retorted. “And your bond with Caraxes clearly isn’t efficient if you couldn’t feel how calm he was the entire time.”
Daemon frowned, and Lyanna’s eyes widened slightly in realisation.
“Ah, you were just bluffing—to scare me, not knowing Caraxes wouldn’t attack me on his own. I’m glad that at least the sorrow of losing Grandfather Aemon helped you two bond and soothe both of your grief.”
Daemon stayed silent as buried feelings about Aemon surfaced for a moment.
“Whatever,” he said with a shrug. “Now leave. I need my flight, and I have better things to do than entertain a foolish girl who doesn’t recognise danger.” He gripped the hilt of Dark Sister tightly.
Lyanna scoffed and glanced around. “I don’t see any danger, Prince Daemon. I saw my uncle Cregan hand you your defeat—and I could beat him now if I wanted to. Only your namesake could stand a chance against me now.”
Daemon’s hand became whiter by the force he was holding Dark sister with.
“Listen closely, you bear bitch.” Daemon snapped. “I’m not named after some bastard Snow. I’m named after my uncle Aemon, by my royal father, who loved him dearly. Caraxes may not attack you on his own, but he’ll obey my command. Now apologize and crawl back to Winterfell or whatever cave you call home.”
Daemon's anger only grew as Lyanna smirked and then burst into outright mocking laughter.
“I can’t believe Uncle Cregan’s stories of your tantrums in 90 AC were true. You really do hate that you’re named after my father. You’re still a tantrum-throwing ten-year-old too arrogant to recognize danger. Look to your left, Prince Daemon. If you dare say 'dracarys,' you’ll be dead before you can finish the word.” Lyanna said after stifling the laughter.
Daemon scoffed and looked left between the trees—then his breath caught in his throat.
Standing between the trees was a direwolf. He had thought the white one that followed Prince Rickon was the largest, nearly horse-sized with a commanding presence. But the black one before him was something else entirely. It was twice the size of a fully grown horse, and Daemon’s head barely reached halfway up its leg. Yet it wasn’t the size that terrified him—it was the intelligence and power in its green eyes, akin to a dragon’s aura.
“Monster,” he whispered. His panic eased only when Caraxes growled and projected protectiveness through their bond.
Daemon swallowed his fear and forced a scoff. After all, he had an image to maintain.
“And what’s your point? You stand near Caraxes. Whatever that wolf’s size, its fur will burn—and so will you.”
Lyanna grinned smugly. “You’re wrong, Prince Daemon. Fenrir’s fur doesn’t burn fast enough to die by dragonfire. My father trained his familiar to resist heat and flame. But that doesn’t matter, because you’d be dead before any of that could happen. And I’m fast enough to dodge the first strike of Caraxes while my familiar defends me.”
Daemon glanced around again and spotted a large cave bear lounging on Caraxes’ other side. It became clear that Lyanna hadn’t approached the volatile blood wyrm without a plan. She had two monsters flanking Caraxes to cover her escape—or possibly even to attack, if she is mad enough—if the dragon lashed out after being bonded to a new rider.
“You’re unburnt,” Daemon said with certainty. “You know dragons attack with fire almost all the time. You’re betting on your resistance, and your beasts distracting him while you escape.”
“So, there is a clever mind in there somewhere. That contingency did cross my mind when I approached Caraxes to reminisce our lost one, but I was confident it wouldn’t come to that. I have a way with all beasts—even dragons.” Lyanna said with clear pride in her talent.
Daemon let that pass. “You may not have inherited our colourings, but you certainly have our pride and arrogance,” he said dryly.
It did feel good to have a war of words with someone who is truly unafraid of him. There was no one truly equal to him back home who could keep up with him or the select few who could are afraid of him. Viserys don’t consider him equal, due to being the elder brother, same with the king and queen and Aegon feared him due to lack of skill and a dragon. Everyone else was worthless and not deserving his time or words.
“I’m surprised you can compliment anyone, Prince Daemon,” Lyanna said, the emphasis on Daemon was not lost on him. Daemon ignored her tone for now as it seems to be pointless to argue further.
“What frustrated you enough to take a flight? I thought Uncle Cregan was past his needling nieces and nephews’ stage.” Lyanna asked.
“I came to get the North’s support for Viserys. But it’s a lost cause. Cregan said that the North will abstain because the King forbade raising your bastard father’s name even as a claimant at the council.” Daemon tried to mimic the same tone lyanna used for saying Daemon, when he said bastard.
Lyanna’s eyes widened in surprise and there was an approving gleam along with mirth in her eyes.
“Well, well, this is interesting. Prince Daemon you should know that the word 'bastard' means nothing to my father. You should also be glad that my father has no interest in the Iron Throne currently. Because if he did, he’d take it in a way that would silence the Faith and all their bastardry nonsense.”
Daemon raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What mysterious method would that be? No one can stop tongues from wagging, not even your supposedly god-blessed father.”
“It is easy, Daemon. My father would claim the Seven Kingdoms the same way the first Aegon did—a conquest. Not by inheritance or handed down by some stupid laws of men or even votes.” Lyanna said simply, as if it was a fact that couldn’t be proven wrong, no matter what.
Daemon just scoffed for a second and then laughed hard.
“No single man can conquer an entire kingdom, let alone defeat dragonriders,” Daemon mocked.
Lyanna just smirked. “Well, I never said how my father will do it. You see, when I was little, my father had told me to never interrupt an enemy from doing stupid things. He also seems to have a good opinion on how the current king came to power. The king waited long enough that the realms begged for him to ascend the throne—a throne that was vehemently denied to Maegor by the masses and the Valyrian ways by the Faith and the Andals. He even managed to assassinate Maegor at the right time and then manipulated his supposed friend, Septon Barth, to negotiate his Doctrine of Exceptionalism so the king could marry his Sister which was the supposed reason for the Faith’s Rebellion.”
“My father taught me that if I want to follow anyone from the Valyrian side, then it should be the current king, at least in some matters. I’m sure he’s taught the same to Cregan too. And now, what is Uncle Cregan and my father doing? He’s staying out of the conflict that could escalate to open war. He has nothing to gain by siding with one side and everything to gain if the war happens naturally.”
Daemon was silent as he processed the information. “I’m glad that someone recognized the folly in our history. I too suspected foul play in the end of Maegor—and wondered why he didn’t just take Balerion and torch Storm’s End. Also, I’m glad to disappoint you and Cregan. There will be no open war, and the end will be this Great Council. My cousin is not stupid enough to fight when she has no majority support.”
“Well, let’s hope that stays that way then, my prince. Now I will be out of your way and your path to relaxation,” Lyanna said with finality.
“I actually enjoyed this, and I wonder whether you would be just as good in the yard or even under the sheets.” Daemon said with a smug smile
“Well, I can always show how good I am in the yard and then you can always wonder how good I’d be in bed while you bed third-rate whores of Silk Street in King’s Landing.”
Daemon just laughed as he watched the girl walk into the shadows of the trees.
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Harrenhall
Aethan Reed
He ignored the entire array of nobles gathered along the sidelines of the great hall of Harrenhal and focused solely on the Old King seated atop the throne. He was the only man sitting in the vast chamber. Aethan could see a faint resemblance to Daemon in the king’s face, but what stood out most between grandfather and grandson were their eyes. They shared the same cleverness, the same mockery in their gaze— as if they alone understood the punchline of some private joke. Aethan wondered whether the Old King would have the same expression in his eyes if he knew his grandson had tamed the Cannibal.
Aethan had personally visited Cregan in the dreamscape and asked for permission to serve as the representative sent by Winterfell. Though Cregan had been surprised by the request, he had granted Aethan permission to carry the message and speak on the North’s behalf.
Aethan kneeled before the king, as tradition demanded.
“Rise, Lord Reed,” the Old King commanded, and Aethan was surprised by the sheer strength that still echoed in the frail frame.
“Now, where are the rest of the Northern Lords and where are my son-in-law and daughter?”
“Your Grace,” Aethan began respectfully, “Lord Cregan Stark has tasked me to be his representative and convey his message both in letter and in word. His words are as follows:
‘The North follows the Starks of Winterfell, and the Starks follow House Targaryen. I, Lord Cregan Stark, am the loyal Lord Paramount of His Grace, King Jaehaerys Targaryen. Though House Stark could not name its preferred heir, it shall willingly follow whomever His Grace, King Jaehaerys Targaryen, names as his heir. The other Northern houses could not attend this meeting due to the roads being blocked by a summer snowstorm. I am also glad to inform Your Grace that by the time these words reach you, another prince or princess of Winterfell shall have been born. Lord Aethan Reed shall represent the entire North in the discussions and observe the voting.’”
Murmurs rippled through the hall as the gathered lords whispered among themselves, some in shock, others in disdain.
The king remained silent, lost in thought.
“So,” the Old King finally spoke, voice heavy with accusation, “the Starks want no voice in the matters of the Seven Kingdoms? Or do they still prefer to think themselves Kings in all but name, paying only homage and taxes?” His tone turned sharper. “Perhaps I should drag them here by declaring Viserra or even Prince Rickon as my heir. What would Cregan do then? Would he reject that too?”
The murmurs grew louder, until the guards began striking their spears against the floor, silencing the room at a signal from the Kingsguard.
“My king,” he said steadily, “Lord Cregan shall follow your command and uphold his sworn duty, no matter what. If you declare Princess Viserra as your heiress, or even young Prince Rickon Stark in your wisdom, Lord Cregan will follow it, by his oath. The king commands, and we obey gladly, Your Grace, even in the matters of succession, that has been tradition for millennia.”
The Old King remained silent causing the tension to rise, before breaking it by clear command.
“The vote must be held and couldn’t be delayed anymore for explicit summons. If my daughter prefers to be Lady of Winterfell over the Queen then I will gladly allow that wish. Atleast one of the Lords who married princesses knew to control their ambition and be satisfied by their rightful place. Lord Reed, you are allowed to observe and then make the oath to my heir after the vote on behalf of Winterfell. Since Lord Cregan didn’t bother with coming himself, The North will have no voice to talk in the upcoming discussions or even vote. You all are dismissed.”
Aethan bowed and sighed in relief as there is no overt punishment.
Maybe the rumours of The Old King being weak in his old age and with the death of Prince Baelon is actually true. Aethan thought as he walked out of the hall while ignoring the glares from majority of the Andal Lords.
=========================================
3 weeks Later
Shores of God’s Eye.
Aethan looked at the distant shore of the Isle of Faces with growing worry. This was the true reason he had asked Cregan to send him. After his meeting with Daemon in the Neck, his unease had only deepened, and the nightmares that followed became increasingly dreadful. All of them ended the same way—showing the Isle of Faces. Aethan had taken it as a message from the Old Gods, urging him to go there.
After arriving at Harrenhal, he had tried to keep an eye on the Isle through his warged animals, but the connection would always break the moment they crossed into the island’s borders. Only the patience he had developed over the years dealing with Daemon’s antics from a young age allowed him to stay put for two whole weeks at Harrenhal, observing the Great Council. He had felt a sense of relief when it finally ended and Viserys was declared heir. Still, it took another three days for the king and the other lords to depart before Aethan could slip away.
That was four days ago.
Two days ago, Aethan had seen Cannibal descending onto the Isle of Faces through one of his birds. He had tried multiple ways to cross the waters, but the winds and waves made it impossible. Aethan knew Daemon was there—with a girl—and nothing good would come of Now, with his eyes closed, Aethan focused all his concentration on maintaining the connection to a single bird as it crossed into the Isle’s boundary. But, as always, he was forcefully ejected from the bird’s mind. The sharp pain of the backlash was just beginning to register when Daemon’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Aethan.”
Aethan immediately opened his eyes and scrutinized Daemon. His friend looked inhumanly beautiful as ever, but there was something different in his eyes and his stance. Aethan, who knew Daemon better than anyone, could see it: a weight that had long burdened Daemon’s shoulders was gone. Usually, those heterochromatic eyes gleamed with mischief and camaraderie. Now, they gleamed with something deeper—brotherly love.
“Daemon. You’ve changed again. What happened?” Aethan asked warily.
Daemon only grinned in response. “Well, that’s a long story—and there’s no time for it now, Aethan. Come with me. I need an official to conduct my wedding to Princess Gael.”
Aethan was struck speechless, left gaping with his mouth wide open.
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Authors note : finally the chapter is done and I could get time to sit infront of laptop to edit. Atleast the next chapter should be faster.
Daemon and lyanna scene came out of nowhere for even me… never planned on this meeting, but when thinking about rouge prince in winterfell, the thought hit me and my imagination went wild enough that I was thinking whether I should pair them. what is your opinion on that pairing if it happens…… also there is a reason for having so much rogue prince pov chapters at this stage while not changing the overall canon events.. you will see why very very soon.
So aethan is going to be present in gods eye in next chapter and what do you think will happen? Will aethan witness actual marriage or a murder or both?
See you all in chapter 37: The Ritual (tenatative).
Comments
the batman
well it is game of thrones after all.. let see what happens...
the batman
as i said, even i don't know what will happen with rouge prince and lyanna... it was just a thought and curiosity that wouldn't get out of my mind until i write it down.... my plan for lyanna was different from beginning and even now going with that unless the future brings something else plotwise... like daemon getting married to lyanna would definitely increase the targ family drama even further. spoiler.. maybe and i mean maybe jae will meet daemon next chapter.. i haven't written anything for next chapter and as of now the ritual portion wordcount should be less. so jae meeting will begin and end in slight cliffhanger.
Hadrian512
I hope it's not a murder. I feel that's something he can't come back from and we'll make the story all the darker
Tariel Khalvashi
Not Daemon. Lyanna deserves a better man than Daemon Targaryen. When will Jaehaerys meet Daemon and how much will the grandson get on his grandfather's nerves? If he finds out about the Cannibal, the old king will definitely die earlier than in canon.
![blue[k]nights](https://runfaps.com/kistorage/49226.jpg)
