Chapter 74 — Shadow of Death, the Third Son
Before the Dragonpit on Rhaenys' Hill, Daemon stood with his arms crossed, Caraxes crouched behind him like a crimson shadow. Smoke curled from the Blood Wyrm's nostrils as Daemon issued his final warning to Princess Saera Targaryen.
"Dragons are not playthings, Aunt. Silverwing is restless. One wrong step and she will roast you alive."
For a heartbeat, Daemon felt his vision blur—his throat and chest filling with heat—as Caraxes' instincts bled into his own. Using the strange shapeshifting bond he possessed, he could easily command Caraxes to lash out, to end Saera here and now.
But that would make him a kinslayer.
And no matter how far Saera had fallen—princess turned courtesan—she was still his blood.
Saera, ever impatient, tossed her silver hair.
"No one understands dragons better than I do, Daemon. I only wish to see my mother's Silverwing. Is that forbidden now?"
Hoofbeats echoed. Prince Baelon Targaryen galloped up, dismounted, and approached with urgency.
"Saera," Baelon pleaded, "come back to the Red Keep. Father wishes to speak with you. The Dragonpit is no place for you."
Saera lifted her chin defiantly.
"I dreamed of my mother before I returned. She begged me to ride Silverwing. To deny me is to deny her dying wish."
Daemon almost laughed aloud.
The ease with which she lies… she learned much in the pleasure houses of Lys.
Baelon softened his voice.
"After Mother's death, Silverwing became unpredictable. She snaps at strangers. If it is the sky you desire, I can carry you on Vhagar. But Silverwing is—"
Saera cut him off sharply.
"Who rules King's Landing? Father? Or the two of you?"
Her eyes glinted with venom.
"If Aemon still lived, he would never treat me this way."
Baelon flinched at the mention of his late brother.
"When Aemon was alive," he whispered, "we spoke often of riding to Lys to bring you home."
Saera hissed back, bitterness twisting her voice:
"Then why didn't you? I rotted in brothels while you enjoyed courtly life. You never cared whether I lived or died. Spare me your false pity."
Her voice trembled with hatred.
"When I serviced men in Lys and Volantis, I preferred pretending to be some pious septa—anything but a Targaryen princess. The name brought me nothing but misery."
Baelon clenched his jaw.
"Saera, mind your tongue!"
But she only laughed darkly, her silk skirts swirling.
"I hate all of you. May a volcano rise beneath this hill and swallow every hypocritical Targaryen. May a new Doom cleanse this wretched bloodline!"
Her curse hung heavy in the air.
Then she turned and strode away, ignoring the Dragonkeepers, Baelon, and Daemon alike.
Daemon watched her go.
"Father," he said quietly to Baelon, "I have never heard a curse so foul. Perhaps we should send her back to the Faith… to the Silent Sisters."
Baelon shook his head sadly.
"No. She was forced into that life once already. Saera is broken… but she is still my daughter. Let her remain here. Perhaps home will calm her spirit."
Before Daemon could argue, Raven Greyjoy and Cedan Massey approached in haste.
"Prince Daemon," Raven said, "Princess Gael is in labor. The maester says it has begun. You must return to Flame Castle."
Daemon and Baelon brightened immediately.
"The gods favor us," Baelon said with relief. "Come, Daemon. We should stand with her."
Daemon forced a smile.
"Gael has given me two sons already. This one will come safely."
But his heart chilled as he remembered the whisper beneath the weirwood in Flame Castle.
"Fire turns to ash."
Aly Rivers' voice, faint but unforgettable.
And overhead, Dreamfyre, Gael's dragon, circled Caraxes with a piercing roar.
Was the prophecy speaking of Gael?
A cold sweat ran down Daemon's spine.
---
The Birth at Flame Castle
Archmaester Yallar, pale and struggling with age, arrived with Maester Michel and the midwives. Horrible screams came from Gael's chambers—every one a blade in Daemon's chest.
Daemon paced outside with Aly Rivers and Terra Uller beside him. Their own rounded bellies remained hidden beneath dark cloaks, but Daemon knew both witches carried his children as well.
Their firstborns—
Hal Blackwater (Aly's son)
Wally Blackwater (Terra's son)
—played somewhere in the castle, blissfully unaware of the night.
Viserys and Queen Aemma arrived late. Aemma looked fragile, pale from yet another miscarriage. Her eyes lingered on Aly and Terra with visible resentment.
Inside, Gael screamed again.
Outside, Dreamfyre roared from above.
Finally—
the screams stopped.
A baby's cry replaced them.
Archmaester Yallar emerged, drenched in sweat.
"Prince Daemon… a healthy son. Your third."
Daemon exhaled in relief.
"And Gael?"
"Mother and child live."
The weight crushing Daemon's heart finally broke. The prophecy… not yet fulfilled.
Baelon, Viserys, and Aemma all held the newborn in turn. Viserys forced a smile, grief veiled behind his eyes.
Baelon laughed with pride.
"My third grandson! Daemon, what shall he be called?"
Daemon answered softly, "Gael and I agreed. He will bear your name, Father. We call him Baelon."
Baelon's laughter echoed through the hall.
"Another Baelon! The gods favor House Targaryen. The Prince of Spring lives on!"
But Daemon stiffened.
Aly Rivers and Terra exchanged glances.
Again he heard the whisper:
"Spring is hard to survive the bitter winter."
The shadow of death had not vanished.
---
The Warning of Assassins
When Daemon, Baelon, Viserys, and Aemma left Flame Castle to return to the Red Keep, two white-cloaked knights approached:
Ser Ryam Redwyne, Lord Commander,
and
Ser Harold Westerling, sworn brother.
Ryam bowed.
"Two Myrish assassins have been captured in Flea Bottom. Under questioning, they confessed they serve Craghas Drahar."
Daemon's eyes narrowed.
"I knew their 'truce' was a sham."
Ser Harold added, "The assassins claim the Triarchy hired Faceless Men. They may already be in the city."
The prophecy again clawed at Daemon.
Spring is hard to survive the bitter winter.
He turned to Baelon.
"Father… the Faceless Men might be hunting you. You must accept Kingsguard protection."
Baelon shook his head.
"The Sea Lord of Braavos swore in writing that the House of Black and White would never act against the Dragonlords. And we have a treaty. Why assassinate now?"
Daemon muttered, "Because treaties are parchment… and assassins do not honor parchment."
He commanded the Kingsguard:
"Ser Harold, guard my father. Ser Ryam, return to the Red Keep and protect King Jaehaerys."
Ryam frowned.
"And who protects you, Prince Daemon? Crabfeeder hates you most of all."
Daemon placed his hand on Dark Sister, cold Valyrian steel humming beneath his touch.
"I protect myself."
---
Viserys and Aemma on the River
As ordered, Viserys escorted Aemma back toward the Red Keep by river barge.
No sooner had they entered the cabin than Aemma broke down, sobbing.
"Why are the gods so cruel? Gael bears son after son, and I… I only lose them…"
Viserys embraced her gently.
"We will have a son. I dreamt of him—our son, silver-haired and mighty. All the knights bowed to him. Even a khal placed a crown on his head."
Aemma's tears slowed.
But her voice turned grave.
"No. I know why I miscarry. It is those witches—Aly Rivers of cursed Harrenhal, and Terra Uller from damned Witch Isle."
Viserys winced.
"Aemma… Terra and Aly are merely Daemon's handmaids."
"No. They are witches—and his mistresses."
Her voice shook with fury.
"I saw their bellies. Both are pregnant again. They have birthed his bastards already!"
Viserys said weakly, "Rumor, nothing more."
Aemma glared.
"Open your eyes! They curse me so Daemon may one day take the Iron Throne—so their children may rise over ours!"
Viserys fell silent.
Aemma whispered,
"If we allow witches to meddle in royal blood… Rhaenyra may be next."
The barge drifted through Blackwater Bay as a storm began to gather.
And somewhere in King's Landing—
a Faceless Man watched.
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