CHAPTER 82 The Elder King's Decision — The Funeral of Baelon Targaryen
The Council Chamber of the Red Keep trembled beneath raised voices and restless footsteps. Outside, dragons cried restlessly over the capital, stirred by grief and gathering storms. But inside, the fire burned fiercest in Daemon.
His plan had left both Viserys and the Elder King stunned.
Viserys's voice was tight.
"Daemon… the Velaryon Fleet is the shield of the Iron Throne. If the Triarchy or the Dornish murdered our father, we cannot afford a civil war."
Daemon leaned back, Caraxes' clawed shadow flickering against the wall behind him.
"And what would you have us do, brother?
Wait for the Sea Snake to raise half of Westeros under our noses?"
Jaehaerys the Conciliator watched the exchange in heavy silence. His once-golden hair now silvered like frost, his eyes dim yet sharp as tempered steel. He studied his youngest grandson for a long while.
"Tell me truthfully, Daemon," the Elder King murmured,
"Do you truly believe Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys intend open rebellion?"
Daemon hesitated—only a breath, but enough.
"Corlys Velaryon is ambitious. Ambition is unpredictable."
Jaehaerys exhaled slowly, a weary old dragon at the end of his fire.
"I know Corlys better than anyone in this room. I watched him lift House Velaryon from a respected banner house into the wealthiest family in Westeros."
He listed the truths one by one:
The Sea Snake's expeditions to Yi Ti and Qarth
His mountains of spices, jewels, and gold
His towering pride
His outrage at Rhaenys being passed over for Baelon
"He shouts now," Jaehaerys continued,
"because he knows a woman's inheritance is easily ignored. He must make a spectacle or be forgotten."
Viserys nodded obediently, relieved at the King's reasoning.
"Yes… Corlys is bluffing."
Above the Red Keep, the dragons Caraxes and Dreamfyre roared, shaking dust from the rafters.
Jaehaerys's gaze hardened.
"Driftmark is wealthy, yes. But it is an island in the shadow of Dragonstone. No fleet can withstand dragons."
He turned back to Daemon.
"If you burn Driftmark, if you kill Corlys and Rhaenys… Westeros will see it as kinslaying. A crime worse than treason."
Daemon's jaw tightened.
"If we do nothing while he gathers allies—"
"And if we act without restraint," Jaehaerys cut him off,
"we become tyrants no better than Maegor."
Silence followed. Viserys looked between his brother and grandfather, sweating.
Then Daemon offered one final gambit.
"Then let Laenor come to court. Make him my squire. With Seasmoke under the watch of the Dragonkeepers, Corlys will not dare rebellion."
Jaehaerys smiled faintly—the weary smile of someone who had seen a century of tricks and knew them all.
"A hostage by another name. Very well."
---
The Gathering at Dragonstone
Half a moon later, nobility from every corner of Westeros arrived at Dragonstone, summoned for the funeral of Prince Baelon Targaryen.
Lords of the North wrapped in grey furs
Stormlords bearing the crowned stag
Lords of the Blackwater and Crownlands
Knights, squires, and mercenaries seeking favor
And the Archmaester himself—Vaegon Targaryen—surrounded by an army of overeager Reachmen
Daemon met him at the Dragon Gate, flanked by Kingsguard.
Vaegon looked exhausted, robes stained by road dust.
"Nephew Daemon… your escort has grown."
Daemon arched a brow.
"Uncle, half the Reach is following you. Planning to steal Father's throne, are you?"
Vaegon sighed.
"Take me to the King."
---
A Son Returned, A Throne Rejected
In the solar overlooking the Blackwater, King Jaehaerys received his last surviving son.
Vaegon sat stiffly, hands folded over chains of rank, while Daemon and Viserys stood at their grandsire's back.
His first words were soft, almost painfully human:
"I cannot believe Baelon is dead."
Jaehaerys breathed deeply.
"Many in Westeros believe you should inherit."
Vaegon let out a short bark of laughter.
"I? Sit the Iron Throne? Father… I took vows. I renounced claim. And I cannot bear the weight of the realm."
His eyes hardened.
"All I saw on the journey here were greedy men using me as a banner."
Jaehaerys finally relaxed—relief washing over him.
"Then help me resolve the true contest. Rhaenys of Aemon's line… or Viserys of Baelon's."
Vaegon's gaze flicked toward Daemon.
"If Rhaenys rules, Westeros will bleed. Viserys is gentle… the realm favors him. But the commons whisper Daemon's name."
Jaehaerys raised a brow.
"And a Grand Council?"
"It may be the only way to prevent war."
And so the Elder King made his choice.
---
The Funeral of Prince Baelon
The sky over Dragonstone dimmed beneath heavy cloud as thousands gathered at the ancient Volcanic fortress.
Venerable Ellard Stark of Winterfell
Proud Boremund Baratheon of Storm's End
Lord Lyonel Strong of Harrenhal and his sons
Lords of the Vale, Riverlands, Crownlands, and Reach
And the Sea Snake himself—Corlys Velaryon—chainmail hidden beneath silk
Tensions ran high. Too high.
Stark bowed his head to Rhaenys.
"My lady, if not for your husband's ships, half the North would have starved this winter."
Baratheon raised his voice boldly—too boldly.
"Princess Rhaenys is the rightful heir! Daughter of Prince Aemon!"
Murmurs rippled. Many nodded. More did not.
Lord Lyonel Strong stepped in.
"Duke Boremund, I have a sister. Married. Returned demanding inheritance over my sons. Tell me—should I yield?"
Baratheon blinked.
"Of course not. That is absurd."
Lyonel smiled thinly.
"Then why should Westeros yield to a married woman's claim when Baelon left sons of his own blood?"
Baratheon's face purpled, but before fists flew, Corlys Velaryon intervened, jaw tight with fury and fear.
For tensions were growing everywhere:
Daemon had summoned Crownland bannermen
Celtigar of Claw Isle
Staunton of Rook's Rest
Massey of Stonedance
Bar Emmon and Sunglass
Blackwater Bay crawled with royal ships, cutting off Driftmark like a noose.
---
The Pyre
Tradition demanded Vhagar light Baelon's pyre.
But Vhagar was gone.
So Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, descended instead.
With a roar that shook the basalt cliffs, he unleashed a torrent of orange-gold fire.
The pyre ignited.
The crowd bowed their heads.
And then—
A scream tore across the sky.
Laenor Velaryon, barely a youth, circled Dragonstone on Seasmoke, the young dragon shrieking uncontrollably.
Corlys turned white.
"Gods… how did he get him airborne?"
Jaehaerys frowned.
"The dragon is panicked. Losing control."
Rhaenys moved toward Meleys—
But something massive darkened the sky.
Caraxes.
Daemon descended like a conquering king astride the Blood Wyrm.
Caraxes's monstrous neck arched over Seasmoke, dwarfing him.
Below, nobles gasped and fell to their knees.
And then the others rose:
Dreamfyre, shimmering blue
Silverwing, radiant as dawn
Vermithor, smoldering bronze
They circled Daemon in the sky like lesser stars orbiting a red sun.
In that moment, Daemon Targaryen hung above Dragonstone like a figure out of High Valyrian prophecy—
A prince born to fire, crowned in shadow.
His shadow fell across thousands.
And no one doubted, not for a heartbeat,
that this man could change the fate of Westeros.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you like the story please give it some power stones and reviews. And if you want to read 30+ advance chapters or just want to support me please join my patreon at [email protected]/Translatingfanfics