Chapter 87 — Seeing Through the Trick and Turning the Vote
The great hall of Dragonstone was alive with murmurs as Duke Beaumont Baratheon stepped forward, sweeping his heavy cloak aside with theatrical flourish. Before the gathered nobles from every corner of Westeros, he raised his voice:
"Since so many bastards and distant claimants have crawled forward seeking the Iron Throne," Beaumont declared, "Prince Daemon Targaryen's right must not be overlooked! As the second son of Prince Baelon, his claim stands above these nameless pretenders."
A low wave of approval rippled through the hall. Even some of the rougher knights and lesser lords were nodding along. Several knights—Richard Storm, Qidan Massey, the Ironborn called Raven Greyjoy, and others—shouted Daemon's name.
Viserys, Aemma, and Princess Gael exchanged confused looks.
But King Jaehaerys and Daemon themselves needed no time to understand.
After his grand speech, Beaumont cast the briefest glance across the long table toward Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake.
A single heartbeat.
A shared smile.
Daemon caught it instantly.
Corlys Velaryon was Princess Rhaenys's husband. Beaumont was her uncle. They had always stood firmly behind Rhaenys's claim.
This sudden "support" for Daemon?
Transparent.
A ploy meant to draw votes away from Viserys.
If the Council chose a second son to surpass a firstborn, then every heir in the realm would fear their younger brothers. No lord would allow such a precedent unless it served their ambitions.
The cries of "Prince Daemon!" grew louder—but almost none of the shouters actually had votes.
Daemon rose slowly.
A hush fell.
His fingers brushed the three-headed dragon on the hilt of Dark Sister.
"Lord Beaumont," Daemon said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the stone hall, "since you think so highly of me, I assume the thirty votes of House Baratheon are ready to be cast in my name?"
Beaumont laughed loudly—too loudly.
"Hah! If you truly declared yourself, my votes might go to you."
Daemon's smile was a blade.
"Might? Perhaps? Possibly?" He snorted. "The vows of House Baratheon truly are carved in unbreakable… mud."
A gasp rolled through the nobles.
Daemon did not stop.
"My lords, you have just witnessed the hypocrisy of Lord Beaumont."
A tremor of shock raced through the room. Beaumont's face flushed in rage, but Daemon spoke right through him:
"If you wish to support me, then support my brother Viserys. He will bring stability to Westeros. And I—his brother—will stand at his right hand."
Viserys's eyes glistened.
Aemma's brow tightened.
Jaehaerys watched with quiet pride.
Corlys Velaryon and Beaumont Baratheon, however, looked as though someone had struck them square in the gut. Their plan had not only failed—Daemon had used it to strengthen Viserys.
Grand Maester Runciter struck his staff.
"Prince Viserys Targaryen, firstborn son of the late Prince Baelon, eldest grandson of King Jaehaerys!"
Viserys stepped forward clad in the Valyrian steel armor of Aegon the Conqueror, with Blackfyre at his hip—gifts from Jaehaerys himself, silent reminders of whom the king truly favored.
Viserys spoke. His words were steady, but uninspired.
"I will continue my grandfather's legacy. With diligence, I shall guide Westeros into a new era of prosperity."
Scattered applause followed.
Daemon drew Dark Sister with a ringing edge.
"And the murderers of Prince Baelon will pay for their treachery. Whether Dorne or the Triarchy—those who stirred the viper's nest will face dragonfire!"
The hall erupted.
Borderlands lords pounded tables.
Old grudges flared like dry tinder.
But then, Vaemond Velaryon, brother to Corlys, rose.
"Prince Daemon, Prince Viserys speaks bravely of fire and blood. Yet Viserys is dragonless. Balerion, his mount, died years ago."
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"A dragonless Targaryen?"
"Can such a man rule?"
"Every king since Aegon the Conqueror had a dragon…"
Beaumont seized the moment.
"Dragons define our kings. What becomes of a king without one? Princess Rhaenys rides the Red Queen—brave, seasoned, true-born!"
Northern voices joined, their furs brushing together as they rose.
"Rhaenys! The Red Queen!"
Corlys and Beaumont exchanged triumphant glances—
—and then the roars began.
The hall shook as Vermithor, Silverwing, Dreamfyre, and Caraxes swept past the castle windows.
Daemon stepped forward, fire burning behind his violet eyes.
"Princess Rhaenys rides Meleys—but Meleys belongs to the Crown. And I ride Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm. Our line, the line of Baelon, holds more dragons and will hatch more still."
The nobles stiffened.
They remembered Laenor's trembling stolen flight on Seasmoke before Daemon's household dragons forced him down.
Daemon continued:
"The future children of Viserys and myself will hatch more dragons—Rhaenyra, the young Aegon, Jaehaerys, Baelon—they will all ride. Driftmark cannot match the dragons of House Targaryen."
Corlys's jaw tightened.
Vaemond tried another angle, his voice smooth and poisonous:
"Your household's growing dragons… and yet Viserys's wife suffers miscarriage after miscarriage. Some whisper a curse laid by a witch in your service."
Gasps.
Aemma paled, clutching her belly.
Daemon turned his head slowly, like a serpent fixing on prey.
"And rumor claims Prince Baelon died from a curse cast by a sorcerer in your halls, Vaemond. Should we judge our princes by tavern gossip?"
Runciter slammed the table.
"ENOUGH! The next man to spread slander will be expelled from this Council!"
Reluctantly, Vaemond sat.
Daemon raised his voice again.
"The true threat to Westeros is Dorne and the Triarchy. Alone, Driftmark could not defeat them—not with one dragon and one fleet. Without Caraxes, without Dreamfyre, without Vermithor and Silverwing, the Stepstones would already be lost."
Faces hardened.
Nods spread through the Borderlands and Stormlands.
Daemon's final words were thunder:
"If you support Viserys, dragons will guard your lands. We will burn the Boneway, Prince's Pass, Sunspear, and every raiding nest to ash. The Triarchy will drown in their own smoke."
Fists beat on chests.
Swords flashed in the air.
Old men shouted for vengeance.
Even the Stormlands lords who had leaned toward Rhaenys now looked shaken.
Corlys Velaryon and Beaumont Baratheon exchanged a grim, defeated glance.
Their gambit had failed.
The tide had turned.
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