The very next morning, a council meeting was called once more.
Otto Hightower carried a grim expression on his face, yet his heart hid a malicious smirk. Seldom were the times when Otto carried such satisfaction. And it seems the gods found it fitting to not only gift the realms a healthy newborn heir—peculiar though he may be—but they appeared to desire to be rid of pests and snakes as well.
"Before we begin, Your Grace, I have a report I feel compelled to share," Otto spoke without looking at Viserys.
"Yes, Lord Hand?" Viserys beckoned with his hand.
Rhaenyra, who was once again faithfully pouring wine into the cups of the lords, looked over with her eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of sorrow.
"Last night, Prince Daemon bought out one of the pleasure houses on the street of Silk, to entertain officers of the City Watch and other friends of his." Otto's fingers traced the edge of his cup.
Viserys' expression turned complicated. Not even half a day had passed since the king himself had stormed away from the council chambers, angered by the audacity of Lord Beesbury's advice. Yet here was his brother… entertaining his friends. He clenched his hands, fury threatening to erupt from his chest, yet he chose to hear the remainder of Lord Otto's report.
Otto continued, his tone grim. "He toasted Prince Antarys. Styling him 'The Red-eyed Abomination'." Otto's fingers paused their circular movement as the second son of House Hightower saw his own reflection on the crimson liquid. He ignored the growing fury emanating from Viserys. Though he did take notice of Princess Rhaenyra's hurt expression, how she clenched the jar in her hands a bit tighter. "Prince Daemon also seemed to toast so that the newborn prince would live longer than your previous child, My King. And last but certainly not least, Daemon toasted your good fortune."
"My good fortune?" Viserys growled between clenched teeth.
"Indeed… For he found it a good bargain, or so he said, to trade a wife for an heir." Otto finally looked the King in the eyes.
Viserys slammed his cup on the table, spilling wine everywhere. "This again?!" He shouted.
"By all accounts, sir, that evening was a mixture between mourning and celebration," Otto concluded.
"How sure are you of this, Lord Otto?" Rhaenyra asked.
Viserys looked at her for a brief second; a flicker of irritation shone in his eyes, but in the end, he found his daughter's question pertinent.
"Three separate witnesses corroborate the report, Princess Rhaenyra," Otto said.
Viserys gnashed his teeth, then he sighed and looked up to the ceiling. "Summon Prince Daemon," Viserys ordered Ser Redwyne, his tone conveying the seriousness of his command, "I want the Kingsguard, the Small Council, and my daughter, before the throne room."
"My King, perhaps we should-" Lord Lyonel tried to calm Viserys down.
"NOW!" Viserys roared.
"As you command, Your Grace…" All present—apart from Rhaenyra—bowed and left the room.
Rhaenyra looked at her father, and at that moment, she swore she could feel heat coming from him.
"Father," she called. "What do you make of this?" Rhaenyra asked, trying to understand her father's thoughts.
"Daemon had already uttered similar words before, during your mother's funeral. I had endured them then. No longer. No longer will I accept his folly, his rashness, his INSOLENCE!" Viserys clenched and unclenched his hands, trying—and failing—to calm down.
"But father… He is your brother." Rhaenyra tried to reason with Viserys.
"Which makes this betrayal hurt all the more," Viserys said and got up from his chair, making his way towards the Iron Throne. "SOMEONE FIND ME, BLACKFYRE, NOW!" Rhaenyra heard her father scream for his sword as he left the chambers.
Half an hour later, Daemon Targaryen walked into the throne room. His usual smirk faltering as he saw his brother's furious expression, his niece's hurt and enraged state, Otto grinning smugly, and Corlys shaking his head.
"Brother! You make the image of the conqueror." Daemon flattered his brother, as he saw Viserys seated upon the Iron Throne, Blackfyre sword in hand.
Viserys scoffed. "Did you say it?" He asked.
"I don't know what you mean," Daemon frowned in confusion.
Viserys' expression turned unkind. "You will address me as 'Your Grace', or I will have my Kingsguard cut out your tongue."
Daemon appeared stunned. Never before had Viserys acted so coldly and harshly towards him.
"'The Red-eyed Abomination'. Did you say it?" Viserys repeated his question.
Daemon paused and looked away uncomfortably, cursing his own foolishness. "We must all mourn in our own way, Your Grace."
The moment he spoke those words, the already unfriendly atmosphere became outright hostile.
"My wife has just died." Viserys clenched the hilt of the Valyrian Steel sword. "But instead of being by my side, or Rhaenyra's," said princess looked away from her uncle, biting her lip and suppressing an unshed tear, "you chose to throw a tantrum, like a child! All because an heir has been born. Laughing with your whores!" Viserys' enraged scream echoed in the throne room.
Daemon looked towards the ground and barely held himself from rolling his eyes.
"You have no allies at court but me! I have only ever defended you! And everything I have given you, you've thrown back into my face!" Viserys roared in anger at his brother.
"You have only ever tried to send me away. To the Vale, to the City Watch, anywhere but by your side." Daemon roared back. "Two years you've been king, and yet not once have you asked me to be your Hand!"
Viserys scowled. "And why would I do that?"
Daemon narrowed his eyes. "Because I'm your brother. And the blood of the dragon runs thick."
"Then why do you cut me so deeply?" Viserys asked.
"I have only ever spoken the truth, I see Otto Hightower for what he is…" Daemon replied, and amidst those present, the mentioned Lord scowled at Daemon.
"An unwavering and loyal Hand?" Otto's anger seemed to die down as he heard Viserys' response.
"A cunt!" Only to flare up again at Daemon's reply. "A second son who stands to inherit nothing he doesn't seize for himself." Daemon looked back and smirked at Otto.
"Otto Hightower is a more honorable man than you will ever be," Viserys spoke up.
"He doesn't protect you. I would." Daemon shot back.
"From what?" Viserys questioned.
"Yourself."
The throne room quieted down in uncomfortable silence at Daemon's words.
"You're weak, Viserys-" Daemon seemed keen to continue with his tirade, but Viserys had enough, and he spoke in a venomous tone.
"Weak, am I?" Daemon flinched imperceptibly at Viserys' tone. "Let's see how weak I am, shall we?"
"What are you-"
Viserys leaned back on the throne. His gaze swept over all of those who were present.
"You said you were envious, did you not? That you wished to get rid of your lady wife, as I got 'rid' of mine." His tone was resentful, and all considered it to be wholly appropriate, given Daemon's transgressions. "I shall give you that chance then. Daemon Targaryen, I, King Viserys Targaryen, first of my name, King of the Andals the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, banish you from King's Landing." Viserys announced, making all who were present gasp in shock.
"You are to go to Runestone, to be by your lady wife's side, as it should be, and there you will remain. If word reaches the Red Keep that you have left the Vale without my permission, you shall forfeit your princely title. If word reaches the Red Keep that Lady Rhea has perished by anything other than childbirth, and there is but the slightest of suspicions of your involvement, you shall forfeit your princely title, and I will have you wear the black." Viserys banged the tip of Blackfyre's blade on the cold ground.
Viserys looked at his brother's pale face, his own heart cold at the sight. "You envied me, thus I give you the opportunity to envy me no more."
"You cannot do this!" Daemon screamed in protest.
"I can, and I have, for I am king," Viserys stated dryly, then his gaze wandered to Rhaenyra for a split second before setting back on Daemon's figure—who was thrashing against the Kingsguard by now—and he smiled evilly. "Daemon Targaryen, you are hereby ordered to relinquish claim over the Targaryen heirloom, the Valyrian blade Dark Sister. Lord Commander, seize the sword, if you will."
Daemon's expression fell; he looked towards his brother incredulously.
Ser Redwyne walked calmly towards Daemon, as the prince was restrained by two of the White Cloaks. He grabbed and pulled the sword, scabbard and all, from Daemon's waist. The Lord Commander walked back to his king, knelt on the steps of the Iron Throne, and presented the famous sword to Viserys.
Viserys grabbed the sword with a satisfied expression.
"Take him away." He ordered without looking back at Daemon.
Thus, that very day, Daemon Targaryen left the Red Keep. Ashamed. Exiled. Stripped from that which tied him to his Valyrian lineage.