Chapter Text
Viserys sat on the Iron Throne waiting. Waiting for Daemon to come to him. He was already exhausted. His Aemma, his wife, was dead. Despair hit sharp and sudden in his throat. And his son . . his son had lived for no more than a day.
Heir for a day.
Even now the reminder of the callous words his brother had spoken made his blood boil. He was not a man known to feel anger very often but the Gods knew that Daemon invoked that feeling often enough. But this, this betrayal was more than he could countenance. How could Daemon have said it? He knew there was no doubt that he had uttered those words. Otto said the report was verified by three separate accounts. His Hand had never failed him when bringing reports of Daemon’s perfidy.
For just a moment Viserys felt defeat rise to an overwhelming degree. How was it that his own brother was always the cause of such pain. Why was it that Daemon seemed determined to spit in his face after all he had done for him. Despite how often Daemon misbehaved or caused some political headache, Viserys always invited him back to King’s Landing. Despite how often he heard murmurs of Daemon called Maegor come again, he had never referred to him as such. Despite how long the marriage between Daemon and Lady Rhea had remained unconsummated he never punished Daemon for his dislike of his wife, nor for the disrespect he showed her. Daemon had been allowed to waste his time drinking and whoring.
Anger rose in his chest once more as he remembered exactly how Daemon had spent the night celebrating his own rise to power while he was here in the Red Keep mourning the loss of his wife and son.
Just then the doors opened to reveal his brother slowly walking into the throne room. He walked with his usual nonchalant, cocky attitude which further served to ignite his ire.
“You cut the image of the Conqueror, brother.” Daemon's voice rang out.
“Did you say it?” Viserys spoke softly, as he again thought of the words his brother was reported to have said.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Daemon responded.
“You will address me as Your Grace.” Viserys bit out. “The heir for a day. Did you say it?”
Daemon hesitated before responding. “We must all mourn in our own way, Your Grace.” Daemon’s voice was gentle, placating and it grated on Viserys’ nerves.
“My family has just been destroyed. But instead of being by my side or Rhaenyra’s, you chose to celebrate your own rise! Laughing with your whores and your lickspittles! You have no allies at court but me! I have only ever defended you and yet everything I have given you you’ve thrown back in my face.” Viserys spoke through the tears of anger and sadness clogging his throat.
“You’ve only ever tried to send me away. To the Vale. To the City Watch. Anywhere but by your side. Ten years you have been King and yet not once have you asked me to be your Hand!” Daemon retorted.
“Why would I do that?” Viserys said snidely.
“Because I am your brother. And the blood of the dragon runs thick.” Daemon's voice was strong and clear, as though he truly meant the words he spoke.
“Then why do you cut me so deeply?” Viserys felt his voice break.
“I have only ever spoken the truth. I see Otto Hightower for what he is.”
“An unwavering and loyal Hand.” Viserys intoned.
“A cunt! A second son who stands to inherit nothing he doesn’t seize for himself.” Daemon retorted loudly.
“Otto Hightower is a more honorable man than you could ever be.” Viserys said easily.
“He doesn’t protect you. I would!” Daemon was almost pleading.
“From what?” Viserys asked, curious as to who he needed protecting from.
“From yourself.” Daemon’s voice had gone soft again. “You’re weak, Viserys. And that council of leeches knows it. They all prey on you for their own ends.”
Viserys let out a breath. He let his body sink back on the Iron Throne.
“I have decided to name a new heir.” He spoke nonchalantly, as though their previous conversation had not happened.
“I’m your heir.” Daemon protested.
“Not anymore. You are to return to Runestone and your Lady wife at once. And you are to do so without quarrel by order of your King.” Viserys spoke with authority.
The words hung in the air for a moment before it was broken by Daemon’s deep voice.
“Your Grace.” Daemon uttered in a low voice.
The silence that followed was deafening. Daemon waited a moment before nodding his head in apparent acceptance and yet he did not move from his spot.
Viserys raises his hand to rub at his forehead. Hissing when he realizes he has been cut by one of the swords of the Iron Throne.
“What is it?” Daemon asked.
“It is nothing. Just a cut from the throne.” Viserys waves his hand in dismissal.
Slowly Daemon walks up the steps of the throne. The silence was eerie. His footsteps echo in the otherwise empty room. Despite the fact that he had always defended Daemon when others hinted that he would harm him for the throne, Viserys gripped the handle of Blackfyre a bit tighter the closer he came. When Daemon reached the top, his eyes were shrewd as they settled on the cut on the King’s finger
“Oh Viserys.” He whispers. “You will doom us all.” Daemon shook his head in sadness.
“What is this? What are you talking about?” Viserys demands.
“The throne has cut you.” Daemon raises his head to meet the eyes of his older brother. “It is too late.” His voice is quiet and yet the words are heavy.
Viserys feels a chill run down his spine at his brother’s words. They are dripping with ominous promise. For a moment he blusters, trying to convince himself this was just Daemon being Daemon.
“What do you mean, I’ve doomed us all? It is a throne made of swords. Is it any wonder I have cut myself a time or two?” Viserys’ voice sounds wrong even to his own ears.
Daemon's eyes sharpen. “You have been cut before?” He demands.
Viserys frowns. “Yes.” He answered hesitantly.
“When?” Daemon demands.
“Daemon what is wrong with you? What does it matter when I was cut?” Confusion swelled in Viserys as well as a rising feeling of dread.
“When?” Daemon asks again.
Viserys hesitates. “It was the last time you asked me for an annulment from your marriage to Lady Rhea.” He admits.
Daemon closes his eyes. He appears to be in pain although he stood tall and strong as always.
“Daemon?” Viserys prompts.
“It is too late.” Daemon repeated quietly, in defeat.
It is the defeat in his voice that ignites Viserys’ anger.
“What do you mean, it’s too late?!” He yells. “You keep saying that! Tell me what you mean!!” He is breathing heavily now, from his anger and frustration as well as from the fear in his heart that is steadily growing.
Daemon simply stares off to the side of the room. Eyes unseeing. When he speaks, his voice is strange. Almost wispy, like ash rising from a fire.
“It is said that when Aegon constructed the Iron Throne he and his sisters forged it in blood. In magic. The throne was never meant to be comfortable. A King should never sit easy.” Daemon quieted.
Taking a deep breath he continued. “However, there was another reason behind the creation of the Iron Throne. Another purpose to the swords and the spikes.” Turning now he made eye contact once more with his brother. “It was made to ensure the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms made the correct choices. The right rulings. If ever a King made a decision that went against the will of the Gods then . . .” Daemon trailed off and shrugged while eyeing the cut on Viserys' finger.
“Magic?!” Viserys scoffed to hide his growing unease. “You know there is no such thing as magic.”
The look Daemon gave him was one of utter astonishment. It made Viserys want to squirm although he did his best to hide his impulse.
“No such thing as magic?!” Daemon said incredulously. “Are you making a jest? How do you suppose then that we bond with dragons? How do you explain our ability to withstand heat? How do you account for the records within our history of dreams that warned of a disaster in the future? I am aware that you disdain our family’s heritage and history but I did not know you were so far gone as to dismiss the very essence of our blood.” Daemon's voice rose the longer he spoke.
Viserys did not know what to say to that. What did Daemon mean, he disdained his family's heritage and history? He was doing everything he could to preserve the Targaryen legacy. He desired nothing else but peace for his reign. He wanted to be remembered the same way his grandfather had been. The good King Jaehaerys had held such a peaceful reign. What would it say about him if that peace did not continue?
He had tried and tried to continue his line by siring a son. The son that was meant to succeed him as King of the Seven Kingdoms. Unfortunately he and Aemma had only been able to have one daughter. All others had died either in the womb or in the cradle. How dare his brother assume he did not care about his family's legacy? He had just sacrificed his beloved wife for the babe in her womb who was meant to continue their legacy!
It is true he did not have the same connection to dragons as Daemon apparently did. Balerion had died so soon after Viserys had claimed him. The bond he shared with the old dragon had barely been allowed to form before death had claimed his mount. The fact that they were able to bond with dragons had nothing to do with magic. It had to do with their ancestral blood. Daemon was reading further into things than was real.
He was about to tell his brother as much when Daemon turned abruptly and walked down the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Viserys demanded.
Daemon stopped and peered back at his brother.
“I’m not going to sit around and watch you destroy our family. I will leave. Leave King’s Landing. Leave Westeros if I must. But I will not stay and sit on the sidelines while you are the cause of our destruction.”
Daemon turned and walked out of the throne room. As Viserys watched him leave he could not stop the anxiety pooling in his stomach. The sweat beads on his brow and his hand shakes as he looks at the small cut on his finger. How could such a tiny injury really be a heralding of misfortune. And because of his decision to send Daemon away? Unease rolled over him as he remembered that his previous wound from the throne still had not healed. The maesters did not seem to know how to treat him. It only worsened. Was this the end? Daemon couldn’t be right. It was only a coincidence that the times he had been cut by the throne were both times he had been going against his brother's wishes. Why would the Gods care if Daemon stayed married to Lady Rhea or if he left King’s Landing by order of the King? His vision blurred as the red from the cut swirled in front of his eyes.
Sitting up straight he finally registered the last thing Daemon had said. He would leave. Not just King’s Landing but Westeros?! Viserys shot to his feet intent on ordering his brother to return when his throat seized up. He could not call him back. He had just ordered him to leave King’s Landing. How would he explain it to the council or Otto? How could he, as King, go back on his order just because Daemon’s words had stoked fear in his heart. He would truly be seen as weak if he were to do such a thing.
No. Daemon must be mistaken. He was not the scholar Viserys was and in all his readings of Valyrian texts he had never heard anything like what Daemon was describing. This was just a coincidence. A freak accident. His back would heal, so would his finger. He would be fine. Everything would be fine.
Viserys sat on the Iron Throne a long time repeating the same words over and over again.
Everything would be fine.
Everything would be fine.
Everything would be fine.