Game of thrones: A storm is coming

After a few months of traveling across the narrow sea, the ship arrived near the shores of Westeros. The journey back to Westeros had been a blur. Daeron stood at the bow of the ship, his silver hair whipping in the wind, FrostMourne strapped firmly to his back. Westeros loomed on the horizon, its shores stark and familiar. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest.

Driftmark. Home of House Velaryon. Home of my sister, and my only connection to Westeros.

He had dreamed of this moment since leaving Essos, imagining how Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was, would react. Would she embrace him tearfully as her brother? Punish him for disappearing like that? Maybe berate me for being reckless? At least whatever she does, it'll be in style.

The castle gates swung open as he approached, and a host of Velaryon guards awaited. At the center stood Rhaenys herself, her silver hair shimmering in the breeze, her piercing violet eyes fixed on him. She was as commanding as he remembered, but this time, there was something softer in her gaze.

"Daeron," she greeted, her voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of emotion. "Welcome back to Driftmark."

Daeron bowed low, attempting a roguish grin. "Princess Rhaenys, it's an honor to stand before you again. And by 'honor,' I mean I'm praying you don't throw me to the sea before I explain myself."

She arched an elegant eyebrow. "You think my temper is as wild as my husband's?"

"Isn't it?" he quipped before realizing it might not be the best idea to sass someone standing beside an army of guards.

Rhaenys's lips twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through her regal demeanor. "Come inside, Daeron. We have much to discuss."

The richly decorated solar of High Tide was a sharp contrast to Daeron's current predicament. He stood at attention, though every muscle in his body begged to slump. Across from him, Rhaenys paced, her violet eyes blazing as she launched into what could only be described as a verbal hurricane.

"Flying off to Essos without a word!" she began, her voice sharp enough to cut steel. "Do you have any idea the risks you took? And not just risks to yourself, Daeron! Risks to your bloodline, to the legacy of our house—"

"I did leave a note," Daeron interjected with a sheepish grin.

"Oh, yes, a note," she snapped, whirling on him. "A scribbled line saying, 'Gone exploring. Don't wait up,' delivered by a shady ship captain! Not exactly reassuring, little brother!"

Corlys Velaryon sat nearby, ostensibly reviewing a map of trade routes, but the slight upward twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement. He leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the rare sight of his composed wife losing her temper.

"To be fair," Daeron began, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I was very responsible. I hired competent people, avoided outright war, and only got nearly stabbed... like twice only...."

"Twice!" Rhaenys's voice rose, and she pointed an accusatory finger at him. "And how, pray tell, does that qualify as 'responsible'?"

"Because it could have been three times?" Daeron suggested, a grin breaking across his face.

Corlys chuckled then, shaking his head. "You've got the wit of a rogue, lad, but you might want to reconsider using it when your sister's temper is involved."

Rhaenys shot her husband a withering look, though the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed her. Turning back to Daeron, she sighed, placing her hands on her hips. "You are impossible. One moment, you're fighting smugglers, and the next, you're a shadow prince in Essos? What were you thinking?"

"That I didn't want to spend my life as just another bastard," Daeron said, his voice softening. "I wanted to build something. I still do."

For a moment, Rhaenys's expression softened, and the fire in her eyes dimmed. She reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Daeron, you have your whole life ahead of you. Stop throwing it away on reckless gambles."

"I promise," Daeron said earnestly, "I'll be less reckless. Slightly. Maybe."

Rhaenys sighed, exasperated, and turned back to Corlys. "He's your responsibility now."

Corlys laughed, rising from his chair. "Oh no, my love, he's yours. And if I may say so, I haven't enjoyed a family quarrel like this in years. Truly entertaining."

Rhaenys gave him a stern glare but smiled soon, " You should visit Laenor and Laena, little brother. We have told them about the exploits you made in Essos, and they have been most eager to meet you again." She then added, " They know about you being my brother. Don't worry, I've told them to not talk about it unless with family."

Daeron found himself walking the sunlit halls of High Tide with a faint sense of nostalgia. It had been years since he'd last seen his niece and nephew—Laenor and Laena Velaryon. Now ten and seven name days old, they had grown considerably. 

The sound of laughter guided him to the gardens, where Laenor was engaged in a spirited sparring match with one of Driftmark's squires. The boy wielded his practice sword with impressive confidence, his strikes quick and decisive. Nearby, Laena sat on a stone bench, braiding flowers into her hair.

"Laenor Velaryon," Daeron called out, clapping his hands theatrically. "Are you trying to outshine me already?"

The boy froze mid-swing, his face lighting up as he turned to see Daeron. " Daeron!" he exclaimed, dropping his sword and sprinting over. Laena followed, her blue eyes wide with excitement.

"You've returned from your adventures!" Laenor said, nearly tackling Daeron with an enthusiastic hug.

"And you've grown a lot," Daeron said, ruffling the boy's hair. "I half expected you to be commanding ships by now."

"We heard you are actually our uncle," Laena said with a mischievous grin. "So, where's our presents from Essos, uncle?"

"And what presents would be worthy of my little niece?" Daeron asked, kneeling to meet her gaze. "Still as sharp-tongued as ever, I see."

Laena tilted her head, pretending to consider. "I want a big dragon, just like yours! " To which Daeron just laughed and patted her head. " Maybe when you're a bit older.

That evening, the family gathered for a private dinner in the castle's dining hall. The atmosphere was warm, filled with the sound of laughter and the clinking of goblets. Corlys regaled them with tales of his latest voyages, while Rhaenys occasionally interrupted to correct his embellishments.

"You can't keep letting him get away with such nonsense, Mother," Laena teased. "Next thing we know, he'll say he fought a kraken with his bare hands."

"I would never exaggerate like that," Corlys said, feigning offense. "It was two krakens."

The laughter that followed was hearty and infectious. Daeron, sitting between Laenor and Laena, found himself smiling more than he had in months. For once, he felt truly at ease, without having to scheme and pretend.

As the meal wound down, Rhaenys rose from her seat. "I have an announcement," she said, her voice cutting through the chatter. All eyes turned to her.

"In one moon, Driftmark will host a banquet," she continued. "We will celebrate Daeron's fourteenth nameday and introduce him formally to the nobility of Westeros as my brother."

The room fell silent for a heartbeat before erupting into cheers from Laenor and Laena.

"Finally!" Laenor exclaimed. "A proper celebration!"

Daeron, however, blinked in surprise. "Introduce me formally? Are you sure that's wise? It'll directly involve you guys with me, the king might not take it lightly."

Rhaenys smirked. "You've already caused enough of a stir. Might as well make it official. And since you have so foolishly decided to give up your targaryen name, Viserys or Otto won't be do anything directly. Not when you have connections and an army in Essos."

Daeron sighed and replied, " That's true, but maybe we should write the exact words and go over them. We must show that this isn't about the throne."

Laena leaned toward Daeron, her grin mischievous. "Don't worry, Uncle. I'll make sure you don't trip in front of everyone."

"Much appreciated," Daeron replied dryly. "But if I trip, I'm taking you with me."

As the family laughed, the weight of the coming banquet settled on Daeron's shoulders. The storm was coming, but for now, he was content to enjoy the calm. This fits well within his plans, maybe just a bit early.

The banquet hall was alive with the sounds of feasting: laughter, clinking goblets, and the hum of speculation. The hall was packed with Velaryons, nobles from nearby houses, and even a few high-ranking visitors from King's Landing. The occasion? An unexpected announcement by Princess Rhaenys.

Daeron stood at the side of the hall, dressed in the finest clothes he'd ever worn—deep blue and silver, the colors of House Velaryon. He shifted uneasily, unused to such attention. 'What was she planning?' was the thought on all the guest's mind. 

The answer came when Rhaenys rose, her goblet in hand. The room fell silent as her commanding presence filled the space. She beckoned Daeron to come and stnd beside her, Corlys giving a calm nod. Daeron followed her wish.

"Honored guests," she began, her voice carrying over the murmurs. "Today, we gather not only to celebrate Driftmark's prosperity but to introduce someone you might have heard about already."

She gestured to Daeron, " this young man here is known to you as Daeron Penndragon, a prince from from essos with the Targaryen blood, though he may be a bastard."

Daeron's heart raced. 

"This young man before you," Rhaenys continued, gesturing toward him, " A boy of extraordinary resilience and spirit, but more importantly, my brother. Born of Prince Aemon Targaryen, my father."

The hall erupted in gasps, whispers, and the clatter of goblets dropped in shock. Nobles exchanged bewildered glances, their eyes darting between Daeron and Rhaenys. The resemblance, undeniable under the flickering torchlight, now carried new weight.

Daeron cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh... surprise?"

The room descended into chaos. Questions flew like arrows: "How could this be?" "Why reveal it now?" "What does this mean for the Targaryen succession line? "Are we gonna have a war for the throne?"

Rhaenys silenced them with a single raised hand. "His origins are not in question. The blood of the dragon flows through him, as surely as it does through me." Her eyes met Daeron's, a silent promise of protection.

"My brother knew his identity might cause another question of succession, That is why he chose to form his own house in Essos. He started from nothing, but now he is acknowledged and respected by the people in Essos. Not because of his birthright, but because of his kind deeds. I hope you can understand the sacrifices he made for the sake of peace."

"Brother?" one lord sputtered. "Impossible!"

"How could this be?" Lady Velena of Gulltown whispered loudly to no one in particular. "Prince Aemon had no bastards!"

Daeron raised a hand awkwardly. "Hello. Yes, I exist. Surprise!"

The crowd's reaction escalated from confusion to outright uproar. A minor lord choked on his wine, while a Tyroshi merchant loudly declared, "This is why you shouldn't trust the Valyrians! They breed like wildfire!"

The banquet carried on, the initial shock of Rhaenys's revelation gradually giving way to cautious curiosity. The nobles of Westeros, ever intrigued by scandal and potential alliances, began to swarm Daeron like moths to a flame. Daeron, for his part, wore a disarming grin, playing the charming rogue to perfection.

"Daeron Penndragon," a smooth voice called, and Daeron turned to find Jason Lannister standing before him, golden-haired and dressed in the finest silks. Jason's smile was sharp, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "Or should I call you Prince of Mystery? Your exploits in Essos have become the stuff of legends, or at least tavern tales."

Daeron chuckled, offering a mock bow. "Ah, Lord Jason. Always a pleasure to meet someone with a taste for the finer stories of life. I hope the tavern tales left out the more embarrassing parts."

Jason's grin widened. "On the contrary, I hear tales of a certain ' Dragon Prince' who stormed Pentos with nothing but wit and a silver tongue. Is it true you slapped a merchant prince with a fish to knock him unconcious?"

"Not entirely accurate," Daeron admitted, raising his goblet. "I also had a very intimidating shadow behind me. Shadows are notoriously bad at negotiation, but they make for great props."

Jason laughed, clearly amused. "You know, Essos sounds far more exciting than the monotonous life of Westeros. Perhaps I should visit sometime. I could use an adventure."

Daeron smirked. "Careful, Lord Jason. Essos has a way of chewing up men with gold and spitting out paupers. Though with your charm, I'm sure you'd do well—at least until someone decided to sell you to slavers."

Jason clapped Daeron on the shoulder. "I like you, Daeron. You'll have to tell me more about this shadowy enterprise of yours over wine sometime. You can visit Casterly Rock and My brother and I will be happy to entertain you, we Lannisters do have more gold than we can count."

"I'll pencil it in between surviving assassins and avoiding dragons," Daeron replied lightly.

As the evening progressed, Daeron found himself cornered by a member of House Royce—a stern man clad in bronze with runic engravings on his cloak.

"Daeron Penndragon," the man said, his tone as solid as the stones of the Vale. "I am Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone, nephew of Lord Yorbert Royce. Your Vale origins intrigue me. And you say you might return to those lands?"

Daeron inclined his head. "Indeed, Ser Gerold. My memories of the Vale are hazy, but Runestone has always fascinated me. Your house's mastery of ancient runic knowledge is unparalleled. I'd like to visit someday, if only to admire the craftsmanship. My sword might have a rune on it."

Ser Gerold's expression softened slightly, though his voice remained measured. "You would be welcome to study the runes. Although they no longer work, but their secrets are guarded closely. One does not give away the wisdom of generations to a stranger."

"Of course," Daeron said, bowing slightly. "But perhaps after a cup or two of ale, I might seem less a stranger and more a distant friend."

Gerold's Royce's lips twitched into what might generously be called a smile. "We shall see, Penndragon."

The chatter of the banquet stilled as a new presence entered the hall. A man strode in, silver-haired and exuding a palpable charisma. Daemon Targaryen, clad in dark leathers and a deep crimson cloak, carried himself with the confidence of a dragon who knew he was the apex predator in the room.

"Daemon Targaryen," someone whispered. "The Rogue Prince."

Daeron blinked, not expecting to see the infamous prince here. Daemon's violet eyes swept the room before locking onto him. A slow, wolfish grin spread across his face as he made his way over.

"You must be the bastard boy I've heard so much about," Daemon said, his voice a rich, sardonic drawl. "Daeron, is it? Rhaenys's secret treasure."

Daeron raised an eyebrow, his grin matching Daemon's. "And you must be the black sheep of the family. A pleasure to meet you, Cousin. Or should I call you the Rogue Prince?"

Daemon laughed, a sharp bark of amusement. "Call me what you like, boy. I've been summoned to King's Landing from my journey , but I couldn't resist seeing this 'Essosi adventurer' everyone's talking about."

He glanced at FrostMourne. "And that sword of yours. Valyrian steel, is it?"

Daeron nodded. "FrostMourne. A gift from fate, or misfortune, depending on the day."

Daemon's eyes gleamed with interest. "Valyrian steel suits a Targaryen, bastard or not. I've yet to see you wield it. Tell me, can you use it, or is it just for show?"

"Would you like to find out?" Daeron asked, his tone light but his grip tightening slightly on the sword's hilt.

Daemon chuckled, clapping Daeron on the shoulder. "I like your fire, lad. Keep it. You'll need it in this nest of vipers."

Before Daeron could respond, a servant approached Rhaenys with a rolled parchment bearing the royal seal. Daemon glanced at it briefly, then spoke nonchalantly, " Oh , I was also told to invite you to the capital as my brother's guest of honor. Quite an honor for a bastard boy."

"Well," Daeron said, stepping back. "You might find in Essos that it is quite an honor to meet me actually." His tone dripped with mockery. "Nevertheless, I'd love to visit the capital with my little friend." Acnologia gave out a deep rumbling roar as if to emphasize his words.

Daemon gave him a wild grin that almost reached his ears, " You are very interesting for a bastard. It's almost a shame that you don't our name." He gave a mock sigh.

Rhaenys, feeling she had tolerated him enough, stepped forward with a warning tone," Be careful cousin, he is my brother. Disrespecting him repeatedly in my hall, that's something I won't look away even if you are a prince and family."

Daemon shrugged and just turned away to leave. He turned toward the balcony, where the moonlight bathed the stone. A roar echoed through the night, and moments later, Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, descended. The dragon's long neck snaked toward Daemon, who climbed into the saddle with practiced ease.

Before taking flight, Daemon called down to Daeron. "If you ever want to see true power, boy, find me. Until then, enjoy your banquet."

With that, Caraxes leapt into the sky, wings cutting through the night like a knife, leaving the banquet guests murmuring in awe and unease.

Later that night, Daeron stood on a balcony overlooking the dark, restless sea. The air was crisp, tinged with salt, and the waves crashed against the rocks below like a heartbeat. He gripped the railing tightly, his mind racing. The evening's events had left him raw, exposed. He was no longer invisible. He was on the spotlight now, and this could be both a good and bad thing for him.

Rhaenys joined him, her violet eyes reflecting the moonlight. For a long moment, they stood in silence, the sound of the sea filling the space between them.

"You've made quite the splash," she said finally, her tone lighter than before.

"I feel like a fish in a net," Daeron admitted. "One wrong move, and I'll end up roasted with lemon."

She laughed softly, a sound he hadn't expected. "You'll get used to it. The stares, the whispers, the endless plotting. It's part of being a Targaryen."

Daeron turned to face her, his expression serious. "Why did you do it? Why claim me publicly as your brother?"

Rhaenys met his gaze, her face softening. "Because you are. And because I believe you have a role to play in this world, Daeron. Although I'd prefer if you lived a safe and peaceful life, You've survived too much to be ordinary."

He looked back out at the sea, the weight of her words pressing on him. "I don't know if I can live up to the name."

"You don't have to," she said. "You just have to be yourself. The rest will come."

The path ahead was uncertain, but for now, he had a name, a place, and the strength to reach for more . And if the nobles of Westeros wanted a show, he was more than willing to give them one.

"Well," he said, cracking a grin. "If I'm going to sink, I might as well make it spectacular."

Rhaenys laughed again, the sound carried away by the wind. "Just don't drown, little brother. The realm is watching now."

As the waves crashed below, Daeron felt a new resolve settle within him. This was only the beginning. The game is just beginning.