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Aemma had always been an utterly beautiful woman. When Viserys had been married to her, Daemon had rather thought she was too beautiful for his brother. He had considered slipping into her bedchamber the night before the wedding-if his brother was to have their lovely cousin for wife, Daemon would have her maidenhead. He would have, if their father had not kept Daemon with him all night. He had known Daemon well enough to do so.
But ever since the birth of her son, Aemma appears to be glowing, more beautiful than she was even on her wedding day, even after she'd birthed Rhaenyra. She welcomes Daemon to her table in the gardens with a soft smile and a kiss on the cheek, her squirming son close to her chest.
"And how is the little heir this morrow?" Daemon asks, tucking a finger under Baelon's chin. The babe gurgles out a laughter, reaching out to grasp Daemon's finger. The prince allows it for a moment before detaching himself, careful not to harm the boy. Viserys' heir, finally delivered. It would have been best for Daemon were he never born, but unless the child were taken by disease-as little children so often are-he is now here and Daemon must face him.
(He had thought to harm the child. Pay a maid to smother him with a pillow in the night. He had thought to do it, but Daemon is no kinslayer. And he will not take the life of the child of his brother, just as he had never touched Rhaenyra, though she threatened his position as Viserys's disputed heir.)
"He is quite well," Aemma kisses her son's head. "Slept the night, as he does not always care to do."
"He is a Targaryen, when have dragons ever cared for long peaceful slumber?" Daemon collapses on a chair and raises the cup to be given wine. A young boy, around Rhaenyra's age, comes up and obediently pours the drink, and Daemon tilts his head for a better view of the boy's buttocks. Round and pert, though not nearly as enticing as his knight's. Dameon places one leg over the other in an attempt to calm himself.
Aemma laughs and hands the child over to a wetnurse to be fed. She settles down next to Daemon and accepts wine herself, "And when will you, dear brother, share in the joy that is fatherhood?"
"Ah," Daemon sips from his wine, "And now I see why you have called me to you, my queen. It is not for the joy of my presence. It is to attempt to convince me to fly to my bronze bitch."
"It is also for the joy of your presence," Aemma says with a raised eyebrow. "You are my good-brother and I care for you deeply. As you know. But I worry for you, Daemon. I worry what you plan, now that Baelon has come."
"Truly, Aemma," Daemon hisses, "If you believe that I could harm-"
"I do not believe that," Aemma waves a hand, her eyes shrewd. "But let us be frank, between the two of us. Rhaenyra is no longer her father's only child, and marrying her will not achieve for you what it once would have. Now is the time for you to consummate your marriage to Rhea. She is Lady of Runestone, and any children you have will inherit a powerful and rich seat."
"And who says I care to have children? I find them rather irritating."
"You care," Aemma says. "You care for power. You care for acknowledgment. You desire for your child-"
"I desire for my child to sit the Iron Throne," Daemon leans forward, "But that is hardly like to come to pass now, is it. And so I am uncertain what fucking the bronze bitch would achieve for me."
Aemma sighs, "Rhaenyra is four-and-ten, she will need to be wed in the next few years. She cannot wait for Baelon to be of an age to wed her. Laena is tw-and-ten, too old for Baelon as well. And I will not provide the king with a daughter closer to Baelon's age."
Daemon frowns, "You cannot know that, Aemma. Now that Baelon has been born, perhaps others will follow."
The queen shakes her head, "No, Daemon. No children will follow. I cannot bear another pregnancy. And so it is to you we must turn. I do not wish for Baelon's queen to come from outside the family. She will be Rhaenyra's daughter, or yours."
"And you'd rather I provide you with a good-daughter sooner than late, so the pressure on Rhaenyra marrying may lessen," Daemon understands now. Aemma had been wed when she was younger than Rhaenyra, and had birthed her when near Rhaenyra's age. Five dead babes had followed. Princess Daella had been married young as well, and Aemma had caused the death of her mother. Aemma wishes to prevent the same fate befalling her daughter. She will not have her wedded and bedded soon.
Daemon hums and leans back in his chair. And so if he were to produce a daughter on Lady Rhea...that child would one day be wed to Baelon, and Daemon's grandson would sit the Iron Throne. And if Viserys were to pass before Baelon came of age...
"I will remove myself to the Vale and bear the presence of Lady Rhea once more," Daemon sighs, sipping his wife. He looks to the kingsguard standing watch over queen and heir, Ser Willis Fell. He wonders idly where Cole is on this morrow. Watching the princess, in all likelihood, as her sworn sword. Daemon's fingers tighten on his goblet. The girl desires his little knight, he sees it plainly in her eyes. If Daemon left Cole in the Red Keep with Rhaenyra, how long would it be before she tries to lure him to her bed?
Though perhaps he need not be so concerned. It seems that Aemma is sending him away, at least partially, because she understands Rhaenyra watches Daemon. Aemma will not be blind to where else her daughter’s eyes wander.
And as though reading his mind, Aemma says, “You are a member of the royal family. Perhaps it would be appropriate if a member of the kingsguard were to accompany you, at least for some time. I do believe your brother would be comforted to know you protected.”
“Dear cousin, I am more than capable of keeping myself protected,” Daemon sips of his wine, “Though perhaps it is not I you wish protected, hmm? Do you desire for me to take Ser Criston to the Vale?”
Aemma smiles, “Perhaps.”
“Rhaenyra’s own sworn sword?”
“Another can take that role,” Aemma replies. “Ser Cole is a worthy knight.”
"But you would not have chosen him for the Kingsugaurd?"
Aemma shakes her head, "No, I would have. He is more than worthy, and Rhaenyra was right when she said the kingsguard must be made of worthy warriors first and foremost. I simply would not have named him as her sworn sword."
Yes, it is just as Daemon thought. Aemma's clear eyes had indeed seen Rhaenyra's starry eyes following Daemon's darling boy.
"If you wish for Ser Criston to accompany me to Runestone, I have no objections," Daemon waves a casual hand. "He is a formidable knight. A worthwhile sparring partner to have."
"I am glad you approve," Aemma says dryly. She sighs and leans forward to gently take Daemon's hand in hers. Her touch is soft and warm, and Daemon swallows down the odd sensation the touch stirs in him. His good-sister looks deep into his eyes, and says, "You will treat your wife kindly, will you not? Remember that you are a prince and she only-"
"The ruling lady of Runestone?" Daemon snorts and pulls his hand away.
"You have power over her."
"If she does not desire my touch, she will not feel it," Daemon lies easily. He does not intend on staying in Runestone for long, only long enough to put a daughter in his wife's belly-and perhaps he will have to return if the child is male. But he does not intend on remaining longer than necessary to accommodate Lady Rhaea's lack of desire to finally consummate their marriage.
"Good," Aemma does not seem to notice his deception. She is rather like Viserys in this.
It troubles Daemon, how trusting his brother and good-sister are capable of being. He does not care for the thought of once again leaving the court and allowing Otto Hightower free access to the king's ear. But he cannot allow the opportunity to sire the next queen consort to pass him by, nor allow Cole to remain in King's Landing by the little princess's side.
He will bear some months in Runestone, Daemon decides. And as he sips his wine it occurs to him that it might not be quite so terrible. Not with his sweet knight to entertain him.
—
After leaving the queen's presence, Daemon leaves the Red Keep for the City Watch barricades. He spends a few hours coordinating efforts to find members of a group that had been terrorising the women of Flea Bottom. This he will miss, he thinks. There is a wondrous joy to be found in gelding and decapitating the men dirtying up King's Landing.
He will miss the City Guard, as well, the power they give him. An army two thousand strong. And they are loyal to him-would they be loyal to his replacement, as well?
The armed men of Runestone will not be loyal to him, only to his bronze bitch, their lady. Though when she gives him a child he will be the sire of the heir to Runestone. Though he does not expect to stay in Runestone long enough for the matter to come up. He has no need to grow support in that pitiful place.
Though, Dameon thinks as he leaves the barracks to return to the Red Keep, once he has a daughter by Rhea he can think of no reason he need keep her alive. And any attempt to wrest control of Runestone might end in a struggle. Lady Rhea's cousins are not fond of him, and they might well try and take control of his child.
Well. It is good, then, that he will be taking one of the seven greatest knights of the Seven Kingdoms with him, is it not?
Daemon makes it back to the Red Keep quickly, and throws his horse's reins to the stable boy without sparing him a look. It is still too early for the planned small council meeting, not quite midday yet.
What Daemon truly desires is to fly, and allow one small council meeting to be held without him. It is only the knowledge of how pleased Hightower would be by his absence that stops him from going to Caraxes.
Hightower. Gods, how Daemon despises the man. How he would enjoy to see his demise.
Well. Perhaps one day.
He elects to wander the Red Keep's garden until it is time for the small council, expecting it to be empty-at least of people who might attempt to speak to him. And he is mostly correct, until he reaches the godswood of all places.
There he finds his knight.
Ser Criston is on his knees. That is the first thing that Daemon notices. He has of course seen the knight on his knees before, and it had always been a pretty sight. Now it nearly takes Daemon's breath away, thinking of Cole, in just this position, in Daemon's chambers. Without the pesky armour in the way.
But his wonder at the sight only lasts for a moment, because what he notices next renders even the sight of Cole on his knees unpleasant. The knight has his sword out, clutched tightly in two hands. And the sword is directed towards the knight's chest.
It's anger that drives Daemon forward, drives him to kick Ser Criston hard in the chest, sending him flying, his sword cluttering to the soft dirt. Cole scrambles, attempting to retrieve his weapon, but Daemon kicks him once more, sending him down to the ground, and places his foot on Cole's chest, pushing him down to keep him in place.
"And what, might I ask, is this?" Daemon leans his hand on his leg, leaning over Cole.
The young knight grasps at Daemon's leg, but does not try to push Dameon away, not with any true force. His eyes go up to Daemon's, and the prince is startled. There are tears in the knight's eyes, a despair, and it startles Dameon.
He has not expected the sensation, does not quite understand it- nor does he care for it.
"Why?" Cole shakes his head, "Why did you have to be here?"
"Are you displeased I happened to walk by, my knight? Have I interrupted your pleasant attempt to stab yourself in the chest?" It occurs to Daemon that he is shaking. Out of anger? He is uncertain. "What a shame."
"Let me stand, Prince Daemon," Daemon supposes Cole is attempting to sound demanding, but the words tremble.
“So you may run for your sword? I think not,” Daemon grinds his foot down. "Have you lost your mind, my knight? Has having your cock touched for the first time turned you simple?"
Ser Criston shakes his head, the tears now falling down his cheek. Once again, Daemon is struck by the young knight's beauty-a beauty the knight had attempted to extinguish, to take from Daemon.
"You took my honour from me," Cole's voice cracks. "I have soiled my white cloak, it is the only thing I have to my fucking name."
"You have it still," Daemon rolls his eyes. Dramatic little thing. "Forgive me for destroying this illusion you seem to be living in, but there are very few members of the kingsguard who have kept their vows throughout their service. The kingsguard serve for life, do they not? And a life is quite long for a true man to refrain-"
"You're lying. Do you think me a fool? I know-"
"Oh, sweetling," Daemon purrs, "Lying? No. I am telling truth. I would tell you to ask your brothers, but they are not like to speak candidly on the matter with you."
"Ser Harrold-"
"Is far more discreet than most," Daemon allows, "And only goes to the pillow houses once a year or so. Do you believe that makes him less capable of protecting the king? Less honourable?"
"If he has broken his vow, then it would-but he would not," Cole says stubbornly.
Daemon sighs. He leans down closer to the knight and says softly, "So you wish for your existence to end, as you have nothing but your honour, nothing but your now soiled cloak. And yet I know that not to be true. You have your steward father and servant brothers, elevated as they are by your ascension."
Cole frowns, "I do not understand-"
"You do not? Then allow me to explain it to you," Daemon places a hand on Cole's chest and leans to whisper in his ear, "If you attempt such a f oolish thing again, I will fly Caraxes to Lord Dundarion's lands and allow him to eat your brothers and burn your father, and then I will take your mother to replace your presence in my bed. Is that clear enough, my little knight? Do you understand now?"
“You would not. The king would not allow it.”
“The king, my brother? How much of a fuss do you truly believe he would raise over some stewart and his sons? And if I told him you had planned to sully his daughter? Would he care for your kin’s deaths, then?”
Ser Criston's eyes widen with horror, and he whispers, "Why would you do such a thing?"
"I will do nothing, sweet knight," Daemon grabs hold of Ser Criston's shirt and uses it to haul them both up. "As long as you do nothing in turn. You understand, yes?"
Cole looks down at the ground, swallows, then says, "I understand."
"Good boy," Daemon runs fingers through Cole's hair. He thinks of the time he will be spending in Runestone, away from court, with nothing to distract his knight from him. Oh. He will be enjoying the next few months.