The Pearl of Driftmark

I Daemon's P.O.V

King's Landing, Red Keep – 120 AC

I sighed heavily, just a moon ago I had been reveling in the freedom of the Stepstones with my beloved family, cherishing the tranquility and solace they had found on Bloodstone. But now, here I was, reluctantly dragged back to the suffocating embrace of the Red Keep. The Red Keep, with its corridors echoing with whispers of betrayal and deceit, had been a prison of my own making. The wounds of past abuses still lingered, a constant reminder of the torment and humiliation I had endured. In the Stepstones, I had finally begun to heal, surrounded by the love of my wife Laena and our two daughters, Baela and Rhaena.

But now, duty called, and I had no choice but to heed its summons. The King's command was not one to be ignored, even if it meant sacrificing the peace and serenity, I had fought so hard to find. With a heavy heart, I packed my bags and flew back to King's Landing, my family in tow. The oppressive atmosphere of the capital threatened to suffocate me once more, casting a shadow over my hopes for a brighter future. Yet, I knew I had to endure, for the sake of my family and the obligations that bound me to the crown.

Yet as I surveyed the lavish banquet hall, I couldn't help but feel dark amusement. My eyes settled on the figure of my brother's queen, Alicent Hightower, her attempts to sway the lords and ladies of the realm to her cause, to undermine my niece Rhaenyra's rightful claim to the throne, filled me with disdain. Alicent's delicate features were carefully schooled into an expression of regal grace, but I saw through the facade to the cunning ambition that lay beneath. It was a charade that played out before Viserys, our feeble-minded king, who seemed oblivious to the machinations unfolding under his very nose.

I felt a surge of indignation rise within me as I watched my brother's complacency, his failure to protect his own daughter from the venomous intrigues of the court. Rhaenyra had been named the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, yet Viserys allowed her to be torn apart by the vipers that slithered in the shadows of the Red Keep. It was a betrayal that cut deep, not only for Rhaenyra but for all those who held true to the blood of the dragon. How could Viserys stand idly by, allowing his own flesh and blood to be sacrificed on the altar of his own incompetence?

Viserys, my brother, had always been a man of feeble resolve, easily swayed by the whispers of those around him. But even I, Daemon Targaryen, had hoped that his love for his eldest daughter would compel him to act, to shield her from the treachery that lurked within these walls. Yet, as I watched him sit upon his gilded throne, a mere puppet in the hands of my niece's enemies, I felt a bitter surge of disappointment grip my heart. Viserys had always been a coward, more concerned with his own comfort than the welfare of those he professed to love.

I remembered the days when Aemma, his first wife and my dear cousin, still walked among us. She was a gentle soul, kind and full of life, yet Viserys allowed her to be torn apart by the cruelty of this court. They mocked her, called her defective and barren, while Viserys stood by and did nothing to defend her honor. I witnessed the agony etched upon Aemma's face as she endured miscarriage after miscarriage, stillbirth after stillbirth. Each loss was a dagger to my heart, and when she lay dying, her strength drained by the relentless tide of sorrow, Viserys made the ultimate betrayal.

He chose to cut her open, to rip our beloved Aemma apart in a desperate bid for a son, a son who drew breath for but a single day before slipping away into the cold embrace of death. It was a tragedy of his own making, it showed everyone his selfishness and cowardice.

There was a time when my heart swelled with affection for my brother Viserys. I would have moved mountains for him, done anything to earn his favor and respect. But Viserys, blinded by his own weaknesses and insecurities, never returned that love or loyalty. Instead, he surrounded himself with sycophants and flatterers, casting me aside like a worn-out cloak once I no longer served his purposes.