Viserys strides in the Red Keep halls as Otto follows him, narrating the whole incident, the King listens intently and his blood boil at the crimes done to the small folks by the gold cloaks.
"It was an unprecedented roundup of alleged criminals of every ilk.," Otto informes the King.
"Your brother made a public show of it, meting out the summary judgments himself."
The Hand leads King Viserys to the small council chamber, the report was unsettling and it made Viserys troubled, the city's watch excessive violence were alarming last night.
"I'm told they needed a five-horse cart to haul away the resulting... dismemberments when it was done." Otto tells the King with profanity.
Reaching the doors, Ser Hightower pushes through them and steps aside as Viserys walked in, he followed and trailed behind the guards bow.
*******
Lord Commander Ryam Redwyne is already inside, standing over the small council table.
The members of the King's inner circle are all in attendance, sitting and waiting for the King and the Hand to arrive.
Daemon too is already waiting inside yet upon his arrival he's surprised to see his nephew in the Small council chamber already seated in Otto Hightower's position, un-borthered and unfazed.
He is still wearing his armor and gold cloak from the night before. A red smear stains his new gold cloak, but his eyes are fixated on his brother's son.
He walks past Lord Corlys, Maester Mellos, Lord Beesbury, Lord Strong and Lady Tissaia without uttering a greeting.
"So Rude." Lady Tissaia rolls her eyes.
Daemon took his previously empty, kept for him at the small council. He sat down smiling with mischief etched across his face, staring at his nephew awkwardly and yet shocked to see how handsome he's grown. Muscled.
"Geralt of Rivia..... what a pleasant surprise." Daemon smirks.
"Hello. Uncle." Geralt replies, grinning dangerously at the rogue prince.
The room was quiet, the only sounds heard, were the curtains blowing in command of the breeze, the gulls and birds were cawing in the sky, the indistinct hagglings from within the city and the bells tolling at the White Harbour.
Geralt is somewhat happy to see Daemon after eight years, and yet he somewhat envies him for being his father's heir, the witcher's gaze lingered with jealousy upon his uncle, however, his reflexes hid his ambitions.
Eyes of yellow-gold stared against orbs of purple. Challenging each other without words unsaid.
Silence.
Daemon is curious to ask questions about his long term adventures, but he doesn't say a word, he just stares at Geralt looking at the young man with thoughts running through his mind, yet he felt compelled to ask his nephew how his mutation training went at Dorne.
Geralt could easily read the body language of Daemon and Intuit his thoughts. Pity, he could feel his rage. He knew his uncle is threatened by his presence at the Small Council but he doesn't care. Nothing lasts forever, not even the King's succession.
YOU ARE READING
The Dragon's Heart Is Mine || Geralt Targaryen
Fantasy"The dream...it was clearer than a memory. And I heard the sound of thundering hooves, splintering shields and ringing swords. And I placed my heir upon the Iron Throne, and all the dragons roared as one." ~ King Viserys Targaryen "If...
