[h3][center]Daemon[/center][/h3]

[b]Heartless[/b] it had been. His daughter. A twisted monster. She'd not been due for another moon's cycle yet but when the raven came, Rhaenyra had flown into a black rage and been racked by a premature and tragic labour. For three nights her screams had risen high above the crashing tides around Dragonstone and even the pitiful cries of Syrax had been not half so mournful as the bitter, savage curses of a Princess scorned. He'd personally heard her curse their child and watched as she clawed at her stomach as though minded to tear the child from her bodily. Cursed it was. A shrivelled, twisted abomination with withered wing-like growths and a hole through the chest where a heart ought to have beaten. Daemon had it taken away and burned. 

[i]They ripped her heart out and now I will rip theirs out.[/i] He seethed. It was the boy; Aegon and his puppeteers- The Old Queen and the Hand. The Hightowers, the Greens. Whatever one wished to call them, they had the throne and had bought the time to consolidate. Rhaenyra, his niece, wife, mother to his twins had once been the one barrier keeping him from the Iron Throne; Viserys his brother and King elevated his firstborn daughter above the Prince in the line of succession and once she’d had sons of her own, then the King had trueborn heirs with his second wife; Alicent Hightower and Daemon’s only chance of rule was the chance he had taken. By marrying his niece he could rule at her side but the Hightowers had moved decisively whilst Rhaenyra was in no condition to react. He had wanted to retaliate [i]Fire and Blood[/i] went his House words but he’d had to concede that his stepsons had the right of it; Viserys had, like as not, been dead long enough for the Greens to safeguard against every eventuality in time for the ravens to be sent with their infernal news. 

He could very well imagine Ser Otto’s smug face, forming his machinations whilst Daemon’s brother’s corpse grew cold and hard. Alicent, that sour, fat bitch using her husband’s death to steal his daughter’s birthright and foist it upon her sour, fat son. Oh, she’d been comely in her youth. Daemon had broken her in whilst Jaehaerys still lived and the Hand’s daughter was a mere nursemaid to the old king at court. Age and the birthing bed had eroded what beauty she’d had and Daemon wanted nothing better than to feed her to Caraxes. The lot of them. Otto, Alicent, Aegon, Helaena and her brats, Aemond, Daeron… But if it was to be war, he’d need alliances, pacts, endless fucking meetings and coin. More than anything they’d need coin. The Kings Landing treasury was under Green control and the might of Hightower and Oldtown doubtless remained formidable. [i]Dorne and Casterly Rock will waste little time declaring for Aegon[/i] he knew but surely his wife wasn’t without allies? Driftmark was a stone’s throw across the bay and he earnestly hoped his old war-buddy the Sea Snake was wasting little time readying his impressive naval forces. Yes, there was that unpleasant business with the nephew he’d killed in single combat but it wasn’t Daemon who’d started it… [i] and that little matter of you paying to have his son and heir murdered?[/i] He preferred not to think on that…

Lady Jeyne Arryn had the Knights of the Vale though the onset of Winter would mean they would need to leave the mountains swiftly. [i]She doesn’t love me either[/i] The last he or Rhaenyra had heard of Jeyne Arryn she was expressing her dismay at Daemon marrying her oldest friend. She’d sent that silly fucking falcon and Daemon had wrung its neck and left the missive unanswered. Again, he hoped his volatile nature hadn’t burned another bridge. [i] The Eyrie must be visited but I would not be welcome [/i] He felt a pang of sorrow. The girl was at The Eyrie… Gods, she’d be a woman grown by now but he’d be a stranger to her. For a man who prided himself on always doing whatever he pleased, he had a lot of regrets…

Would Stark bestir himself to dabble in troubles so far south? Perhaps not. Winter was here and the Northmen would like as not hibernate before climbing out of the snows in a few years’ time once Spring returned… [i]Still, it would do no harm to ask…[/i] he reasoned. The Riverlanders he hoped would prove loyal to the blacks although there were no guarantees, There were Stormland houses loyal to Rhaenyra, he knew but if the Greens had tapped up Lord Baratheon… How long had they been sowing these seeds? Had they courted Highgarden? Beyond a doubt, Hightower would have the full might of their liege lords at their disposal. [i]Gods[/i] he thought, [i]they’ve probably got a thousand Ironborn ships moving through the Stepstones towards us as we do nought![/i] He’d long known he had no patience for command; whilst they waited, Aegon’s fat fingers closed ever more tightly around Rhaenyra’s crown yet to mount his dragon and fly straight for the Red Keep was the most Daemon thing he could possibly do and even in this rage he could see the folly in it. 

He’d at least had the sense to call the banners; acting on his wife’s behalf he’d written to every Lord and Castle, Keep and House in Westeros as well as petitioning the nine free cities (though his hopes of persuading the Triarchy to his cause was vain at best) whilst Rhaenyra convalesced in her chambers. Milk of poppy, blessedly, dulling her senses. 

[indent][i]Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, Rightful Queen of Westeros, of the Andals, the First Men, the Rhoynar. Rightful First Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Heiress to King Viserys by right, Protector of the Realm hereby declares War upon the Usurper, Aegon Hightower, his Lady Mother, Alicent – the former Queen and upon her House who have sought to steal my birthright. 
Upon any and all that would stand with the Usurper and his ‘green thieves’. Upon any that will not bestir themselves to join my cause and restore to me the crown that they have stolen so that I might defend and protect your rights and honour in the years to come as I ask of you to protect mine today. 

Rally your troops, ready your ships and garrison your homes. Saddle your horses and sharpen your swords. Bend no knees for this false king and his vile schemers and I vow that we will sweep this blight from history and your sacrifices, bravery and honour shall be rewarded in perpetuity.

Fire and Blood

Rhaenyra Targaryen- Your true queen.[/i][/indent]

He’d tried to write with Rhaenyra’s voice; calling the ‘King’ by his mother’s name was, he thought, a nice touch; that pretender is no Targaryen… And he’d deliberately left his own name out of the missive; he had more enemies than he did friends and for every man that might go to war for him, there were twenty that would march for his wife.

Even before the ravens had flown, pledges of loyalty had come in reponse to Aegon’s letter. It was reassuring to know that Dragonstone would scarcely stand alone in this damnable challenge. He looked out across the bay. Iron grey skies merged into Iron grey waters. Not a breath of wind seemed to stir the sails of the brightly painted cogs from Braavos, the Pentoshi schooners and long galleys sailed in from Volantis. [i] Within a week, these trading ships will be gone and the bay filled with War Galleys and longships…[/i] he hoped. An ensemble fleet of Black loyalists to ally with the might of Driftmark would certainly allay some of his misgivings about what was to come, though he also knew that the principal pieces in any game of Cyvasse were the dragons. Fire & Blood would be in plentiful supply in what was to come- he’d tasted his share during his long years in the Stepstones. [i]We shall see if Aegon and his brothers much like the portion they’ve carved themselves…[/i]

 Maester Gerardys approached so softly, Daemon seeing his shadow in the flickering candlelight at his side was the first intimation he had of the old man’s approach. Gerardys had come to Dragonstone when Viserys made Rhaenyra Crown Princess and Daemon had left. He was always passing careful around Daemon since the marriage; as though fearing every tale and rumour he’d heard of his lady’s uncle and husband was not only true, but slightly downplayed. 

“My Lord, the Princess…”
“The [i]Queen[/i]”
“My apologies! The Queen is awake and asks for you. She is weak but insists she must rise… I”
“Keep her abed. I will be there presently.” He nodded Gerardys away in a curt dismissal.
“As you will, My lord..” The maester shuffled out as silently as he’d appeared. Finally, something flickered across the monochrome seascape; a black shadow- monstrous and dread, crawling through the air gracelessly away to scavenge a meal. The Cannibal, he was called and was a huge wild dragon that had probably been around since Aegon the Conqueror’s day and had never been tamed. He was a huge nuisance, fond of attacking young dragons and hatchlings alike- giving him his name. 

[i]With dragons like that, we’d soon have Rhaenyra on that throne…[/i] And, all of a sudden, Daemon knew he’d need to write another letter…