Chapter Text
This cannot be how we end.
This cannot be how I die.
In the courtyard of Runestone, the Imposter stood by and looked to the sky, the clouds slowly moving across a grey winter sky, if he could Daemon would call out to Caraxes and take flight into the sky, from there he did not know what he would do; escape the reaches of death from an executioner’s blade and flee Westeros, fly to King’s Landing and burn the Red Keep to the ground in defiance of his fool of a nephew… maybe even head to the stronghold of an ally and rally his allies to his side. To his cause.
Kick start a war in his defence.
His lickspittle of a nephew, even in this life Aegon had it out for him, had sought to destroy him; must Viserys’ children be the bane of his existence in every life? It seems the Gods' answer to such a question would be yes.
Yet he refused to die by their hands; he had help to give that greedy bastard everything, his whole life handed to him on a golden plate only to repay those who put him there with treachery and tricks.
I would-
‘We shall do not such thing.’ The Imposter told him, he looked around at those around him; he could see Edith in the yard, the once young maid was now a middling woman with a son of her own whom was about to marry a woodsmen’s daughter. To the other side was Humfrey, the once young boy whom helped his older brother Gyles make his little game… Gyles who died in the Stepstones, whom now had babe boy named after him by Humfrey in his honour. All around them were hundreds of people, all of whom they both had seen, spoken to, laughed, cried and cherished throughout the decades he had been alive, and all of whom would be at risk if he made the wrong choice. The choice that could save his life. ‘No such thing.’
You are content to die?
‘Of course not, I do not wish to die, not now and not soon.’ The Imposter walked around the courtyard, a serving woman approached him and smiled, greeting him with a warmth and softness to her voice; it had taken so long to get the people of Runestone to trust him, and now they love him. They would die for him.
Then fight!
‘And then what?’ The Imposter questioned, Daemon could feel his teeth clenching before a sigh escaped his lips ‘Look around… how many of these people would die for me if I asked? Likely all of them, but I can not ask that of them.’
At the front of the courtyard, a group of carriages was being loaded with crates for their preparation to the Eyrie, a summons from Lady Jeyne, one that was for Rhea’s eyes only, no doubt a need for him to explain himself before he then heads off for King’s Landing.
Will you at least tell Baelor? Rhaegal? Or even Gael?
‘If I tell Baelor then he is like to take up his axe and rally an army in my name to march on King's Landing, Gael would urge Cregan to do the same and he would almost gladly take the chance, and Rhaegal would send word to every house in the realm to stand with me; reminding them of who I am and the good I've done for them all, convincing many of them that fighting for my sake is a worthy cause’ The Imposter clenched his fist, his eyes shut ‘Then the one thing I had sought to avoid, the Dance, will be certain to happen.’
Then when? When do you plan to tell them that you are happy to die?
‘Just not now.’ He looked at to gate and the stable nearby. ‘Let us head for Caraxes.’ For now, Daemon was silent as he watched the Imposter take his horse and some guards to escort him through the gate and over the bridge, there they heads for the familiar hills where the cave is, the home of Silverwing and Caraxes.
The guards kept their distance from the entrance to the cave, while the Imposter handed them his horse and walked towards the entrance, the wide walls of the cave greeted him along with the piles of sheep bones to the side, the scent of burnt meat was almost comforting. “Rāpirī!, Caraxes!” the Imposter commanded.
A moment of silence followed before the heavy plodding of a dragon’s feet came towards him, from the deep darkness of the cave, the glint of light from the entrance gleamed upon Caraxes’ scales. It’s long neck reaching out to him.
The Imposter took his hand out and placed it upon the snout, giving it a tender rub “Hello old friend.” The dragon hummed in response, it’s eyes looking to him with an almost knowing look “You are the greatest ally anyone could have, Caraxes, let the next rider treat you with all the pride you deserve.”
The thought of one of his sons or grandsons trying to tame the dragon flashed through their mind; for the Imposter, it was a sight that sent a shiver down his spine, but for Daemon it was a triumphant idea, one that made the idea of death palatable by but a drop.
Baelor should be the one to take him after me.
‘The second Baleor tames Caraxes, he will turn him onto the Red Keep and render it to ashes.’
That is why he should have it. If not then Rhaegal, he would take your approach; cautious but unafraid to protect him family and if not then Gael would no doubt be courageous enough to-
‘Are you really suggesting giving the Starks, a great House who control a whole kingdom, a dragon?’ The Imposter chuckled as he spoke to Daemon ‘That would be like giving Aegon a casket of wildfire and throwing a match.’
Well… I do like the idea of going out with a bang.
For a moment the two laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, the Imposter's laugh and Daemon's voice echoing off the walls of the cave.
‘Caraxes should fly across the Narrow Sea and live his life, I imagine he has had enough of fools dragging him from one corner of the continent to another.’ The Imposter said ‘But that shall be his choice, I know he shall pick someone worthy.’
“Be well, my friend.” The Imposter pressed his cheek against Caraxes’ scales, the dragon humming softly. “Come my friend, let us go for one last time.” With his hand gliding against the scales he walked towards the back and reached for the saddle, climbing upon Caraxes back as the dragon moved into the light.
Spreading it’s wings out and coiling its neck upwards, the leaves and grass bending to the wind that blew against them as Caraxes took flight into the air. As Daemon rose ever higher into the clouds, the Imposter’s eyes were fixed upon Runestone, the citadel, the seat of his power.
His home.
Caraxes lingered around it, flying just around the gorge that separated it from the rest of the hills and valleys. It seemed even he did not want to say goodbye. Yet, with the tug of the reins, hands shaking from the cold and the hesitation, the Imposter steered Caraxes towards the direction of the Eyrie as he had done many times before.
The Eyrie was a sight that Daemon had seen many times now, yet to see it and know that this may very well be the last time had brought a pain that settled in his chest, the storm of sorrow that swallowed the Imposter had become to consume him too.
As Caraxes landed onto the courtyard, he was greeted the familiar sight of guards dressed in the sky blue of House Arryn and Jeyne standing at the helm of them, a thick blue cloak upon her shoulders and dark blue dress flowed to the ground. She stood as proud and resolute as Daemon had known she would, her face the expression of calm yet focused.
The Imposter dismounted Caraxes, once more his hand lingering on the scales of the dragon “Ninkiot! , Caraxes…” he commanded. Caraxes sat still for but a moment before flapping his wings, the Imposter approaching Jeyne. “My Lady Jeyne.”
“Prince Daemon.” Jeyne bowed her head to him, as did the cohort of guards by her side, for just a moment they both wondered if Jeyne was going to arrest him then and there. “The Eyrie is always fortunate to have you here.”
Did she not get the message sent by King’s Landing?
“We should head to my solar, we have much to discuss.” She added, that had answered that question. The Imposter nodded his head and followed her, the cohort of guards dispersing once they entered inside the castle and entering her private solar.
The Imposter sat opposite her, his body slack and resigned.
What shall you tell her?
‘The Truth, they all deserve that much.’
“I can only assume that you have received the raven from King Aegon?” The Imposter asked, Jeyne looked at him for a moment, before taking a folded piece of parchment from the side, displaying it to him.
“Daemon, you and I both know… that what is written is this letter is nothing but utter shit.” Jeyne spoke plainly “For his Grace to accuse you of murdering the Queen Dowager, the very woman whose marriage you helped to arrange with your brother, whose very son you had aided in forming an alliance with the second most powerful house in the realm before he broke the Treaty… a woman whom I KNOW you cared for.” The expression of her face spoke of one who was completely exacerbated by what she had read.
Daemon wished he could smile in that moment, and was glad the Imposter did if for him; a flickering light against the engulfing darkness.
“And yet, these are the words of my nephew, the King.”
“Am I suppose to take the word of an oathbreaker king over yours?” Jeyne questioned. “You have never taken me for a fool, Daemon, do not take me for one now.” She placed the parchment down onto the desk “This is a farse, one made to force you to the capital and into the jaws of whoever designed this.”
“And yet head into the capital I shall.”
“Why?” Jeyne clenched her fist, frustration writ upon her face. “Why allow yourself to fall into their clutches, to forfeit your name, your works and life to them? Will you not fight?” her hands were clenched tight resting on the table and shook with fury.
“Fight? You wish for me to take my dragon and lead an army to fight my nephew?” The Imposter asked her “With whose army? Runestone’s levies? The Vale’s? House Velaryons? In the middle of a winter? All to save myself?”
“Yes!” Jeyne almost leapt from her seat “There are those across the realm who will fight for you! Those who will support you and die for you! Even if you desire to die at your nephew’s hands, I imagine your sons will stand for this! nor that Rhea could not stand for this!"
“Rhea… will do what is best for our family.” The Imposter said “Our children will likely demand we challenge the King, call our banners but I shall not destroy my life’s work.”
My Kingdom for a horse…
My life for her love…
I think I understand now.
“Only just end your life.” Jeyne grumbled “Is this why you came to the Eyrie, to explain yourself?”
“Did you believe I would ask you to call your banners to my aid?” The Imposter chuckled softly. “If it is my life in exchange to helping to maintain peace in the realm then so be it; I can negotiate directly with my nephew and the Small Council… my life for the lives of hundreds of thousands.”
Jeyne sighed “This is wrong, Daemon, Gods help you this is wrong; you have given up, the man I knew would never give up, right now he would do anything else but resign himself to this… what has happened to you?”
“It seems my luck has ran out.” The Imposter said simply. “Jeyne, I want you to know that I am proud to-”
“No, save your platitudes.” She told him, raising her hand to Daemon and interrupting him “If you must allow yourself to fall upon this sword than the least you can do is meet with the Lords of the Vale, confess this ‘crime’ of yours, if you have the stomach to speak this farse to their faces.”
“Have you-”
“I have already sent for ravens for the lords to convene to the Eyrie once more.” Jeyne interrupted him again “Ravens were sent not but a few days after I had received word from King’s Landing and to make haste of their journey, they should be here shortly, perhaps a week or so.”
“You have gotten rather brilliant in your timing.” Daemon said “My own family are likely already on the road.”
“Do not flatter yourself, my Prince, I had planned to have the lords meets in the Eyrie even if you hadn’t gone to see myself.” Jeyne stood up from her chair “You should rest, your old room has been set up for you arrival, as well as your families quarters.”
Daemon could feel the Imposter desire to tell her that he could not stay, that he would head to King’s Landing, and yet he nodded his head; the desire from them both to avoid the executioner’s axe was far more overwhelming then any sense of duty, grief and resignation that the Imposter had felt buried under.
And yet while the Imposter dwelled on his grief, it did not go amiss for Daemon regarding just one detail. One that he did not wish to voice to the Imposter.
He had thought that only House Royce had received a summons, Jeyne’s letter spoke as much. Yet here she is now, admitting that she had done so for all of them.
What did this woman have planned?
For the next few days, the Imposter had spent his time in the gardens of the Eyrie, at times he would read, write and chatter to Daemon as he enjoyed the moments of peace between the two as bit by bit, the lords of the Vale arrived at the castle upon the mountain. And the Imposter had done his best to avoid them, to spend his time alone an undisturbed.
Today would not be that day, of that Daemon was determined.
On the stone bench near the statute of Alyssa Arryn, the Imposter sat and wrote into his notebook; scribbling the terms of which he would ask from Aegon in exchange of a false confession to the crimes he was accused of.
Foolish.
‘Not this again…’
Oh yes! This again! Do you not see, that you have fallen for the same folly of that Stark Lord before he lost his head to that Lannister bastard?
‘Aegon for all his faults will listen to me, the man was raised by Otto; I need only to speak to him and give him my terms.’
Given that he had broken the one treaty that guaranteed peace in the realm I am doubtful he will uphold that.
‘He will, he’s smart to know that he is on the edge of war, a way out that allows him to be displayed as a negotiator and conciliator is too good to pass up.’
Even after it all, you still speak highly of that fool of a king-
‘Because he is my nephew!’ The Imposter barked “For all his many, many, MANY, faults, this Aegon, OUR Aegon, is not the lecher hedonist drunk of another life, he could be a stable king… a good king, Gods help me I do not know why he has done this, of that I will ask, but I know that Alicent raised a good man, a dutiful one… I could stomach fighting a Tyrant, but not my nephew.’ The Imposter sighed 'Besides I doubt it is Aegon who desires my death, likely it is another.'
And yet he is like to be the instrument to it, a puppet for another, Larys mayhaps? Or perhaps the shadow magister of the Triarchy?
That had been an idea Daemon had pondered on; there was a good chance that whomever was orchestrating this held not just a grudge against Daemon but also the other lords and nobles around him, waging an active campaign to destroy a combined legacy.
In his mind a memories there was but one name of an old friend and the memory of another who escaped him, a boy with a bloody stump and a burning fury in his eyes.
Do you the night of I had sacked Tyrosh, that was the beginning of it all? The beginning of our end?
‘Are you blaming yourself?’
I am only wondering.
‘I think… I think we both made mistakes that day, ones I am sure we wish we could take back.’ The Imposter said ‘But that is life.’
Heavy footsteps soon caught their attention “Father!” a familiar voice called out to him, demanded him attention, the anger in it’s tone broke Daemon’s heart, and shattered the Imposter’s.
He looked up towards him “Baelor.” He spoke softly, his son had marched up to him now, almost looming over him. “Where is your brother?”
“Rhaegal is in the High Hall, he is speaking for you, arguing for you!” Baelor told him “Is what they say true? Is what mother says is true?” he demanded, frustration laden in his voice.
“That I killed Alicent-”
“Piss on that! I know damn well you would never kill Alicent!” Baelor interrupted him “You plan on surrendering yourself to Aegon, allowing yourself to face judgement for crimes you never committed.” The Imposter nodded his head, Baelor rubbed his face “No, I cannot allow it, you shall not head to the capital.”
“Baelor-”
“You will die! There will be those who will call for your head!” Baelor exclaimed “No exile, no taking the black, only death!”
“Baelor-”
“If you got to King’s Landing than I shall follow, I shall have Laena follow you there, I’ll- I’ll gather as many men as possible and ask Laenor for his ships to-”
“Baelor!” The Imposter stood from his seat and embraced his son tightly “My son… look after your family, look after our family.” He pulled him back, there were tears in his son’s eyes “House Royce shall survive this, it must survive this.”
“Yorwyck, Denys, Amanda… they’ll- you’ll never get to see them grow up.” Baelor said “What of Robar and Ysilla… or Rickon in Winterfell? Your grandchildren will never see you again…”
My grandchildren… my legacy…
The Imposter took in a deep breath “But they shall survive, they shall be well.” He told Baelor “And that is enough for me…”
Baelor gripped him tightly “Not for me.” He told the Imposter before walking away from him, back to the castle.
When the next day had come, the last of the Vale lords had arrived to the Eyrie; all had come to hear him speak, to explain himself and mayhaps to say their final goodbyes. Standing at the doorway to the High Hall, behind the dais and the throne, memories of a time before eased him; the memory of a little girl and a Prince who promised to protect her.
“Prince Daemon.” Jeyne called to him, he turned his head to see her walk by him “It is time.” The Imposter nodded his head, following Jeyne out of the doorway and into the Hall, the glimpses of them silencing the hall as the lords and ladies watched their ascend the steps to the Weirwood throne, naught but whisperings between the lords and the winds filled the hall.
Daemon felt at least some respect for the Imposter, even now he refused to borrow strength from him for this moment. It was to his moment and his alone.
As the Imposter stood up on the dais, Jeyne just to his side, he looked out onto the faces of the lords who looked to him, the many familiar faces of lords he had met and conversed with, whom he had laughed and argued with, some he had fought alongside with.
‘What do I say?’
I do not know, my friend. I do not know.
Before the Imposter could open his mouth, Jeyne walked to his side and just one step ahead of him. “My lords.” She called out to them “By now many of you have read the letters that have come from King’s Landing; this accusation that the Prince has murdered her Grace, the Dowager Queen, Alicent Hightower, I am sure many would like to know what to make of it.” She looked out to them “But as the Gods as our witness, how many of you could believe such a farse of a story? Who here really believes that the Prince would murder her Grace?”
The lords in the hall looked to each other, mumbling words and speaking in whispers “None!” this time it was Rhaegal who spoke “None who would dare be so foolish as to believe such a mummer’s farse!” he stepped forward towards the dais and turned to them “My father brought peace to the Vale, brought an accord between the North and the Wildlings and attempted to mend the divide between House Velaryons and Targeryen, he lives up to his name as ‘The Good!’”
Many in the crowd nodded their heads in agreement with Rhaegal.
“Aye it is true!” Gunthor added his voice “I have known the Prince for many a year, I have never known the Prince to raise his voice someone than to raise a blade at one.”
“King Aegon spreads falsehoods!” another voice called out.
“His Grace is an oathbreaker!”
“Why should we take the word of those who ally themselves with the Triarchy?”
The commotion in the hall grew louder and louder.
And the hope within Daemon’s chest grew larger and larger; the lords of the Vale did not believe the lie spread from the Red Keep, they rebuked it wholeheartedly and without apology, till soon the Greay Hall of the Eyrie was awash him noise, speaking words that many would have seen as outright treasonous.
“My Lords!” Jeyne called out to them once more “I see than those in these hall have kept their wits with them, even in these times of tensions.” She turned to Rhea, who stood with their sons “Lady Rhea, if you may.” Elegantly pointing for Rhea to stand by her side.
Rhea walked up the steps of the dais and towards them.
All the while, the Imposter stood silent; dumbfounded and nervous.
Jeyne placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned in towards his ear “Go Forward Bravely.” She whispered into his ear “Fear Nothing.” By Rhea’s hip was Lamentation, placed in its scarab and held by a letter belt over her hip. “Your sword, Lady Rhea.” Rhea took the valyrian steel sword from her hip and presented it to Jeyne who gripped the handle and raised the sword, the blade gleaming against the light that shun from the glass windows.
Before placing it down by Daemon’s feet.
If ever there was a more clear declaration.
Daemon felt his throat tighten as the Imposter was about to speak out, yet he felt the familiar touch of hands grab his. He turned to see Rhea by his side squeezing his hand, looking at him as if begging him to allow this to happen.
She does not wish for us to go…
The Imposter almost broke down into tears as Rhea held back tears of her own.
“To King Aegon ‘honour’ may just be a word and words may be as wind to him!” Jeyne declared, her voice striking against the walls of High Hall “But we in the Vale honour our vows and remember our friends, if his Grace wants Prince Daemon then he is welcome to try; the Vale stands with it’s Prince!”
Baelor took out his axe and placed it to the ground, turning to the Lords “Daemon ‘The Good!” he declared.
The came Gunthor, placing his sword down to his feet “Daemon ‘The Good!” he proclaimed.
Arnold stepped forward and placed his sword to his feet and raising his fist into the sky “For the Prince!” soon more and more took up the call.
"Hail the Prince!"
"The Honorable Prince!"
"The Good Prince!"
The lord Belmore followed their example, then lord Sunderland, then lord Hunter, then Lord Grafton, then Templeton, Redford, Waynwood, Corbray, Hardyng till as one, every lord and lady in attendance spoke as one, amid the sound of steel clattering against the hard floors of the Eyrie, three words on their lips and one man they all revered.
“Daemon The Good!”
“Daemon The Good!”
“DAEMON THE GOOD!”