Rewriting Targaryen History

Chapter 20: Chapter 20: A Place Among Tigers

The next few days taught me that the Red Keep did not need walls to feel like a prison.

There were gardens, halls, galleries, courtyards, balconies, and enough rooms to swallow whole families without ever forcing them to cross paths, yet I had never felt more watched. On Bloodstone, a man knew when danger looked at him. It held a spear, drew a bow, or charged screaming across the sand. In King’s Landing, danger smiled politely over wine and asked whether one slept well.

I did not.

Each morning, I woke expecting a summons that would end with accusation. Each night, I lay awake listening to the quiet movements beyond my door, wondering if a guard’s footsteps would stop outside and remain there. No one came for me. No one accused me. No one dragged me before Viserys or Otto or Daemon with Rhaenyra’s name hanging between us like a noose.

That did not comfort me as much as it should have. Rhaenyra had not exposed me. She had also not sought me out again.

In public, she behaved exactly as she should. She was courteous to her father, formal with Alicent, teasing with Daemon, and distant from me in a way that was so perfectly measured it almost felt insulting.

If our eyes met across a hall, she looked away no sooner or later than courtesy allowed. If conversation brought her near me, she spoke with calm politeness and nothing more. To anyone watching, I was only the foreign captain Daemon had dragged from the Stepstones, an interesting novelty whose shine would fade once the court found a newer subject for whispers.

But I noticed the changes. They were small. Too small for most to see, but not for me.

At a midday meal, when one lord praised Prince Aegon’s health and remarked that the realm was fortunate to have "so many signs of strength in the royal nursery," Rhaenyra smiled and drank from her cup without comment. Yet her eyes moved first to Alicent, then to Otto, then to the lords who laughed too warmly. At a gathering in the gallery, when a lady spoke of how sons often eased the burdens of kings, Rhaenyra’s fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her cup before relaxing again.

She was watching. Not believing fully, perhaps. Not trusting me. But watching. That was enough to unsettle me more than disbelief would have. I had planted a seed in her mind, and now I could not control how it grew.

Daemon noticed my distraction, because Daemon noticed most things he pretended not to care about.

On the third morning after Rhaenyra’s visit, he found me in one of the smaller courtyards overlooking the city. I had gone there for air, though King’s Landing had a talent for making even air feel overused. Below the Red Keep, the city sprawled in smoke, noise, and movement. The Blackwater glittered beyond the rooftops, crowded with ships that looked almost peaceful from a distance.

"You hide poorly," Daemon said behind me.

I did not turn at once. "I was not aware I was hiding."

"That makes it worse."

I looked back. He wore dark red and black that morning, less formal than court required and far finer than anything a man had any right to call casual. His expression carried amusement, but his eyes were sharp.

"My prince," I said.

"Captain."

He came to stand beside me at the balcony wall, looking out over the city as if he found it both amusing and contemptible. "King’s Landing disappoints you," he said.

"It smells worse than I imagined."

Daemon laughed. "That is its most honest quality."

"I thought court would be worse."

"It is. It simply smells better."

I allowed myself a faint smile. "That is debatable."

He leaned against the stone. "You have been quiet."

"I am often quiet."

"No. You were careful before. Now you are thinking."

"That sounds like a dangerous accusation."

"It is. Thinking men are inconvenient."

"Then court must be full of inconvenient men."

Daemon’s mouth curved. "Court is full of men who believe they think. That is different."

I looked back toward the city, hoping the conversation might end there. It did not.

"My niece has been watching people," he said.

My body went still before I could stop it. "She does that," I said.

"She does it differently now."

"I would not know."

"You are not that good a liar."

"I was told I was improving."

"Slowly."

The wind moved between us, carrying the distant sound of bells and shouting from the city below.

Daemon turned his head slightly. "What did you say to her?"

There was no laughter in his voice now. I considered my answers. Tapestries was no longer believable. Nothing would be believable, not fully. Daemon did not know the truth, but he knew enough to dislike silence.

"I told her court was dangerous," I said.

"That is all?"

"No."

He smiled faintly. "Honesty. How novel."

"I told her people would use her father’s affection against her if she allowed them."

That answer was dangerous, but not as dangerous as the full truth. It was also true enough to have weight. Daemon looked at me for a long moment.

Then he laughed softly. "Did you?" he asked. "And what gives a sellsword from Essos the right to advise the heir to the Iron Throne?"

"Nothing."

That seemed to amuse him more than defiance would have. "At least you know it."

"I know many things I lack the right to say."

His eyes sharpened again. "Do you?"

I met his gaze and held it. This was the danger with Daemon. He liked sharpness until it cut somewhere he had not permitted. He enjoyed boldness until it threatened to become influence. He had dragged me here as a trophy, a curiosity, something useful to present before his brother. Yet now I had spoken to Rhaenyra, and that made me something else.

Not a rival. Not yet. But perhaps an intrusion.

"I know she is not as secure as her father wishes to believe," I said carefully.

Daemon’s face changed. Not much. Enough. "Viserys named her heir," he said.

"Yes."

"The lords swore."

"Yes."

"And yet?"

"And yet men have broken stronger oaths for weaker prizes."

Daemon stared at me.

For a moment, I wondered whether he would strike me. Not because I had insulted him, but because I had spoken aloud something too close to what he already knew. Daemon was many things, but stupid was not one of them. He knew what Aegon’s existence meant. He knew what Otto wanted. He knew Viserys’s softness could not bind ambitious men forever.

He simply hated hearing truth from me. "Careful, Captain," he said at last.

"I am trying to be."

"No," Daemon replied. "You are trying to be useful. That is not the same."

The words found their mark.

Before I could answer, footsteps sounded from the archway behind us. A servant approached, bowed deeply, and informed the prince that King Viserys requested his presence. Daemon sighed as if summoned to an execution rather than his brother’s company.

He turned to leave, then paused beside me. "Try not to whisper kingdoms into my niece’s ear while I am gone."

"I will make no promises I cannot keep."

Daemon smiled. It was not a friendly expression. Then he left. I remained at the balcony long after he was gone, staring down at the city and wondering how many enemies I had acquired by simply existing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The answer, I suspected, was growing.

By afternoon, Otto Hightower made his move.

It was not dramatic. He did not accuse me of anything. He did not corner me in a corridor or threaten me openly. That would have been too crude. Instead, he chose the cleaner path: reason.

I was present in a smaller audience chamber when it happened, standing among lesser guests and officials while Viserys listened to petitions and reports. Daemon was there too, lounging with visible boredom near a window. Rhaenyra sat nearby, wearing composure like armour. Alicent was beside the king, quiet but attentive, one hand resting over the other in her lap.

Otto stood near Viserys with a scroll in hand. "The final reports from the Stepstones are encouraging," he said. "The Triarchy’s remnants remain scattered, and Lord Corlys’s captains believe the shipping lanes can be stabilised if pressure is maintained."

Viserys nodded. "Good. Good. I am glad to hear it."

"As are we all, Your Grace," Otto said. "However, certain matters remain unsettled. Payment to contracted forces, control of captured stores, disposition of prisoners, and the withdrawal or reassignment of foreign companies."

I felt the room tilt slightly. There it was. Foreign companies. Daemon’s eyes flicked toward me. Rhaenyra did not move.

Otto continued smoothly. "Captain Galeris’s Dread Legion rendered valuable service. None would deny that. Yet it may be wise to ensure the company’s affairs are concluded in the Stepstones before unnecessary complications arise."

Viserys looked toward me with mild surprise, as if only then remembering I had an army somewhere across the sea. "Yes, of course," he said. "Your men remain there, do they not, Captain?"

"They do, Your Grace."

"Under your brother’s command?"

"Yes."

"A young man, if I recall."

"Sixteen, Your Grace, though capable."

Otto inclined his head. "No doubt. Still, a company of that size requires firm leadership. Its captain’s absence may create uncertainty."

The statement was perfectly reasonable. That was what made it so effective. No one could object without sounding careless. A sellsword captain should be with his men. A foreign company of five thousand soldiers should not linger in political limbo while its leader attended court. Payment should be settled. Contracts concluded. Order maintained.

And Othorion Galeris should be removed from Rhaenyra Targaryen’s orbit.

Viserys frowned slightly. "I would not wish to keep you from your duties."

"No, Your Grace," I said.

Rhaenyra’s gaze moved to Otto for only a heartbeat. He did not look at her.

Daemon finally spoke, voice lazy from the window. "Otto makes a fair point. How rare."

The Hand did not react.

Viserys looked between us. "Daemon?"

"If the captain’s men need him, he should return to them," Daemon said. "We brought him here to be seen. He has been seen."

The casual words irritated me, though they were not untrue. Rhaenyra’s eyes moved to Daemon. This time, I saw something sharper in them. He noticed and looked amused.

Viserys sighed, perhaps disappointed to lose a curiosity, perhaps simply eager to avoid another matter requiring thought. "Captain Galeris, the crown is grateful for your service in the Stepstones. Once your affairs are settled, perhaps you might return to court under more comfortable circumstances."

"Your Grace honours me," I said.

Otto smiled faintly. It was a small victory for him. Too small for anyone else to notice. Large enough for me.

The audience continued, but I heard little of it. My thoughts had already moved beyond the chamber, across the Narrow Sea, back to Bloodstone and the Dread Legion. Part of me should have been relieved.

I wanted to return to my men. I wanted Vaeron, familiar banners, rough voices, honest work, and the clarity of command. I wanted distance from Otto’s eyes, Daemon’s amusement, Viserys’s softness, Alicent’s quiet sorrow, and Rhaenyra’s impossible future.

But leaving now meant abandoning the first fragile thread I had created. Rhaenyra was not ready.

She believed enough to watch, but not enough to act. She had questions I had not answered, dangers she had not yet understood, and enemies already learning how to move around her. If I left too soon, Otto might bury every doubt I had raised beneath comfort, duty, and isolation.

Then again, staying might get me killed. The gods, if they existed, had an unpleasant sense of balance.

After the audience, I was dismissed with the others. Rhaenyra did not speak to me. She left with Alicent and two ladies, her face calm, her steps measured. Otto remained with Viserys. Daemon vanished before I could decide whether to curse him or thank him.

I returned to my chamber, half-expecting another summons. Instead, I found Daemon waiting inside. He was seated in one of the chairs by the small table, boots crossed, wine cup in hand, looking entirely too comfortable in a room that was not his.

I stopped in the doorway. "Do Targaryen princes often invade private chambers?" I asked.

"Only when bored."

"I see."

"Or interested."

"That is worse."

"Usually."

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. "Should I ask how you entered?"

"No."

"Should I be concerned?"

"Yes."

He smiled and took a drink. I remained standing. "My prince."

"Captain."

"To what do I owe the intrusion?"

Daemon gestured vaguely toward the room. "You dislike court."

"That is not a secret."

"You miss your men."

"That is not a secret either."

"And Otto wants you gone."

"Nor that."

Daemon’s smile sharpened. "Then we are all agreed."

I narrowed my eyes slightly. "That sounds dangerous."

"Most agreements are."

He rose from the chair and crossed toward the window, looking out as if the room belonged to him because he had decided it did. "I am returning to the Stepstones soon enough. Caraxes has been idle too long, and my new kingdom requires the occasional reminder that its king has teeth."

"Congratulations."

"Do not sound so moved."

"I am containing my emotion."

"Poorly."

I said nothing. Daemon turned back toward me. "I can return you to your men."

There it was. Simple. Direct. Almost generous. That made me distrust it immediately.

"On Caraxes," I said.

"Unless you would prefer to swim."

"I would prefer a ship."

"You would arrive later."

"I would arrive with my stomach intact."

"You kept it last time."

"Barely."

Daemon laughed. "You are welcome."

"I did not thank you."

"You thought about it."

"No."

"Liar."

For a moment, the exchange felt almost harmless. Then Daemon’s expression shifted. "I took you from them," he said.

That surprised me. He said it without apology, but also without mockery. A statement of fact, nothing more.

"You did," I replied.

"And now I offer to return you."

"Why?"

"Because you have served your purpose here."

The words were cruel because they were honest. I had been shown. Displayed. Discussed. The court had seen Daemon’s victory made flesh in foreign armour. Viserys had embraced his brother. The story had done its work.

"And because Otto wants it?" I asked.

Daemon’s mouth curved. "I enjoy denying Otto things. But I also enjoy making him wonder why I do not."

"That is not an answer."

"It is the only one you get."

I studied him carefully. Returning to the Stepstones would place me back where I had power. Not enough to change the realm, perhaps, but enough to breathe. Vaeron would know what to do.

The Dread Legion would be whole under my command again. From there, I could plan properly. Send messages. Negotiate. Perhaps even arrange a return to court under my own terms rather than as Daemon’s abducted trophy.

But Rhaenyra. The thought came before I could stop it. Daemon saw something in my face and smiled slowly. "Ah," he said.

"What?"

"There it is."

"There is nothing."

"There is always something."

I looked away first, which was a mistake. Daemon laughed softly. "Careful, Captain."

"You say that often."

"You require it often."

He set the wine cup down. "We leave tomorrow at first light."

"So soon?"

"Do you need to pack?"

I looked around the room. Armour. Sword. A few gifted clothes. Nothing else.

"No."

"Good."

He moved toward the door, then paused with one hand on the latch. "If my niece seeks you out before then," he said, "choose your words wisely."

My blood chilled. I kept my face still. "Why would she?"

Daemon’s smile returned, sharp and knowing. "Because Rhaenyra has never liked being told she cannot have answers." He opened the door and stepped into the corridor. "Rest, Captain. Caraxes is less forgiving when his passengers are tired."

Then he was gone. I stood alone in the chamber, staring at the closed door. Tomorrow at first light.

The decision had been made with the same casual arrogance as my arrival. Daemon had brought me to King’s Landing because he wished it. Now he would take me back because it amused him, suited him, or perhaps because he understood more than he should and wanted to see what shape my absence left behind.

I should have been relieved. I was relieved. And yet the thought of leaving without speaking to Rhaenyra again settled badly in my chest. I had told her enough to frighten her but not enough to guide her.

I had warned her of enemies but not given her a path through them. I had asked her to watch, and she had watched, and now I would vanish across the sea with too many questions unanswered.

I spent the evening preparing what little I had.

The armour was checked and repacked as well as possible. World Breaker was cleaned, though it did not need cleaning. The gifted clothes were folded into a small bundle. I ate the meal sent to me without tasting it. Outside my window, the Red Keep settled into night, and the city below became a field of scattered lights.

Hours passed. No one came. I told myself that was for the best.

Rhaenyra was not foolish enough to risk another visit. She had already done so once, and once was dangerous enough. If she wished to speak again, she would find a safer way later. A message. A servant. A chance meeting arranged through plausible coincidence.

Not tonight. Not when Otto was watching. Not when Daemon had all but predicted it. The latch moved.

I closed my eyes. "Of course," I whispered.

The door opened quietly.

This time, my hand did not fly to World Breaker. I already knew who it was before the hood lowered, before the silver-gold hair caught the candlelight, before Rhaenyra Targaryen stepped into the room with urgency hidden beneath royal composure.

She closed the door behind her. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then she looked at the packed armour, the folded clothes, and the sword resting near my bed.

"You are leaving."

"At first light," I said.

Her face tightened. "Daemon?"

"Yes."

"And Otto."

"Likely."

Rhaenyra drew in a slow breath, as if fighting the urge to curse them both aloud.

"I thought you might come," I said.

Her eyes flashed. "You seem very sure of yourself for a man being removed from court."

"I am not sure of anything."

That made the anger fade slightly. She stepped farther into the room, lowering her voice. "Then before you go," she said, "you will answer what you refused to finish."

My heart beat once, hard and heavy. The room felt smaller than it had a moment before. Rhaenyra held my gaze, suspicion, fear, pride, and desperate curiosity all burning together in her eyes.

"You told me dragons die," she said. "You told me I die. You told me my brother is placed on my throne." Her voice lowered further. "Now tell me what begins it."