Chapter Text
“I cannot read you.” Nine sighed after a long silence.
“Good. - Daemon retorted - The more we diverge from your story, the more you lose your edge against us.”
“Dada!” Alyria exclaimed again, tugging at Daemon’s ear.
Daemon allowed it, with a mix of stoicism and nonchalance. Then he said,
“I wonder if I'd wanted Rhaenyra more...”
“:..if she were the Heir?”
“...if Viserys hadn't more or less lifted his prohibition on our marriage.” the Rogue Prince concluded instead.
The Hand nodded thoughtfully.
“Maybe the Heir thing too.” Daemon muttered, emptying his glass in a single gulp.
“It’s almost as if you regret not wanting to follow her,” Nine observed.
“Maybe I'm just tired of being the villain in every woman's story. In yours. Mysaria's. And I don't think I'm doing better in Laena's.”
“Laena is... - Nine stopped himself - Wait, you're not the villain I'm my story!”
Daemon looked at him with a crooked smile.
“Ain't am? In a sennight that I didn't visit you at night, you didn't ask me once what my intentions were.”
Nine lifted his chin, aware of the red creeping on his cheeks.
“My pride it's my problem, not yours. I already guessed that you were... sorting thing out with your niece. If now you want be kind and explain me your... intentions, as you said...”
“The way you blush doesn't cease to amaze me. - Daemon leaned slightly toward him, intimate but not compromising - I don't think you have to worry too much, until you can burn like this for me. Even if I will admit: I'll miss Gwen's boldness, and the things she wrote me.”
“Nothing forbid you from writing her again.” Nine murmured tilting his head.
Daemon pursed his lips slightly.
“Do you still have my last letter? I think I want it back.” he said, feigning nonchalance.
Nine blinked, forcing a deadpan expression.
"No, I absolutely didn’t save the missive that ends with: I care for you. That’s emotional blackmail at its finest."
Daemon made a grimace, pretending to be offended. Instead of answering, he began to give little bites to Alyria's chubby face, making her laugh and wave her tiny hands.
That last letter, Nine remembered to memory.
I won't write you again until this forsaken war is ended. It's something I impose on myself because it's time to draw the line. The little petty pirate chief hides in a system of caverns. We need a bait to lure him out. I'm the bait. Remember that I care for you.
On the other side of the brothel's common hall, a performance depicted that very episode. Daemon represented by a Lyseni woman, wielding a replica of Dark Sister. She danced with grace, moving the blade and her bare breasts. When a bulky man with a crustacean mask approached threateningly, the female Rogue Prince bent him in two and then used the sword in an... unconventional way.
“Crab!” Alyria pointed at the orange mask with her tiny finger.
Nine wondered if the stage weapon had a retractile blade. It seemed to go many inches down. And the more he looked, the more he felt Daemon’s gaze, the real Daemon’s, on him.
"So Rhaenyra should be in the Dragonpit right now? - the Hand asked - All by herself?"
"I hope not. - Daemon scoffed - She said Crispin Cole and Jam Lannister would escort her to Syrax’s lair."
It made sense. Ser Cole could idealize the beautiful Princess again, the moment she left the Red Keep. And Jason Lannister had learned the hard way that being Swornshield to a capricious maiden was a lesson in humility. Her departure would free him from duty without shame... well, save for the dishonour of having his Lady escape beneath his nose.
“You almost said something about Laena. - the Prince reminded - Care to elaborate?”
“I think the girl is playing the long game. The way a fourteen years old can.”
Daemon chuckled, a flicker of interest in his eyes.
“The first thing she said to you, two years ago was: you can have other lovers. - Nine added - Not long ago, she spoke to me. You're interesting, she told me, but I kept my distance because Rhaenyra needs you more than I do. And if things became heated between us, it would be unkind to put you in the middle.”
Daemon whistled, honestly admired:
“Laena said to me that maybe she should marry Laenor, to give him the sons he can't have.”
“Pratically inviting you in her bed as a lover, but mantaining enough distance to remain... desirable.”
Daemon hummed quietly.
“I wonder if she did everything by herself, or if she had suggestions.”
“You think less of her for that? Choosing the right suggestions it's a skill in itself.”
“And skilled she is. Things will be.. interesting.”
A familiar figure entered the room. Criston Cole, dressed in commoneers clothes, blushed slightly as he passed two scantily clad women kissing each other. The little spectacle with the crab was already over, for the sake of his mental sanity. He noticed Daemon and Nine and approached their table, extending his hand toward the Hand’s mug. After Nine'a nod, he drank at least half of it in a single breath.
“I assume everything went as planned.” Daemon commented putting his feet on the table.
“No disruptions save the one you orchestrated.” the Whitecloack answered, his tone carefully controlled. Then he sat at the table.
“Disruption? - Nine repeated, then he noticed the Prince's grin - Harwin Strong?”
The Targaryen sighed.
“Rhaenyra didn't want to face him. Not after she put me over my friend's devotion.”
“It was a touching scene. - the Cole said hiding his expression in Nine's mug - I'm not worthy of you! So what? This will not stop me in the slightest. And then, they flew together in the night.”
“Excellent. - Daemon scoffed - Now I need a new Second in Command.”
“Wasn't your idea?” Nine asked, half-smiling..
“Givin him closure? Absolutely. I just didn't thought Rhaenyra would let him have his way.”
“Maybe he had... strong arguments.”
“Lords Hand! - the prince pretended to be outraged - Such vulgar jokes are beneath you!”
“Said the man who brought me in an house of pleasure.”
“That's different, this is art!” Daemon mused.
Ser Crispin rolled his eyes.
“Before I forget it. Harwin gave me this for you.”
The Knight stood, leaving a grey envelope on the table. Inside was a letter and two leaf carved pendants made of red wood. Nine opened the letter. The childish calligraphy read:
This is to thank you for the help you're giving to the old trees and the new futures. Take care of my future husband. Don't worry, I'll not be his only bride. A.R.
Daemon blinked.
“Does it make any sense for you?”
Nine snapped his tongue.
“Yes, but you don't want to know the future.”
“This is weirwood, did you know it?”
“Yes, and don't blame me if you'll dream your death putting it on.”
“Because it's the weirwood near the God's Eye. Where I had to die.”
“Because of that.”
Alyria was sleeping soundly. Daemon covered her head with his crime cloak.
“Do you know who A. R. is, at least?
“Alys Rivers.”
“The little kid from Harrenhal? Harwin's half sister? - Daemon paused - Wait. She's Larys' half sister too.”
“Do you want to face a little kid? On the accusation of what?”
Daemon scoffed.
“You're impossible! You need to fuck! - he paused looking at Nine's amused eyes - Right, this falls on me. Come, we're getting a room.”
“Daemon...”
“No Daemon now. - the Rogue Prince tutted - I've decided. Protest, if you want to be dragged by force.”
“Not in public.” Nine dedapanned.
Daemon leaned toward him with his most infuriating smile. Nine shook slightly his head.
Daemon couldn't kiss the Hand of the King in public. So he pressed mockingly his lips on his forehead. A fake care that was real underneath.
“Welcome home, my Prince.”
The future would fragment at every choice made. And maybe they had a seer now.
But they wouldn't think of that. Not that night.