Dragonstone
It had been a week since he and Daenerys had spoken in Aegon's Garden. Daeron had not remained there during that week, though. After hearing that she would need a week at most to give him an answer, he had made his way back to Harrenhal, to his army and lords.
His sister, Arya, had been frothing with anger at him for leaving her alone among the lords while he went gallivanting across the kingdom on his dragon's back. The lords were not most pleased either. But their displeasure eased when Daeron informed them of the reason behind his sudden leave and what it might earn them.
Some were opposed to the idea of him allying with his aunt, in a marriage no less. But most who knew the threat marching toward them from the snow-filled lands of the far North understood it. They were glad that three dragons and Dany's army would stand beside them when the fight for the survival of men would take place.
Ser Arthur was the most displeased—not with the possible alliance, but with Daeron leaving alone and riding straight into a situation that could have caused him grievous injuries or, at worst, death. The Dayne knight had admonished Daeron not to repeat this unkingly stunt ever again.
Now Daeron was back at Dragonstone once more. The week was over, and he had come to hear the answer of Daenerys Targaryen.
Instead of being led to the guest chambers like the previous time, Daeron was guided toward the family quarters and given a chamber of his own within the keep. Daeron washed the dragon smell from his body and changed into fresh clothes—something he had made sure not to forget this time.
Before he could step out of the room and go exploring again, Ser Barristan knocked and led him toward the Stone Drum tower.
Daeron had already guessed where they were going—the chamber of the Painted Table, located on the top floor of the Stone Drum tower. He had already been there once before, in what seemed to be Daenerys's favorite place in the whole keep.
"You sure you want to come with me to the top?" Daeron asked with amusement clear in his voice. "It isn't advisable for someone of your age to exert their body so much."
Barristan's stony face cracked as a strained smile appeared. The old knight turned toward him and said, "It seems we have never had the chance to spar with each other, Your Grace. Perhaps after you are done speaking with her grace, you could honor this old man with a spar?"
With the way Ser Barristan's jaw was working, the spar would be anything but friendly and safe for Daeron. But alas, Ser Barristan had yet to learn of Daeron's skill with a sword, as well as his physical prowess.
"Sure, I'll entertain you, Ser Barristan," Daeron replied with a smirk that made Barristan reconsider his decision.
Both of them chatted lightly along the way as they climbed toward the top of the tower. Ser Barristan might not have been huffing, but there was sweat forming on his brow. Still, with an exerted face and a look carved from stone, Ser Barristan resumed his duty by standing guard at the large iron doors of the Painted Table chamber.
With a nod in Barristan's direction, Daeron made his way through the opened doors and entered the chamber of the Painted Table.
The first sound to reach his ears was the crackling of fire from the burning hearth. His gaze quickly found the large, unmistakable table at the center of the chamber.
Daenerys was seated at the raised chair near Dragonstone on the Painted Table—a seat that offered a clear view of the entire map of the realm carved onto the table.
Daeron slowly walked around the table and took the seat opposite her.
"So what is it that you have decided, Aunt Daenerys?" Daeron asked once he was comfortable in his seat.
His aunt's gaze had been glued to the table the whole time; the only moment she had looked away from it was to greet him with a smile before returning her attention to the Painted Table again. Now she raised her eyes from the carved map and looked at him directly, and Daeron already knew what her answer would be. Not that he had not guessed it beforehand—anyone who knew Daenerys Targaryen knew that the promise of having her own family again was too great a thing for her to refuse.
"My council wanted to extort many things from this alliance," Daenerys said almost absentmindedly. "Everyone except Ser Barristan, that is. The Bold stayed silent after saying that House Targaryen stands to gain more united than divided against itself."
There was an expression on her face that Daeron could not quite decipher as she said that.
"Anyhow, I knew that you would not accept some of those more peculiar demands, so I chose not to present them to you either."
"A good decision," Daeron added, breaking the brief silence.
"Anyhow, these are not demands, nephew, so do not see them as such. This last week, I… I truly thought over your words about undoing what the maegi did to me, and I realized something. It was there, at the burning of my son and Drogo. After hearing that I could never have a family of my own, I found myself aimless."
She paused, her gaze drifting once more to the Painted Table.
"Until I realized there was still another thing I wanted—a home. To me, my home might be that red door in Braavos, but to Viserys, our home was Westeros, and knowing that home with red door was burned long before Westeros was the only option left to me. So I decided then and there, at the burning funeral of my son, that I would take back my home with fire and blood. And here I am."
Her voice was shaky, and Daeron listened intently. He knew she was not truly speaking to him but rather to herself.
"Quaithe was right," she continued quietly. "She said that I would find all my dreams fulfilled if I went to Westeros. I still cannot believe that you might undo whatever that wretched woman. Maegi did to me. I know there is a possibility that you cannot do it… but I would still like to hold onto the faintest hope that you have given me."
"I will try my best," Daeron said with a warm smile.
It seemed his voice broke something in Daenerys, because she looked at him again, this time with clear resolve in her eyes.
"Let's begin. There are not many things I ask from you. The first is that I will not be your queen with no power or influence in the matters of the realm. Not much—but I want a seat on the small council."
Daeron pondered that for a moment before replying, "I have no issue with it. But know that your seat and voice will be equal to the other members of the small council—no more, no less."
Then, in the quiet heights of the Stone Drum tower, both Daeron and Daenerys went back and forth over the details before finally sealing the alliance between them with the promise of marriage.
Daeron found Daenerys surprisingly flexible during the negotiations, so it was not difficult for them to reach an accord after some time. The most time-consuming matter was deciding what to do with the Dothraki, as well as her request to give members of her own small council positions in his court or council.
For the matter of what to do with the Dothraki after the battle, Daeron suggested that the two of them decide the matter together after they had won the Iron Throne. And about giving the likes of Varys and Tyrion a seat in his council, however, he opposed the idea strongly until they reached a compromise: Ser Barristan would receive a seat, and one additional position would be granted to another person, chosen by Daeron alone, without Daenerys having any say in the matter.
"So this is it, then," his aunt said at last, sounding slightly exhausted. It had been several hours since they had begun.
"Yes, this is it," Daeron replied, leaning back in his chair with a deep breath.
"So, when do you wish to marry? By the way, I hope you do not mind if we wed before the Old Gods rather than in a sept."
"I think we should marry after we take King's Landing. And no, I have no issue whether it is before the Old Gods or the Seven. I have long since stopped caring about the gods, after all, as I have come to realize that they rarely care about our plight and woes, " Daenerys replied as she gazed out of the window toward the ocean far below.
Daeron was about to say something when the iron doors of the chamber parted slightly, and Ser Barristan entered through the ajar doors.
"Forgive me, Your Grace. But we seem to have unexpected visitors arriving right about now. Lord Tyrion asks if he should lead them to the Great Hall or show them to the guest chambers before you would address them."
"I would like to know these people's identity before I decide what to do with them," Daenerys replied, the exhaustion gone from her voice, her tone now that of a queen—regal and proud.
Ser Barristan's eyes glanced toward Daeron for a moment before the old knight sighed and said in a heavy tone, "They identify themselves as King Aegon Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, your brother. With him is Princess Arianne Martell, daughter of Prince Doran Martell and heir to Sunspear."
Daeron's eyebrows rose in surprise, and so did Daenerys's.
"That is a surprise," Daenerys muttered.
"A welcome one," Daeron added with a smile. "It seems our enemy has presented himself to us. Let us get a measure of him, shall we?" Daeron asked, his tone jovial as he stood up.
Daenerys only shook her head before standing as well. Together they made their way toward the Great Hall, where they would meet these unexpected guests.
Sadly, Tyrion had already offered them salt and bread, or Daeron would have had one less nuisance to worry about.