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123 AC, Dragonstone
Daemon staggered, took a deep breath, and uttered shakingly, "What… What was that?" The sorcerer's voice was uncharacteristically serious when he answered, "That was the result of your little plan. What do you think? Quite the legacy, huh?"
The Rogue Prince was not someone who was unsettled easily. He had faced countless dangers, suffered through war, seen horrible deaths with his own two eyes, and he believed that very little would ever faze him. Of course, Harry Potter had proved him wrong in Harrenhal, and that bastard Witch had been a close second. However, even that display of power and destruction, that display of sorcery, paled compared to the visions that he had just experienced of his daughters, of Caraxes falling.
Normally, Daemon's anxiety and apprehension turned to rage, but not this time. He felt utterly powerless towards the visions, unknowing of anything that he could do to avoid such a fate, "I… I don't understand."
"The world is a far stranger place than you think, Daemon," the sorcerer casually answered, "There are things, old things, that even dragons would not be able to face. There are reasons why your ancestors, even during the height of the Valyrian Freehold, didn't go to certain places. A few of the Basilisk Isles, for example, and even the entire continent of Sothoryos come to mind, and for good reason, which I'm sure you'd agree with."
Daemon took a deep, calming breath. Yes, that made sense. He did not know much of magic, though the blood of Old Valyria ran through his veins. But he could fix this. After all, Visenya Targaryen was said to be a practitioner of magic, though it had never been confirmed. Perhaps, she had left something behind on Dragonstone for a worthy Targaryen, such as he, to figure out.
Which meant that he only needed to find places without any magical curses to voyage alongside his daughters. With this, he could avoid most of the issues, even though the voyage would likely not be anywhere near as glorious as it could have been. Perhaps the Stepstones would be well enough. He had heard Corlys grumbling about pirates making a nuisance of themselves in his former kingdom once more. He could regale his daughters with the tales of his conquest, showing them the islands he had taken from the Crabfeeder, and perhaps even burn a few ships of their own.
As if he was reading his mind, the sorcerer groaned, "I swear, it's like you're purposefully taking everything the worst way possible or something. You're thinking of safer places to take your daughters to, aren't you?"
Daemon stiffened, refusing to give the man the satisfaction of an answer, but the silence was telling enough. Potter let out a long, weary sigh. "Gods, you really are impossible. I'm not telling you to pick a different island to get them killed on. I am showing that chasing this obsession will not go over well. Besides, that's not what they want."
"You say this, and yet they crave going on your so-called 'adventures'." Daemon sneered, "How is my plan any different to yours?"
"Because it's not enough. Do you know why Rhaena and Baela truly wish to go on adventures with Daphne and me? You haven't gone on a trip with Daphne and me, so I understand why you might have missed it. You've just seen the magic, the power, the fighting, and you wanted to emulate it. However, this isn't about giving your daughters what you think they want. That's easy. Titillation, horror, elation, excitement. They are not why they treasure our time together. No, it's because of the subtleties, the small things that they feel truly privileged to see, experiences that they know that very few people, if any, have experienced before them. It's not about blood, battle, power, or even magic. Because, for a brief time, when they're with us, they're no longer princesses or even nobles, but just themselves, and they can see who they truly are, and perhaps even a glimpse of who they could be."
Daemon remained silent at that, unsure whether he despised the man for saying it… or for being right.
Potter continued, gentler now, "They don't need a grand campaign to prove themselves. They don't need to be carved into songs. Because they are not you, Daemon Targaryen. All they need is their father."
The Rogue Prince looked away and thought back on his time with his daughters. Aside from Baela's dagger lessons, he had not truly spent time with them since they came to Dragonstone. He had first been preoccupied with Rhaenyra, swallowing his grief at Laena's death, and then having to deal with the madness that came with the Potters.
No, these were excuses. Daemon did not spend as much time with them as he should have because he had difficulties speaking with them. It was at these times that Daemon felt Laena's absence the most. There was a distance, a lack of closeness, between the girls and Rhaenyra. She did not complete him, not like Laena had, and fill the imperfection in him, especially when it came to dealing with his daughters.
In a way, he had long ached for a son for this precise reason. Being a warrior, a swordsman, and a Dragonrider came easily to him. They were things that he understood well, and he would be able to teach them without any issues. However, while Moondancer and Solarys were growing rapidly, something that he was sure the sorcerer had something to do with, they were still not large enough to be ridden.
Perhaps the sorcerer was right. He had been trying to force something that he would enjoy onto their shoulders. Adventures shaped him; danger honed him. But as he remembered his daughters' laughter, he tried to imagine Rhaena, gentle Rhaena, being forced to witness horrors. He imagined his daughters during his time in the Stepstones, and he found that he misliked it. He shuddered as he remembered his visions of Baela kneeling in an ocean of blood, the mad rage on Rhaena's face, and found that he didn't wish it for them.
Perhaps this could wait until they were older, or perhaps until they made decisions for themselves. And so, Daemon nodded in agreement.
Potter seemingly slumped in relief, "Thank God. I'd rather not have your daughters' death on my conscience, especially given the fact that your family is now more vulnerable than ever."
Then, he suddenly remembered the sorcerer's last remarks, "Explain, sorcerer. What do you mean by the fact that we are vulnerable?"
The sorcerer rolled his eyes, "Again with the demands… I suppose I did have a bit of a hand in it. Let's just say that your family was part of a larger plan to fight an entity. This meant that your survival was paramount until then. Certain factors forced my hands to deal with the issue myself, which means that Fate no longer protects your line."
The Rogue Prince found himself somewhat speechless at the man's statement. The idea that there was some kind of divine protection to his house, a divine right to rule over the Seven Kingdoms, in their very blood, was fitting. For they were the last of Old Valyria, the last Dragonriders. Who else would destiny favour but their house, just as it had likely blessed his ancestor when he conquered this continent under one banner, that of the dragon.
Even the idea of the sorcerer ripping away that protection was not exactly foreign. Harry Potter did as he pleased, as one with his power could, just as Daemon could do the same. They were not dissimilar in that way, and he could respect it, even if it had come at the detriment of his family, which soured the entire affair. However, the idea that his family was part of some obscure plan, that Fate favoured them, not because of their legacy or their blood, but because they could be of use to it, truly angered him.
The sorcerer must have noticed his anger as he tried to appease him, "It's not exactly a bad thing. Fate is rarely kind, even to its greatest champions, and freedom from it means freedom from its meddling. From now on, your House's successes and failings are its own, for good or for ill."
He shook his head at that; Potter had misunderstood the source of Deamon's anger, "What was to be our destiny?"
Potter hesitated for a moment before answering, "A song, one of ice and fire. But that doesn't matter anymore, for it has ended. The world is now different from what it used to be. Flying around recklessly, only relying on the strength of your dragon, isn't really a wise choice, not anymore."
Daemon wished to protest for a moment, but he thought back on the happenings of the Seven Kingdoms in the previous few moons. The Fall of Pyke, the extinction of House Greyjoy, and the civil war in the Iron Isles. The war was all but over, with House Harlaw all but remaining the only relevant noble house. Surprisingly, the Westerlands managed to defend themselves effectively when certain factions tried to raid them for supplies. Daemon had long heard of the Ironborn's unmatched strength at sea, but it seemed that they were disappointed. Most died drowning, meeting that useless god of theirs, not that he had many worshippers left, with most of its priests dying.
This was also not an isolated event; there was also the second Doom of Valyria, the destruction of Harrenhal, the theft of the Citadel, and the riots in Oldtown. Daemon had almost laughed himself to death at the idea that the Smallfolk finally realised the uselessness of their faith and rebelled against the Hightowers, causing enough trouble that Otto had to be sent there.
There were also other small things, like Greyscale all but disappearing from the ill in the Citadel. He had heard of Maester Gerardys speak on the matter with Rhaenyra, who had been just as disinterested as he was. Essos was not spared either; the invasion of Qarth by the Red Faith was only stifled by the strange whispers in Braavos regarding the House of Black and White.
Mysaria had been quite useful in keeping him apprised of the happenings in the Seven Kingdoms, in exchange for the protection of the City Watch, most of whom still remained loyal to him from his days as Lord Commander, to her brothels. Every Essosi sailor seemed to have been worried about the strange happenings in Braavos, which started after the One-Day Winter.
Speaking of which, the One-Day Winter was the single strangest natural event in recent memory, or perhaps it wasn't. Daemon remembered his daughters sulking around Dragonstone near this time, claiming that the Potters had gone on a trip or another, something that changed the day after. He had been glad for it, at the time, but he hadn't truly made a connection until the information regarding his House's fate, a song of ice and fire.
"It was you," he muttered, "The One-Day Winter was of your doing."
For the first time since their conversation began, Harry Potter looked surprised before a wide smile grew on his face, "You're a lot more observant than most people give you credit for, Daemon Targaryen."
That was all but a confirmation, and Daemon decided to look at all happening since the sorcerer's arrival differently. The mess in the Iron Islands could be explained by the sorcerer disliking them, which was understandable; no one liked the Ironborn. However, this was a systematic destruction of their society, something that even the Conqueror had not done.
He knew that the Second Doom had been the result of Potter clearing up Old Valyria, which he had claimed during their 'family' dinner before Viserys returned to the Capital, and Daemon knew that Harrenhal's destruction was because of the witch, which offended him. Did Qarth suffer a similar fate? They had their Warlocks there, too, but Daemon was unsure.
Daemon also knew that Potter had a hand in naming Rhaenys as Viserys's Hand. But did the man distrust Otto so much that he would have arranged for religious riots in Oldtown and perhaps even rob the Citadel, just to force Viserys to send him away, enough for Rhaenys to finish her schemes? It seemed to make a disturbing amount of sense, even if he had no proof.
And now, the One-Day Winter. Daemon did not wish to know what ridiculous thing the sorcerer did, but the fact that it affected an entire continent was disturbing. Nevertheless, despite all of this, Potter's actions seemed to be centred around his House, something that he couldn't find a proper explanation for: "Why?"
Potter tilted his head in confusion, "I don't follow."
"Why, my family? Was it Fate that guided you to us, this destiny that is now fulfilled? Or do you wish for something that only House Targaryen could grant, though I confess not to know what we have to offer that you could acquire yourself with your magicks. What do you truly desire?"
The sorcerer released a snort of amusement, "That is a good question to ask, and one that holds a complex answer. To answer, I must ask you one of my own. During the days of the Valyrian Freehold, why was it that the Dragonlords did not go to war against one another despite all of them being centred around Old Valyria?"
"Valyria was governed by a council of Dragonlord houses. It stopped Dragonlords from warring as they had a voice in the governance of the freehold."
"Then, would you agree to turning the Seven Kingdoms into this kind of governance?"
Disgust spread inside Daemon at the mere thought of the Hightower spawns having a similar authority to his own, to Rhaenyra, who was truly of Valyrian blood.
It must have shown it clearly on his face as Potter chuckled and continued, "Exactly. These feelings would not be uncommon in any Dragonlord. The idea of sharing power isn't often one that anyone would like. So, the question remained as to why they even decided to stay in Old Valyria, instead of just conquering a land of their own, much like your ancestor did? No offence, but he did it with three dragons, and there were families with dozens of larger and stronger ones in the Freehold."
The Rogue Prince would say that the thought didn't truly occur to him before. Given the tensions with the Greens, which would likely escalate to a war the moment Viserys breathed his last breath, it must have occurred between Dragonlord families before, and yet, he could not find one.
The man continued, answering his own question. "The Dragonlord families of Old Valyria measured their power by that of their dragons, and they noticed that their dragons grew stronger in certain places, much like the Fourteen Flames. In that way, leaving the Valyrian Peninsula would kill them, and they couldn't fight over it since there were simply too many dragons, so they most likely would die, even if they held stronger dragons. A dozen young dragons could likely kill one the size of Vhagar. A few would die, of course, but the result was the same. And so, they shared the resource, the power of the Fourteen Flames, and agreed not to use dragons against one another. In a way, they were held in check from abusing their own power by their own people, stopping them from burning away anything that displeased them. It was a strange form of balance, but balance, nonetheless. Of course, they tried to find other places where Dragons could grow. The only successful place I could find was this island, Dragonstone, and even then, it was nowhere as strong as Valyria. It's also why your family came here after they left the Peninsula in the first place."
It was very interesting but not quite what Daemon wished to hear: "You did not answer my question."
"I'm getting to it," the sorcerer said dismissively, "I said that it was a complicated answer. Now, I want you to think about what would happen if only a single family had access to dragons. They are not unchecked. Even if they were weaker in a lot of ways, they had far more freedom to do what they wished, to burn away fortresses, and conquer an entire continent. They would be more powerful than one might think, and that power has consequences. And well, if this family is divided, if its members are ready, perhaps even eager, to go to war against one another, then that is a big concern, especially the devastation that would follow, and the scars such battles would leave on the world."
The only sound that followed this statement was that of the waves crashing into the shore before them. Daemon did not know what to say to this, or even how to react, but Potter obviously did not wait for a response, "You have asked me why I am involving myself in your family's affair. It's not because my plans involve you in some way. You've seen a fragment of what I can do, of who I am. Do you really think I need you for anything? Other than being an initial curiosity, even your dragons are of no interest to me. I am because I must, because everyone and everything seems to push you into ruining yourselves, because your pride and lust for that foolish throne would ruin many delicate affairs that I have been arranging. I healed your king to unsettle the board a bit, to extend the timeline, because the alternative was to defy fate and just kill you all and your dragons. Unfortunately, that would have been troublesome. There would have been a war, and I'd have had to defy Fate, which is a delicate matter. However, you don't have Fate's protection anymore, do you?"
Daemon gulped at the casualness of the threat that Potter made, not only towards him, but his entire family. He felt the world around him become colder in the realisation that, in many ways, their greatest protection from the sorcerer had been unmade, not that he knew that they held one in the first place.
It was an implied threat that he could now kill them all and their dragons, and that he would, should they interrupt his plan, whatever it may be. It seemed to be centred around a 'balance' or something. He was not sure, and while he was glad that his House was not truly involved in it, it paled compared to the weight of the threat, of the responsibility that he had now been burdened with to stop this monster from going after them.
"How… How do I stop that?" Daemon finally forced out, the words scraping their way past a tightening throat.
Potter did not look at him when he answered. "By not being stupid. Look, I don't mind the dragons. In fact, they're a very nice way of enforcing order if you don't use them recklessly. I'm not even asking for much. Don't burn cities to the ground, don't start a war between Dragonriders, and don't go on idiotic adventures in Essos in search of legacy with your daughters, with a risk of getting possessed by some demon or some other entity. The fact that I have to spell it out for you is frankly insane, especially that last one. What kind of father are you?"
Daemon wished to argue that last part, but whatever defiance disappeared at the memories of his daughters' broken bodies, which still clawed at the back of his mind. He swallowed hard at the words he would speak, for some reason feeling like they weighed more than they should have. "Very well," he said, quieter than he intended. "No voyages. No hunts for glory. And I'll try to be a better father to Rhaena and Baela."
The sorcerer still looked at him expectantly, and Daemon released a sigh while still shuddering at the memory of the man's casual threat to wipe out his entire house, "And I will do my best not to escalate matters with the Greens."
Daemon felt a small weight press on him for just a moment, and he looked at the man with surprise, who looked oddly smug for a fraction of a second. It must have been his imagination, as this invisible pressure disappeared immediately, and the man smiled widely, "You know what? I'll take that. Now, with that little talk finished, why don't you join us inside?"
The Rogue Prince followed Potter's gaze towards their manse and turned to give him an incredulous look, but the sorcerer only shrugged. "Daphne made hot chocolate," he said, as if that explained anything. "And I'm fairly certain the girls wouldn't mind spending a little more time with their father."
Daemon opened his mouth to refuse on instinct, but he felt something pressing. He… He had just been claiming that he wished to be a better father, hadn't he? And so, he let out a slow breath and nodded stiffly. "Very well."
They walked toward the manse together, though Daemon did not know why he felt so… anxious at just speaking with his daughters. Before he even noticed, he found himself stepping into a room with many comfortable-looking chairs surrounding a small table, which held a few potted plants as well as steaming cups of a brown drink.
Before he had time to take in more, two small blurs crashed into him. Baela wrapped her arms around his middle with all the force her young frame could muster, while Rhaena clung to his sleeve, beaming up at him.
"Father!" they spoke, "You're here!"
"Well, our resident sorcerer invited me to share this… chocolate drink, with my precious daughters. How could I possibly refuse? What have you been up to?"
Rhaena looked at him excitedly, "Lady Daphne is teaching us how to care for plants. She said that if we do a good job, she'll let us choose a plant from her own garden to take to our room."
Baela continued for her sister, "Some of them even glow in the dark, and a few even grow with fire instead of water."
Both girls looked up to him pleadingly, and he chuckled, turning towards the golden-haired witch, who simply shrugged. As he looked at them, the sorcerer's threats outside the manse, the wish of a legacy, of a legend, faded into the background, leaving only the promise he had made to the sorcerer, to himself, to be a good father.
A small smile grew on his face as he answered, "Very well. Let us see if you can take care of a plant first."
Both girls cheered, hugging him again before rushing back to the sorcerer's wife for their next instruction. Across the room, Potter shot him a knowing, insufferably pleased look, but for the first time, Daemon realised that he didn't mind.
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AN: Phew. That chapter got away from me a bit. I had fun writing Harry slowly trying different approaches to get Daemon to not act like a sociopath, starting with the visions, then using lore, to outright threats. Some of you might have noticed something cheeky he did near the end. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
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If you want to support me, check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr
I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions on them, so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.