Chapter 27: Seeds of Dominion
From the high balcony of the Red Keep, Queen Aemma stood with the infant Rhaenyra cradled to her breast, Viserys at her side. Below, the courtyard buzzed with movement as Daemon strode through the gates with his Kingsguard, the sun glinting against his silver-gold hair like molten flame.
Every servant and handmaiden bowed deeply as he passed, their eyes filled with awe and unease alike.
Aemma's voice broke the silence.
"I heard from the septons that Daemon has taken control of the brothels and gambling dens in Flea Bottom. They say he even plans to build a castle by the Blackwater Rush — grander than the Red Keep itself."
Viserys gave a soft laugh, his expression a blend of amusement and brotherly pride.
"Daemon has always loved extravagance since he was a boy. He calls it a Valyrian-style castle — fire and blood turned to stone."
Aemma's gaze darkened.
"Viserys, Daemon is only sixteen, yet he commands the Gold Cloaks and half the city bends to him. The smallfolk whisper that he's cleverer, stronger, and bolder than you. When you inherit the throne, will he not be a prince too dangerous to leash?"
Viserys scoffed lightly.
"Daemon is my blood. We Targaryens are bound by more than oaths — by fire itself. There will be no strife between us."
Aemma shifted Rhaenyra to her other arm, her tone tinged with doubt.
"I've seen what ambition does to brothers, Viserys. In the Vale, my own brothers fought for our father's favor — until one was thrown through the Moon Door."
Viserys smiled faintly, brushing a lock of silver hair from her cheek.
"You worry too much, my love. Let the whispers blow like wind. Daemon's flame will only make our house burn brighter."
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Later that day, Daemon entered the sept of the Red Keep. Monks and sisters hurried to scrub marble floors as his boots echoed through the hall.
"My lands require a proper septon," Daemon announced. "Is there anyone willing to serve?"
A monk with a long, slender neck and sharp grey eyes stepped forward.
"Prince Daemon, I am Brother Eustace of Stoney Sept. I would be honored to tend to your people's souls."
Daemon nodded approvingly. "Then the gods themselves have chosen."
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Far to the south, on the banks of the Blackwater Rush, a small sept was raised. Its walls bore humble frescoes of the Seven — the Warrior's blade, the Mother's arms, the Stranger's hood. Brother Eustace led the first prayers there as smoke rose from the nearby forges.
Sister Annie, a woman with fading beauty and eyes like polished wine, stood nearby. She had once been a slave-prostitute in Volantis, her tear-tattoo still marking her cheek. Yet her mind was sharp, her tongue sharper still.
"Prince Daemon," she said with a playful smirk, "would it not be better if I managed the sept? I could comfort many lost souls — especially the young ones."
Daemon's lips curved. "That sounds more like the faith of the Summer Isles, not the Seven."
Sister Annie only laughed, stirring a jar of milky liquid.
"This," she said, lifting it to the light, "is moon tea. It spares women… unwanted consequences. You'd be surprised how many noble daughters owe their peace to this brew."
Daemon studied her with amusement. "You seem to know much about such things."
"I have lived much, my prince," she replied softly. "In Volantis, in Lys, in Braavos — I've seen what men desire and what women fear."
Daemon's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Volantis is the greatest port in the world. I intend to build my own here — but how to draw captains and sailors to the south, away from King's Landing?"
Sister Annie smiled knowingly.
"Simple. Sailors crave two things — drink and flesh. In every port from Braavos to Oldtown, brothels are the heart of the harbor. King's Landing keeps its fine houses on Silk Street. Near the docks, there are only streetwalkers and filth. Build a finer one — a World Pleasure Garden, where the seas themselves will bow to your gates."
Daemon's eyes gleamed.
"Yunkish bedslaves, Summer Island priestesses, Lys courtesans, Meereenese gladiatrices, Volantene red priestesses… and perhaps a few men of Lys, for those who desire such pleasures."
Sister Annie gave an approving nod.
"You truly have the makings of a prince of enterprise, Daemon Targaryen."
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By autumn, Daemon's domain thrived. On the banks of the Blackwater, laborers and prisoners toiled under the sun — forging mills, smithies, and wharves from the earth.
Over them towered Dragon Caraxes, his crimson wings blotting out the sky, while Dreamfyre circled above like a sapphire flame. The people below looked up in awe — for never before had dragons watched over mortal sweat.
His steward, Munch — a shrewd man with a bronze beard and the mind of a merchant — approached, scrolls in hand.
"Prince Daemon, as instructed, the women and children gather flowers and mushrooms for sale. Our blooms — forget-me-nots, hyacinths, and roses — fetch good prices at the harbor."
Daemon nodded. "Send them to Silk Street and the Old Gate. Let beauty and coin flow together. And buy cattle from Cowshed Town — strong beasts from the Riverlands. I want the sound of life to fill my lands. Add dairy goats from the Vale."
"As you command," Munch said, bowing.
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By the river's bend, Daemon found the prisoners he had once sentenced — poachers and thieves, their faces hardened by the Kingswood's wild life.
"You once hunted in secret," Daemon said, his tone calm but sharp as a blade. "From now on, you will hunt for me — legally. For gold, for honor, for your freedom."
One of them, a red-haired man named Karon, spoke eagerly. "I can bring you a boar each day, my prince. No beast escapes my spear."
"And I," said a lanky man named Ferran, "am master of fowl — geese, pheasants, ducks. The woods will sing with my arrows."
Daemon's eyes glimmered. "Then serve me well, and your families will be fed and safe within my walls. You will be my royal hunters."
The men fell to their knees. "Long live Prince Daemon!"
---
At sunset, Daemon stood beside Gael, gazing across the river where his vision took shape. Two castles — one blood-red like flame, the other pale as ash — would soon rise, joined by a bridge of black stone.
Gael looked at him, her silver hair glowing in the dying light.
"Both the Old and New Gods watch over your lands now, my love. When will you begin the castle?"
Daemon's voice was soft but resolute.
"When Corlys Velaryon's fleet brings stone from Tarth and the Vale. Then we will build with strength and legacy. Not merely a castle — but a monument to fire and blood."
Caraxes roared above, his crimson wings catching the twilight.
The seeds of dominion had been sown — and the river whispered of destiny yet to come.
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