• Not My Son •

                                    

                                          

Daemon and the council had finally reached a decision. With heavy hearts and reluctant nods, they agreed to bend the knee to Aemond. Daemon, with a steely resolve, conveyed their decision to the council. However, deep within his calculating mind, he harbored a different plan—one that would strike at the very heart of Aemond's power. Daemon intended to go after Aemond's heir, young Daelon.
Back in King's Landing, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the somber council chambers. The grand halls were adorned with banners and flowers, celebrating the fifth nameday of Daelon Targaryen. The young prince, with his silver hair and striking violet eyes, was the center of attention. Lords and ladies from across the realm had gathered to honor him, each bringing gifts that ranged from exquisite toys to rare artifacts.
The festivities were in full swing. Laughter and music filled the air as Daelon, dressed in fine silks, received his guests with the grace expected of a Targaryen. Among the attendees were noblemen and women, each eager to gain favor with the royal family. They presented the young prince with treasures that reflected their wealth and status—jeweled swords, miniature dragons carved from precious stones, and silken garments embroidered with the Targaryen sigil.
Elaenys watched her son with pride, her heart swelling with joy as she saw the love and admiration he inspired. Aemond stood by her side, his hand resting protectively on her shoulder. For a moment, they allowed themselves to bask in the happiness of the occasion, unaware of the dark plans being forged against them. The celebration continued, a fleeting moment of peace in a world still rife with conflict and treachery.


As the festivities in honor of the young prince, Daelon, came to an end, the grand halls of King's Landing gradually quieted. The guests departed, leaving behind an air of satisfaction and contentment. Elaenys, feeling the weight of the day, retreated to the nursing quarters with Daelon in her arms. The young prince, exhausted from the celebrations, nestled against his mother as she softly sang a lullaby, her voice soothing and melodic.
The gentle melody filled the room, wrapping around them in a cocoon of warmth and love. Elaenys rocked Daelon gently, her eyes filled with tenderness as she watched him drift closer to sleep. However, her serene moment was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. She turned her head slightly, her senses alert.
The door creaked open, revealing Daemon standing in the doorway. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw her father, his presence unexpected and alarming. The war between the Reds and the Blacks was still raging, and she had not anticipated seeing him here.
"Father," 
She whispered, her voice slightly trembling, and her violet eyes fixed on her father.
"What are you doing here?"

Daemon's eyes were intense, filled with a mix of determination and something darker. 
The war had brought nothing but chaos and uncertainty, and now it seemed to have reached into the very heart of her family. She realized with a sinking feeling that Daemon intended to take Daelon to avenge the death of Rhaenyra, a move that could plunge them all into further peril.
She knew not to trust her father—his intentions weren't good, she could feel it, she could see it in his eyes. She had killed Rhaenyra, her father's one true love, and now he had come for her son to avenge that death. The guilt and fear weighed heavily on her, but she couldn't let it cloud her judgment.
"Father, you can't take him," 
She said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. 
"Daelon is my son, my first son, my only son. Take me, not my son."