Game of Thrones/ASOIAF: The Prince of Scrolls

"Daemon," he greeted. He glanced sideways at Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, who followed Daemon like a shadow.

"Jaehaerys," his nephew said, not so warmly.

The two men looked at each other. The people in the room could feel the tension in the air. Jaehaerys had his arm around Daenerys's waist. She seemed to be admiring the fabric of her dress.

Daemon glared at his uncle's hand on his beloved's waist, clenching his teeth. He had to restrain himself from tearing his uncle's head off.

Rhaegar stood up, drawing all eyes to him as if they were moths to a candle. "In the days before, my decision to unite Princess Daenerys with Prince Jaehaerys was questioned. Several have expressed their discontent." His eyes scanned everyone, lingering a little on Viserys. "My son Daemon was one of them," the king said. Queen Lyanna looked at him reproachfully. "He requested a duel to the death for Daenerys' hand," he paused. The room held its breath. "I have refused. I will not see my blood kill each other. The union of Daenerys and Jaehaerys is final. It's for the realm's peace". Jaehaerys looked at Myrcella, who was nodding.

Daemon looked at him, his face red with anger. "Your Grace, if you will allow me, I would like to accept the duel," said Jaehaerys. His mother, who had sighed with relief, looked at him in surprise. "I do not wish to kill my nephew. I suggest exile for the loser," he continued. Though not as concerned, his mother was still upset by this.

"I agree," said Daemon, his eyes never leaving the princess.

The king seemed to ponder for a few minutes, his eyes fixed on Jaehaerys. Jaehaerys returned his gaze, showing neither defiance nor submission.

"So be it, then. Jaehaerys, given your lack of martial skills, I will allow you to choose a sword to fight for you." Jaehaerys could choose anyone he wanted: Ser Arthur or Ser Barristan. The king seemed bored by the situation, but deep down, he hoped Jaehaerys would choose one of the kingdom's best knights.

"Aōha riñnykeā's ondos jāhor sagon va aōha ȳrgos skori morghon māzigon." A red priestess had told Rhaegar. He remembered those words every time he looked at his most warrior-like son.

"You can choose two if one is not enough for you," Daemon said confidently.

Prince Daemon was handsome and masculine. His Stark features—such as his long face, gray eyes, and black hair—did not diminish his beauty but made him unique among the Targaryens.

"I will fight on my own, Your Grace," he said. He heard one of the lords snort in disdain, and the ladies sighing dramatically.

"No one will judge you. We all know you prefer books to steel. A scholar is respectable... for a maester," said his nephew in a mocking tone, earning a few laughs from the crowd.

"I can't imagine the honor the knights feel in challenging a maester to a duel," he said as the laughter died down. If only out of embarrassment.

"A man does what he has to do," he replied.

"He does. Even if you're as good as the bards sing, you'll be in for a surprise," he said, taking a small jab.

"I'll be surprised if you start throwing books at me in the middle of a fight," he answered with an amused grimace. A chorus of laughter followed.

-----

Daenerys lowered her head. She knew he didn't mean to hurt her. But she had loved books since she was a child. She had even wanted to be a maester one day. The day after she talked about it with her mother, her lessons with the septas began. Even then, she had a collection of books that she enjoyed reading. Others were boring stories about princesses and princes; she enjoyed more challenging books.

The girl felt a hand caress her waist. It was as if he had sensed her discomfort. Jaehaerys looked at her with a hint of concern. She was touched to see him worry about her. But she hated herself for being happy about it. She loved Daemon. 'I do, I do,' she repeated to herself.

"It would be quite the news story: 'The reborn rogue prince defeated by a book.' I can imagine the songs the troubadours would sing," Jaehaerys said, and some nobles laughed at his joke. Daenerys laughed too, before realizing her mistake and covering her mouth. She glanced at Daemon, who seemed to be looking at them in pain.

"Books don't win duels."

"They win wars," he replied. "They prevent us from dying of disease. They remind us of our ancestors, and they ensure that our descendants will remember us. They're not as shiny as steel, but they last longer."

Daenerys looked at him, moved. He had defended books in front of a city full of men who despised them. She glanced at a few who were sneering, unwilling to accept his words yet too cowardly to refute them.

"Enough," the king said. He had allowed the discussion to go on too long. Now, he looked at Jaehaerys reproachfully. The king hoped Jaehaerys would choose a champion capable of defeating Daemon and sending him away. "Jaehaerys, will you not change your decision?" He could force his hand. But he decided against it; it was best to remain neutral in this conflict.

He really wanted Daemon gone.

"I stand by my decision, Your Grace. I will fight for myself."

"The duel will take place on the fifth day of this month, which gives you three days to prepare," the king decreed. The timing coincided with the end of the tournament held in honor of Prince Jaehaerys.

"I will withdraw first, Your Grace. The princess is indisposed." The king simply nodded. Jaehaerys walked past Daemon with his head held high. He held Daenerys's hand firmly, and she did not resist being escorted away.

"I didn't know you liked books so much," the princess began. It was a small lie; everyone knew about the King's Landing.

"I always have," he said, remembering earlier times. "I remember giving you a book on your fifth name day, a month before I left for the North." Daenerys looked at him, confused. She didn't remember that.

"Really?" she asked doubtfully.

"Yes, it was Great Women of Westeros. I thought you'd like it since you used to dream of conquering kingdoms when you were little."

"I..." The book was her favorite. It made her dream of being a conqueror, like Nymeria, who led her people to another continent. Or like Rhaenys and Visenya, who conquered Westeros alongside their brother-husband. She wanted to be remembered for something. She had dreamed of awakening the dragons from their stone slumber. "I wanted to be the Mother of Dragons," she said aloud by mistake. She often dreamed of three dragons.

"Mother of dragons?" A twinge of pain shot through Jaehaerys's temple as if he had heard that title before. He hadn't drunk any wine during the banquet, so his mind was clearer than it should have been, and the pain was higher too.

"Just forget it," she had told Daemon about the dream.

"Dragons no longer exist. Only swords and armies remain. Don't waste your time dreaming about them. The only dragon you need is me," Daemon said, trying to comfort her. It didn't work.

"I'd like to see dragons," Jaehaerys said. "I'd like to touch the clouds with my fingers," he said, looking out the window.

The moon was hiding behind the clouds. "If you ever get a dragon, I'll steal it from you," he joked.

The princess was still too embarrassed to answer him.

"My chambers are ahead," she said, trying to change the subject.

Her dreams were silly; they always had been. Waking dragons. Being a maester. These were things she could never achieve.

"We're not going to your chambers," Jaehaerys said suddenly, his eyes lost in the red flames of a torch. "We're going to mine." He said as he led her away.

Daenerys's face turned red with anger. All the sympathy she had felt for her brother vanished in that moment.

"If you think you—"

"Do you want to see dragon eggs?" he whispered in her ear. She stopped fighting. The offer might have been a lie, but it was tempting.