Chapter Text
Late 196 AC - A field near King's Landing
Baelor stared at his half Uncle’s hair. He wondered if Uncle Brynden had been successful in his attempt to take the Weeping Ridge he’d have been forced into this position.
Uncle Bryden had failed in that however, and instead Baelor had arrived with his Dornishmen and women, and Orys’ Stormlanders to a brutal fight where Daemon had still stood.
They’d been storming against his littlest brother Maekar and what remained of the van. Baelor had shouted and somehow Daemon had heard. That hadn’t surprised him. Daemon had always turned for him. They’d grown up together. Been near enough twins.
Baelor had tightened his grip on his sword as their eyes had met. He’d noticed the two silver haired children at Daemon’s side and had pursed his lips. Daemon had brought his eldest sons, boys of two and ten, onto the field of battle.
Baelor couldn’t imagine the boy he’d grown up with doing such a thing.
Baelor couldn’t imagine the boy he’d grown up with attempting to steal his father’s throne either though.
Baelor wondered if he’d ever known him truly.
The rear of Daemon’s rebel forces had seemed to part for him as he made his way back.
It had seemed as though everyone had stopped and taken a breathe.
They hadn’t however. The rebels still crashed into the swiftly depleting forces defending the capital.
Baelor had turned to Lord Orys Baratheon, the Heir to Storms’ End, who was leading the Sotrmlanders, his younger brother Lyonel at his side.
“Go!” He’d shouted over the din.
“Help the vanguard, I will handle Daemon.”
Orys had protested. They’d been good friends.
He went ahead.
The Dornishmen followed and Baelor had faced Daemon alone.
He’d never won against him before without being on horseback.
Daemon had known this.
Baelor had gripped his sword tighter.
“Lay down your arms nephew!” Daemon had called out.
Baelor supposed he ought to have been surprised.
He wasn’t.
“And let you steal my father’s rightful throne? Murder my brother?”
“Your father is illegitimate.”
“You insult your own pious Aunt so?”
“I do not fault Aunt Naerys for laying with the better brother. I do not fault you for defending a weak and illegitimate King… please Baelor. Lay down your arms.”
Baelor had laughed bitterly.
“You know I cannot do that Daemon. Kneel now, and I shall convince father that the wall is punishment enough for you. The faith punishment enough for the boys you have brought to battle.”
They’d stared at each other then. Each willing the other to kneel. At Daemon’s side his boys had looked up at him.
“I love you Daemon, damn it all to the seven hells.” he’d shouted.
Daemon had broken eye contact then and looked away.
“All this death Daemon. All this for a throne that wasn’t yours. You’ll have to kill us. You know this. These turncloaks you’ve found to support you won’t stand for anything less.”
He’d pursed his lips in that way he did when he’d been enveloped in a particularly puzzling tome. Baelor could see him wavering.
“I cannot kneel to you, if not for my own life and what is right, then for my sons. Would you see them executed Daemon? Valarr is but 6. Matarys a babe still, at his nurse’s breast. Would you see their heads smashed? See them smothered?”
“No! I would never…” Daemon had shouted and then clammed shut, looking away again.
“This is no qualm against you Baelor. I love you as a twin. But the throne is mine by right. Daeron is illegitimate.”
“And you were bastard born.”
“He sold me!”
Baelor shut his mouth then. Daemon had declared rashly, and seemingly without provocation.
“I was three and ten and he sold me to a foreigner twice my age for a meagre alliance with one of the slaver cities of Essos.”
“That was King Aegon’s negotiation.” Baelor said calmly.
Daemon snorted and shook his head, vicious eyes landing on Baelor. “It was not.”
Baelor wondered who had spewed this poison in Daemon’s ears.
“I could have forgiven that. I have done, for years. After he wed Dany to your dear Uncle. I forgave him. When everyone whispered in my ears, of the sinful Dornish Queen. Her slimy advisors and servants and son. I did not listen to them. I sat in my castle and contented myself with a wife I had not wanted and children I did not ask for. She would not leave my fucking bed! I would have bowed to you Baelor! Gladly!”
Baelor had wondered if he should speak in response to that. It was no suffering for a man to bed a woman. Uncomfortable and disconcerting and sometimes difficult yes, torture though it was not. He did not understand why Daemon was so upset on that front. Baelor had not spoken.
“And then he sought to sell my children.” Daemon hissed.
“Father would not…”
“Do not tell me what Daeron would not do!”
Daemon had cut him off.
“I doubt you’d care about what would happen to my boys.”
“Daemon…”
Daemon had not let him continue.
“But perhaps it may interest you to know that he wanted my Calla for your second wife.”
Baelor’s heart had sank and the din of battle had fallen away.
He’d married Jena for duty, but their marriage had been a cordial one. He’d cried when the childbirth fever had taken her.
When Daemon’s rebellion had begun, she’d been in the ground for barely a handful of months. Calla Blackfyre had been 9.
“She’s ten.” He’d said, voice not quite there.
“Girls have been married younger.” Daemon had stated, voice blank from emotion.
Baelor had felt like hurling.
Worst of all the match made good sense. But he couldn’t have… Surely father wouldn’t have expected him to…
He met Daemon’s eyes.
“I would never lay a hand on a child.”
Daemon’s eyes had softened marginally.
“I know.”
A conversation without words.
A relationship from cribs to the tilt yard.
Some part of Baelor had always expected Daemon to have his back.
Some part of Daemon wished that Baelor had had his.
They’d walked towards each-other, hands off their swords.
They’d embraced, as they’d done as children. Blood and guts and all.
And Baelor had thought that mayhaps the gods had shined on them and he’d not have to leave this battle a kinslayer.
Then Aegor had come from behind.
“You always were fucking weak.”
Daemon had pushed him down, as though he’d known what was coming.
Baelor had fallen into the mud.
Aegor Rivers had drove a sword through his brother’s chest.
Daemon had coughed and collapsed upon him.
Silver hair splayed out on Baelor’s chest in a parody of a lover’s embrace.
Baelor stared at his half Uncle’s hair. He wondered if Uncle Brynden had been successful in his attempt to take the Weeping Ridge he’d have been forced into this position.
“Father!” a child’s voice cried out over the din of the battle which raged on.