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(EM Vol. 2: A Wandering Melody) Chapter 81: The Beast Below
🕑 Added 2025-10-05 14:00:04 +0000 UTCChapter 81: The Beast Below
123 AC, Oldtown
And yet, he looked at their excited grin, and he couldn’t help but envy them. He wasn’t sure if it was bravery or foolishness that pushed his feet forward. “I’ll come with you,” he muttered, almost to himself, before stepping past the threshold. Neither of them looked surprised.
Daeron walked down the stairs alongside Harry and Daphne, cursing his idiocy at the decision of following strangers down a secret passage in his own home, and yet, he continued doing so. He didn’t think he was in danger, not truly. He had his trusty dagger, which had been entrusted to him by his uncle Gwayne in case he was attacked, and this was likely just some simple room that the Hightowers of old had built in case of some attack, a secret hideout, lost to time.
And yet, as he kept walking down with a single torch lighting the way, the stairs continued seemingly infinitely. In the meantime, neither of his companions had said a word, just staring at the walls around them. After a few minutes of pure silence, he couldn’t help but ask, “Why do you keep looking at the wall?”
Harry smiled at him approvingly, “Why don’t you take a look as well and tell me what you noticed?”
Daeron tilted his head in confusion but did as he was told. It didn’t take long to notice what was so different, “I can’t see any edges between stones. It’s like… It’s like this place was carved from a single piece of stone, or if it had all been fused somehow. Oh, I remember. Lyonel once told me that the Hightower was built over something else, and that a few Maesters thought that it was a sign that the Valyrians had tried to conquer these lands once before.”
That last part slipped out. This type of knowledge of the Hightower wasn’t exactly spread out, with the more preferred one being that the Hightower dated back to the Age of Heroes and that Bran the Builder, himself, had built it.
Thankfully, his companions didn’t notice, “No, this is much older than Valyria, and this is not Valyrian Stone. I can tell the difference.”
“How?” Daeron asked.
“We’ve been to Dragonstone recently, mostly to see the dragons in action since it’s one of the few places to find them. This is not the same material.”
Dragonstone.
Daeron hadn’t thought of the island for years, often considering it to be Rhaenyra’s domain, an ancestral land that she had all but turned into a hive of whores and bastards. An island where she fathered bastards without care, trying to pass them off as princes of the realm, something that sickened him to his stomach. He couldn’t spend a single day without hearing someone in the streets denouncing her and fearing what she might turn the realm into, should she truly ascend to the Iron Throne.
There were even rumours of some witch setting up there, as if the whore hadn’t been abominable enough. To think that she could consort with vile magics. It was beyond blasphemous and dangerous, but an insult to the Seven themselves.
And his father let it all pass as if every action made a mockery of the Seven and of House Targaryen. Daeron had thought his disease to be a punishment from the Seven, a warning to change his path, and yet he was healed now, wasn’t he?
He wasn’t sure how to think of this. His father, the King, had always been some distant figure. He was either too ill or too busy to speak with him, and his mother didn’t wish to force the issue, too focused on Aegon’s rightful place as the future King of the Seven Kingdoms.
A small, treacherous part of him wished that things would be different, now that he was in full health, even if he only had an arm. Then again, he had overheard much from Lord Ormund’s correspondence, including the fact that some natural disaster had destroyed Pyke, or that Harrenhal had been destroyed… somehow.
It had to be the wrath of the Seven. There was no other explanation. The mercy of the Gods towards the Ironborn’s reaving ways had finally ended, and their heathen faith, enough to strike down the entire family that used to govern the Isles.
Daeron shook his head. No, he remembered what Harry had said earlier. Why should he care about the faith of other people? He disliked the Ironborn; he didn’t know of anyone who thought differently, but it was their actions that caused this, not their faith.
It didn’t matter either way; so far, half of the nobility had perished in the battles that followed, and the war still progressed. The King must have decided to let the Ironborn kill themselves without shedding their blood himself, and then pick up the pieces, a very clever move, according to Lord Ormund.
He heard the sound of someone clearing his throat and looked at the smiling visage of Harry, “Back with us again?”
“Ah, sorry. I was lost in my own head.”
“Oh, that happens to me sometimes as well, and I have found that there are worse places to get lost in. Now, why don’t you try touching the walls and tell me why I said that it wasn’t Valyrian Stone?”
Daeron knelt and touched it, only to stiffen as the stone felt greasy to the touch, without actually being any liquid on it. It was odd, to say the least, “What is it?”
“I call it Black Stone. You could find it mostly in Essos. I don’t think I know of one in Westeros, bar the Seastone Chair on Pyke, not that it’s still there anymore. I think there were texts of there being a similar structure in Old Valyria, some islands in the Basilisk Isles, but more importantly, that Asshai was mostly made of it. I’ve personally seen it in a shrine to the Lord of Harmony on Naath. It is said that it is through this medium that gods communicate with the living world.”
“Gods?” Daeron asked with awe in his voice.
“Or Demons, not that most would know the difference. Then again, I doubt there is anything godly about Asshai anyway. This means that we need to be very careful and especially not touch anything.”
Daeron had to agree with that statement. Even if a part of him wished to know if he could speak to the Seven from this mysterious stone, he knew that the affairs of gods were beyond even him, a Dragonrider and a Prince of the realm.
Still, they continued walking down the stairs in silence until they reached the end and found… nothing.
There was absolutely nothing beneath the stairs, just a wall of Black Stone ending the path, which Harry seemed to stare at intently. Despite his apprehension at getting down, Daeron couldn’t help but feel disappointed at this reveal. He had his misgivings, but the allure of an adventure worthy of a knight appealed to him immensely.
Alas, it appeared to be some kind of secret hideout in case someone stormed the Hightower, one who had been likely lost for thousands of years, and not some magical connection to Gods like Harry alluded earlier. He almost scoffed at the sheer ridiculousness of that statement.
Speaking of the older man, he seemed to be pointing his torch at the wall, as if hoping it would reveal something that he wouldn’t notice, “Something isn’t right. You wouldn’t make a bunker out of Black Stone, unless… unless you planned on hiding from something that could stop it, something that natural materials wouldn’t need to. But then, the entrance wouldn’t be hidden by a few stones, would it?”
Daeron scoffed at the man’s mumbling, “There’s nothing down here. Let us return to the Hightower. Didn’t you wish to have permission to enter the Citadel’s library?”
“Aha!” The man exclaimed, completely ignoring Daeron, and stepped forward.
The young prince was incensed at being treated like this, before he remembered that none of his companions even knew of his status. Did this mean that being treated like this was the norm? If so, he truly didn’t like it.
While he stewed at Harry’s reply, the strange man ran his fingers slowly across the dark surface of the wall, pressing near the base of the stone with a look of vague concentration, before brightening. He took out a thin foreign straight dagger that Daeron hadn’t even noticed he had and pressed it precisely near a certain part of the wall.
When he focused, Daeron’s eyes widened at the very thin seam on the wall, one that he likely wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for the fact that there was a dagger imbued inside it. The man moved the dagger up and down until, eventually, a click followed, and a part of the wall gave way forward, opening like a door.
Daeron couldn’t help but gape at the sight, “How did you find that?”
“No one makes a staircase down to nothing, kiddo. There should have been at least a room or something,” the sorcerer replied, “And I don’t think that people that ancient ever thought that someone would pickpocket their doors open. Now, to see what they planned on hiding from the gods themselves.”
The man pushed, and oddly enough, his wife did with him. Not wishing to be left behind, Daeron helped them, and the hidden door groaned with every move, but they were able to push it forward, revealing a hidden entrance. The young prince looked up, trying to see what lay behind it, only to freeze in shock at the sight before him.
It was a full city, made entirely of Black Stone, with a river going through it, and glowing green. The city’s size was impossible, given that it was beneath the Hightower. Beneath the Hightower…
Oh, this was even beneath the river. No wonder the stairs could be so low. Did the Hightowers know that they built their ancestral home on top of another city? It would have been strange if they didn’t.
“How is this here?” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “There’s no record of anything beneath Oldtown, nothing like this.”
“Probably by design. The Hightowers obviously knew, given that they purposefully hid the entrance. Then again, they could have not known and just thought it was some kind of odd staircase that they could use to hide in, but I don’t think that’s the case.”
“Why?” Daeron commented.
“This was during the Age of Heroes, maybe even before it, which means that magic was commonplace. They even used to fight with the Children of the Forest, so it mustn’t have been a surprise. The ancient Hightowers wouldn’t have possibly built their ancestral home over something like Black Stone without knowing its significance. Which poses the question, why even do this? Why would anyone build their homes on the foundations of a ruined city?”
The young prince had no answer for this question either.
Daphne shook her head, “Perhaps we’ll find our answers inside.”
Immediately, her husband brightened up, “You’re probably right. But I swear there’s something niggling at me. I’m not sure what it is. It’s on the tip of my tongue.”
He didn’t elaborate and just walked forward, specifically on the path down to the city, his torch becoming quite useless thanks to the green glow of the rivers illuminating everything around them. His wife followed him, and Daeron did the same.
It took some time walking around for Daeron to notice something was wrong. For one, the buildings all looked very similar. They were completely empty, with nothing inside. Seven Hells, there weren’t even any stairs, and so most buildings’ height meant very little.
There were no signs of life, not past, present, or future. No stairs, no doors, no markings on the walls, no indicators of function or purpose. Even the buildings that looked like towers had no means of ascent. Every street curved in the same way, and it made Daeron feel uneasy.
It didn’t feel like a city meant for people.
It was then that Harry stopped walking and stared at the city from a distance, “Oh!”
Daphne turned to her husband with concern in her eyes, “What is it?”
“I think I know what I was missing before. I can be such an idiot sometimes.”
Daeron gave the older man a concerned look. “What is it?”
“This isn’t a city. This was never a city. Look at the buildings, all connected to one another, in a way that nothing could go between them. They’re empty. Too empty. No one could live in here. No one could even survive here, not for long.; there’s no flora, no fauna, nothing except the river. Look at the streets, how they’re spread around. Notice how they bend,” Harry said, his tone lower, more serious now. “They curve back toward each other. Every path loops. There are no straight routes out, only turns, and every building leads nowhere. They’re meant to disorient.”
Daeron did notice half of this, but the older man was right about the streets. They did feel off, and the way that they were structured was odd to say the least, but he didn’t understand the man’s point.
His wife, on the other hand, seemingly caught on quickly: “It’s a maze.”
“Exactly. The buildings are more like walls. Notice how they don’t have any exits on the other side. The streets are purposefully confusing. It just fits too perfectly.”
Daeron felt the world spinning around him. It made sense, in a twisted way, but the main question was, “Why? Why would anyone build a maze that size or make it look like a small city in the first place?”
It didn’t make sense, especially given the added effort needed to make it look like a city. Perhaps it was to lure people inside in a way? Daeron wasn’t sure.
Harry, though, had a thoughtful look on his face, “In my experience, mazes are often built as ways to stop people from finding something inside, or more ominously, prevent something inside from getting out, something that required a material that could affect gods to keep it inside.”
The moment he finished that sentence, Daeron felt a shiver crawl up his spine. No, it was likely just a gust of wind, and not some monster hidden beneath the Hightower like the man alluded. His main priority was to trace his way back and leave, as opposed to getting lost and dying of hunger or thirst in this cursed maze.
As he tried to do just that, Daeron found the details slipping from his mind. Every street looked so identical that he couldn’t remember which one led to the stairs they all came from.
The young prince couldn’t help but panic at the predicament that he was in, and that fear quickly turned into rage at the people who led him there. He turned towards them, not knowing what he would say, only hoping to let his anger show itself, only to freeze as they looked past him.
Harry leapt towards him, and Daeron thought that the man was attacking him, but was too slow to take out his dagger, only to notice that the man had pushed out of the way of something that had come before him with such speed that he barely saw more than its shadow.
Daeron tried to thank his saviour, only to freeze at the sight of his attackers. He couldn’t help but gape that instead of a man or a beast, he saw a shadow moving towards one of the empty houses.
He almost couldn’t believe his eyes. It must have been some kind of trick of the light.
He had almost convinced himself of that until Harry pulled him away from another shadow that tried to attack him, causing him to trip and fall. Harry stood in front of him protectively as a gigantic beast started to form, combining many shadows that had originated from different empty buildings.
Slowly, it started to take form, layers of living shadows rising up into the general outline of a beast, and yet Daeron couldn’t keep his gaze away from its green eyes. They were the same shade as that river and glowed hatefully at the three of them.
He instinctively unsheathed his dagger, not even knowing if it could protect him, from a living shadow of all things.
In the meantime, Harry pulled him up and patted him down, “Do exactly what I say, when I say it. Do you understand?”
Despite the fact that Daeron was not used to being ordered like this, he couldn’t help but frantically nod in agreement, hoping that the strange man would find a way to help him. “What is it?”
Neither of his companions answered, instead choosing to focus on the writhing mass of shadows, which now had a familiar form, with the body of a lion, the wings of an eagle, and the tail of a serpent. The face looked almost human, and yet that made it all the more disturbing. Still, he recognised the creature all the same; he had seen statues of them many times in front of the Citadel, “Is that a Sphinx?”
“No, it’s something taking the shape of a Sphinx, quite a dangerous ability, too. Imagine it turning into a dragon.”
As if the man had ignored his own words of caution, he sauntered forward in front of the mass of shadows masquerading as a Sphinx, “Hello there. I suppose you don’t have many visitors, don’t you? I’m Harry, and you see, we all stumbled here by accident. We would appreciate it immensely if you leave us be as we try to find a way back.”
Daeron watched with incredulity as the man tried to negotiate with the giant shadow Sphinx of all things. The beast itself tilted its head in confusion before it seemingly roared and leapt forward.
The young prince was barely able to hear the man mutter, “Have it your way, then,” before a blinding light appeared in front of Harry, one that pushed the shadow monster away in a screech that hurt Daeron’s ears.
Slowly, but surely, the light faded, and Daeron truly looked at Harry. The man’s eyes were glowing with power, and he looked completely unconcerned by what had happened, walking back and returning to the persona that he had taken.
This was magic; he had no doubts about it. Harry had just used magic.
His heart twinged at the betrayal, and he could feel his ears ringing. He had trusted Harry and Daphne. He had led them into his home, and the fact that they were vile witches made something break.
The future Dragonlord didn’t know what came over him, only that he saw a threat before him.
It was as if the world had faded away, and only Harry remained, standing smugly before him. The sheer sight of him made him shake in rage, or perhaps it was fear, and his pounding heart drowned out the world completely.
All he could see was the threat before him, one that could destroy Oldtown, one that could kill his family without anyone being able to do anything about it, one that could be the ruin of his family, both Targaryen and Hightower.
And then his thoughts faded in a moment of clarity, where the only thing he noticed was the dagger in his hand and the witch who had pretended to be his friend.
He didn’t notice himself walking forward or even moving. He didn’t even notice raising his blade, and yet, his eyes widened as he found himself, seconds later, leaping at Harry with his dagger drawn, ready to stab him in his heart.
AN: This chapter was a lot harder to write than I expected, and there are things that I’m not sure of. The idea behind this arc is mostly to explore the Black Stone a bit more, as well as a few things that I’m planning to link up to future arcs. I know some of you will think that Daeron’s reaction was unnatural, and well, I don’t want to spoil anything, but there’s a reason I wrote it this way. All in all, I hope that this chapter came out like I wanted it to, but if it didn’t, I don’t mind rewriting it depending on your feedback. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
Comments
Marius Petrauskas
nice
TyrantGod
Meh, I always felt sorry for Daeron. Kid was bought up with super religious upbringing from maternal side and ignored by his Targ side. I blame Viserys the dumbass. The guy was a shitty parent and Alicent too (but she had at least tried)
Kali Creation
Kinda made the kid unlikeable. Hope he gets a redemption arc or atleast some growth. Great Chapter 👍
HP-DG-AP-PN-RG-NR
Idiot of the Century lmfao
Monzter E
Dumb kid
