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(EM Vol. 2: A Wandering Melody) Chapter 80: Of Faithful Fires
🕑 Added 2025-10-04 14:00:07 +0000 UTCChapter 80: Of Faithful Fires
123 AC, Oldtown
Daeron Targaryen raced in the streets of Oldtown, happy with the rare moments of freedom that he could enjoy. His schedule was always packed between his morning prayers, his lessons with the Maester, then with Lord Ormund Hightower, his uncle, regarding how to be a lord, and his practice in the yard in the evening took up most of his days, with him being too tired afterwards to do anything.
Whenever he was allowed, he went to play with Tessarion, his darling dragon. She was growing quite quickly, and Lord Ormund had promised Daeron that he would get to ride her in a year’s time. It had been a long time, but Daeron would be patient, just as the Seven-Pointed Star said he should.
Truthfully, despite his busy schedule, Daeron quickly fell in love with the city. Or perhaps, it was just a dislike of King’s Landing. He missed Mother very much, but without Aegon drunkenly dishonouring himself on every occasion and Aemond’s constant taunts and barbs, Daeron found himself thriving in a city far outside of the place that he once called home.
Lord Ormund paid attention to him and cared for his education. He was praised when he did well and punished when he made a mistake. Even before he had become the Lord of the Hightower, he had been like a second father to him, and his eldest son, Lyonel, akin to a third brother. Perhaps, he was closer to the other boy than he was to his actual siblings.
Well, that wasn’t fair to his sister; she was never mean to him. But Helaena was… Helaena, so that did not count.
All in all, Daeron would say that he was happy to have left King’s Landing.
Oldtown was a far better city. The air was fresher, the people nicer, and more faithful. The smallfolk looked healthier and were cleaner. You could often see Septons, Septas, and Maesters walking around. There were merchants from all over the world there, selling items that Daeron had never seen in the Capital. The sea was beautiful, and the world fresher than he ever had before.
Even the buildings were beautiful. The Hightower was beyond majestic, and he could almost feel the Seven’s gaze whenever he set foot in the Starry Sept. He had gone to the Citadel a few times, and while the sight of the library made him stare in awe, the entire building was boring.
No, Daeron had decided some time ago that he would be a knight, a true one. He would wander the Seven Kingdoms, spreading the Faith of the Seven and righting wrongs at the back of his dragon. He would forge his legend in great deeds and be remembered as a hero of the Seven Kingdoms.
After all, Aegon would be King, and Aemond would likely oversee his army and fight wars on his behalf. Daeron didn’t exactly have a place there. Second sons had very little to themselves, third sons less so. With his eldest brother finally fathering an heir with Helaena, his options were quite slim: either joining the Faith or the Citadel.
Daeron would have done as he was asked, but he wanted more. Being a Septon or a Maester would have been honourable, but he didn’t find himself feeling passionate about it, not like he had at the idea of being a knight. However, he wanted to show the world that he could be more than that.
He would finish his squiring under Lord Ormund, become a knight, and after a few tourneys, his true journey would begin. One day, they would sing songs of his adventures. People would remember him as something more than Viserys Targaryen’s youngest son.
Daeron was so taken with his daydream that he barely realised that he had walked straight into a man and fallen down.
He quickly patted himself and stood up, “My apologies. I’m afraid that I was lost in thought.”
The man blinked as he looked down at the shorter form of Daeron, before smiling gently at him, “Oh, it’s nothing. I like to think that I’m a bit tougher than to be hurt by a child tripping over me.”
Daeron looked up and, for the first time, took a long look at the man’s thin frame, deeming him to be a merchant at best. His foreign garments cemented this conclusion, even if he spoke the Common Tongue impressively well without a hint of a foreign accent.
Still, the subtle taunt at his weakness remained on his mind, and it reminded him eerily of Aemond often doing the same to him. He opened his mouth to argue, only for a female voice to stop him, “Are you alright, child? Here, let me take a look.”
Daeron’s vision was immediately taken by a woman who knelt kindly towards him and patted him to make sure there weren’t any injuries. At least, that was what he thought was happening, as he was too taken by her beauty.
Her hair reminded him of liquid gold, and her eyes. Gods, her eyes, they were the same blue shade as Tessarion. It was as if the living embodiment of the Maiden was staring right at him, and he couldn’t help but blush at the attention.
After what felt like an eternity, the woman stood back up and patted him on the head, “Not even a bruise. You must be a strong young man indeed.”
Daeron blushed, “I wish to be a knight one day.”
Why had he said that? It just came out of his mouth without him thinking about it.
The beautiful woman chuckled, and the sound was the most beautiful thing that he had ever heard, “I’m sure you will be a mighty knight indeed, one that would not be distracted with every little thing and end up running late…”
She gave a pointed look at the man, who rubbed his head in embarrassment, “Come on, Daph. This city is amazing. We have the entire day to look around, so why not make the most of it?”
Daeron tilted his head, still unable to turn his eyes from the beautiful woman, “And where do you wish to go?”
“The Citadel,” she replied immediately.
That was odd. Daeron didn’t think that the Citadel would allow a woman to enter, no matter how beautiful she was. He knew that Lord Ormund had refused many demands of overambitious daughters of lords to study there. The Maesters were a strange lot, with their own traditions that even lords would not dare ignore. It did help that a house as powerful as House Hightower, all but guaranteed their safety, given that they lived in their city.
Still, his confusion must have shown on his face, as the man chuckled, “Oh, it’s just a bit of research. We’re looking to start a journey near the river Rhoyne in Essos, starting from Volantis, and perhaps even to Qohor. Unfortunately, certain knowledge, especially given the ruined Rhoynar cities, Chroyane being a great example of it. We simply wished to see if any news of the dangers we might face if we sail the river, as opposed to travelling by land, which is slower, and perhaps even more dangerous, given a possible attack by the Dothraki. The Citadel seemed a far better alternative than to travel to Dorne and see if one of their lords would let us look for an answer there.”
Daeron tilted his head, wishing that he had an answer to their question, but he knew very little of Essos, his education mostly focusing on the Seven Kingdoms. He wished he had the answer because the alternative was to tell them that their quest was all but in vain.
Despite the subject not truly interesting him, he couldn’t be Lord Ormund’s squire without knowing that the Citadel treasured its knowledge almost obsessively. Then again, books were rare luxuries that few could ever afford. Only an order from an Archmaester would let an outsider enter their library, something that he didn’t think the two people before him had.
He truly should leave this alone. He knew that, but for some reason, the thought of the beautiful woman perishing in Essos because he couldn’t give her a book, or perhaps even being poisoned if they visited the treacherous Dornish for information they could have found here, made him feel guilty.
Without even thinking things through, his mouth moved on its own, “I’m afraid that the Citadel would not allow anyone inside. You would need someone to convince them. Perhaps I can take you to the Hightower, where you could petition Lord Ormund and ask for his aid. We can go there now.”
“That’s wonderful and very kind of you,” the golden-haired woman replied with a wide smile, which accentuated her already beautiful eyes.
“Thank you, young man,” the man answered.
Daeron felt a pit form in his stomach at the fact that he had all but invited strangers to the Hightower. Why had he done this? It was beyond foolish, and Lord Ormund would likely not be happy with him.
Alas, a knight could not go back on his word. He would end up likely being punished, and he was doing his duty, preventing the two people from meeting an undeserved death. Wasn’t that what a knight was supposed to do?
Perhaps they would even spread his name outside the Seven Kingdoms, so that his aid would be remembered. Oh, he just realised that he hadn’t even introduced himself, “I’m Daeron.”
Why had he said that?
This was not how Lord Ormund taught him to introduce himself. This was not how a prince of the realm should comport himself. Then again, they didn’t know that he was a prince, did they? People of Valyrian descent were not common in Oldtown, but they weren’t exactly rare. Many merchants in Essos ended up settling down in the city, and one could see children with similar features to his own running around the city. It was the main reason why he hadn’t needed to dye his hair, choosing to wear a hood to hide some of his features, as well as borrow a few of the servants’ clothes. Well, not borrow… He still left a gold dragon for each outfit he had. It was a noticeable part of his allowance, but it felt just.
He decided not to correct himself. After all, he hadn’t lied, had he? He had simply stated his name and not his station.
His thoughts immediately dissipated when the woman spoke up softly with a kind smile on her face, “Hello, Daeron. I’m Daphne, and this is my husband, Harry. It’s very nice to meet you.”
It took a few seconds of Daeron repeating that sentence before he felt a pit form in his stomach. Of course, the woman was the man’s wife. It wouldn’t have been proper otherwise. A woman of this beauty could not remain unattached for long. Perhaps comparing her to the Maiden was a mistake. Comparing her to the Mother would have been more suitable, wouldn’t it?
He blushed slightly in embarrassment at his mistake and decided to steer the conversation away, “And may I ask, what is your trade, Harry?”
The man’s smile widened, “Oh, we’re travellers. We like to go around, sometimes even sell some merchandise, and discover the world. There is so much beauty, so much uncovered history, and I find myself lucky to even see a fragment of it in my lifetime.”
That sparked Daeron’s adventurous spirit slightly, and it was a good distraction from his failings since he met Harry and Daphne, “Oh, seen anything interesting?”
“Oh, quite a lot, actually. I’d say that the most beautiful sight was that on Naath. Wonderful place and extremely kind people. It’s a shame that they’re targets of slave raids, but the butterflies there protect them.”
“Butterflies?” Daeron asked, with incredulity in his tone.
“Not in the way you’d expect. They carry some kind of disease that the locals are immune to. But if you stay there for more than a few hours, well, let’s just say that your death will not be a painless one. They believe that the butterflies are their protectors from their god, the Lord of Harmony.”
Daeron scoffed without even thinking about it, “The only gods are the Seven Who Are One.”
“Perhaps that is what you believe. However, cultures evolve over time. Perhaps your Seven Gods are true, perhaps they are not. But what does that matter to someone living on a small island? It is the butterflies that protect them, that ensure their safety, and so, to them, they are protectors, messengers of their god.”
He wished to argue, but his uncle had once told him not to enter a religious debate with foreigners: “You do not hold to the Seven, then?”
“We don’t,” Harry replied, “We are not of this land and do not follow their gods, but the question that remains is why the people who do, should care?”
Daeron tilted his head in confusion, and Daphne continued on her husband’s behalf, “What Harry means to say is that if your gods are true and you believe in them, then why do you wish to force that belief on others? What do you gain from it?”
He wished to protest, only to find himself unable to find a logical reply to it. Why did people wish to spread the word of the Seven? He wanted to say that spreading the Faith of the Seven brought peace, unity, and prosperity. That it was the bedrock of order in the realm, that nations grew strong when they shared a god and a law.
But as the words sat on the edge of his tongue, they felt… hollow.
Thankfully, the man continued for him, “The sad fact is that faith is often as politicised as anything else. People often use it to wage war, or perhaps the church itself wished to expand its influence on new lands and become more powerful. Faith in gods, I’ve found, is a very thin shield people use to achieve greedy goals, or perhaps even indulge in horrors. You’ll see it often with certain texts redacted from holy books, and perhaps a few even added. It rarely is because of some divine order, but people wish to control the masses. In a way, the Faith can be just as strong or perhaps even stronger than a Kin and regulating the power of the Faith is something that any good monarch must be able to manage.”
This small speech gave Daeron much to think about. While he disagreed with much of what had been said, the sight of Septons with expensive jewellery contrasted that of hungry beggars on the street.
Thankfully, the conversation turned to easier topics, like certain cultures that the married couple had seen during their time, some of them that he hadn’t even heard of. Although there was a strange moment when they passed by the Starry Sept, Harry said that it seemed interesting. He often saw signs of awe and appreciation in visitors’ eyes, but he looked oddly like a Maester as he peered at the centre of the Faith in the Seven.
Still, it was fun to be spoken to so casually instead of being addressed as a Prince. He had likely learned more from his trip than he had during most of his Maester lessons combined.
Alas, all things came to an end, and they found themselves near the Hightower. That came with a few problems, the first being that he would likely be recognised by the guards, that's not to mention the issue of letting the travellers come alongside. He would also need to speak to Lord Ormund and explain what he had promised, which was not a conversation that he looked forward to.
Oddly enough, the guards barely even twitched as they walked into the Hightower, something that Daeron had found quite odd. He would speak with Lord Ormund about their training, but it seemed like their lack of discipline benefited him at the moment, even if it would only delay what was coming.
Seeing that no one was stopping him, they walked forward, and suddenly, he noticed Harry stopping near one of the corridors, “Huh. I didn’t expect that.”
Daeron turned towards the foreigner; his apprehension at the coming meeting changed to outrage as the man seemed to look at an empty wall, “This is not the time to stare at walls.”
The man just ignored him and put his palm near one of the large bricks, only to stop as, somehow, it gave way. He heard a clang in the distance and couldn’t help but gape at the sight, “How did you know to do that?”
“Wind,” the man replied, “There was wind coming from the wall. What do you think is behind this?”
Harry didn’t wait for a response, as he pushed the wall, and it seemingly gave way, shifting to the side, revealing a passageway that Daeron hadn’t known about. He didn’t think that even his cousins knew about it, and they lived in the Hightower all their lives.
The man took one of the torches on the wall and pushed it forward, showing that it was more than just a passageway, but a very large, expansive stairwell spiralling downward into the dark. Harry touched one of the stones before muttering to himself something that Daeron couldn’t make out.
He still walked inside, his wife following him faithfully, and Daeron couldn’t help but yell out, “Wait? Are you sure that this is safe?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” the man answered with a smile as he turned towards him, “That makes it interesting, right?”
Daphne rolled her eyes, “Ignore him. We’ve explored places like this before. Still, this is a rather nice surprise. We mostly came for the books. Do you think you could wait here until our little adventure is over before you arrange for the petition to the Citadel?”
Harry’s smile turned mischievous, “Unless, of course, you’d rather come with us and have a little adventure.”
Daeron knew that this was a foolish idea, and yet, he hesitated.
This was not something that a prince ought to do. He would likely even be late for his evening sessions, so Lord Ormund would likely know about this anyway. He was not meant to invite strangers to the Hightower, let alone go into a mysterious corridor with them. 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.
AN: I decided to jump immediately to the Oldtown arc. I could have written a couple of chapters after Viserys’ departure, but I didn’t think it would be all that exciting. I hope you like my characterisation of Daeron. I wanted him to be someone influenced by being in Oldtown, where he is always urged to do his duty. It's something that he accepts, given his uncertain future, but who, deep down, wants to be a true knight. As usual, I don’t mind rewriting this chapter depending on your feedback, so please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
Comments
Marius Petrauskas
nice
sixgod151
Poor Daeron seems like he is being brainwashed by his Hightower kin.
Jafarr710
I'm happy you jumped forward. Dragonstone was getting a Lil repetitive.
Woronve
Harry Potter, the targaryen whisperer
TypistTyphon
Good chapter
