Blood of Dragons

On the fifth day of the twelfth month of 177 AC, beneath a pale autumn sky and before the unfinished marble vastness of Baelor’s rising sept, Princess Daena Targaryen and the stillborn daughter who perished with her were given over to the flames in the fashion of old Valyria. By the king’s command (at the suggestion, it was rumored, of the Hand), the city was permitted to witness the rite, and thus thousands lined the broad ways from the Red Keep to Visenya’s Hill, while thousands more crowded the plaza itself, held back by ranks of gold cloaks. Bells tolled across King’s Landing as the procession climbed, and liveried servants cast out small silver coins newly struck with the princess’s likeness upon one face and the three-headed dragon upon the other, so that the commons surged and scrambled for these last mementos of the brightest and most beloved of Aegon the Dragonbane’s daughters.

Septons went first in prayer, and after them the white cloaks of the Kingsguard. Then came the bier beneath a canopy of black velvet sewn with the dragon, Princess Daena laid amidst autumn roses with her silver-gold hair spread about her, and the dead infant cradled in her arms as though asleep. Behind followed King Aegon, Queen Naerys, Princesses Rhaena and Elaena, Prince Daeron and Princess Mariah, Prince Aemon, the young princes, Daemon Waters, the Hand Lord Bracken and his lady, the small council, and a great company of courtiers and mourners besides. Flowers were strewn before the bier as it passed. Men and women wept openly, some kneeling, some reaching out, others only staring as if still unable to believe that so bright and forceful a life had come to such stillness.

The pyre itself had been raised high before the sept steps, cedar and ash and perfumed woods heaped upon a platform so that all might see. The young High Septon stood waiting there with the Most Devout, Septon Elwood close beside him, and once the bier was brought to its place he gave blessing over the dead, calling upon the Father, Mother, Maiden, Smith, Crone, and last of all the Stranger to grant peace to those who had passed beyond mortal reach. Rumor had it that pyromancers had offered wildfire for the rite, but this was refused, from piety or perhaps prudence. The crowd below watched in near-total silence by then, broken only by prayer, weeping, and the mutter of those who would later have much to say of what they had seen.

When the time came to set hand to the torches, one was given to the king and one to Princess Elaena. A third was meant for Princess Rhaena, but grief overcame her, and though Queen Naerys and Princess Elaena both spoke to her, and the king himself muttered sharply, she could not bring herself to take it. It was then that Daemon Waters, all of six years, stepped forward before the assembled court and, in a high clear voice heard by many nearest the steps, said: “I’ll do it. I’m not afraid.” There was a moment’s awkwardness among the royal party and the Faith alike, but King Aegon gruffly cut through it with a brusque command that the boy be given the torch. This was done. The king then told him he would walk between himself and Princess Elaena, and to watch his steps and do as they did.

So it was that King Aegon, Princess Elaena, and Daemon Waters mounted the steps together. At the bier, the king and princess set their torches to the wood. At first the boy stood still, looking up at the flowers and the pale glimpse of his mother’s face above them. Then he looked to the king, and to Princess Elaena, and did as they had done. The flame took slowly, then more greedily, and the three cast their torches into the pyre together as smoke began to rise behind them. When they turned to descend, the steps proved steep for so small a child, and by instinct he reached out a hand as if seeking the mother he no longer had. And so, before the watching court and city, Daemon Waters came back down from his mother’s pyre with his hand held in that of the king.

Many there were who murmured then that the boy was his mother’s son, and others, looking on the child between king and princess, remembered old sayings concerning the three heads of the dragon. Lady Halanna Bracken, one of Princess Daena’s oldest companions, was later seen to take the boy gently in hand and lead him after his kin, while Queen Naerys and Prince Aemon supported the stricken Princess Rhaena and Princess Elaena, though tearful herself, returned to her sister’s side. The pyre burned high before the unfinished sept, heat rolling over those nearest and smoke carrying flowers, incense, and cedar out across the plaza. Some among the commons began to drift away, while others remained to watch and pray, and cries of blessing for the royal family were heard here and there beneath the crack of timber and the rush of flame.

Thus was Princess Daena Targaryen, daughter of King Aegon III and Queen Daenaera, granddaughter to Rhaenyra who once sat the Iron Throne, committed to the fire with her infant child. By the time the pyre had settled and the first great timbers fell in upon themselves, the court too had begun to break apart, some lingering to offer condolences to the king’s kin, others making their way back toward the Keep. Yet of all that was seen that day upon Visenya’s Hill, it is likely that many will remember longest not the coins, nor the bells, nor even the towering flames, but the small boy who took the torch when a princess could not, and came down again hand in hand with the king.