Halfway through the funeral, a guest arrived late.
Daemon sailed into Storm's End aboard a three-masted ship, laden with a wealth of cargo.
Grief-stricken, Borros ignored him and instead sent his wife, Lady Elenna, and their two daughters to greet him.
As Daemon stepped into the castle courtyard, the funeral pyre burned brightly, casting a flickering glow against the gloomy sky.
Upon seeing him, Aegon seemed instantly provoked. His face twisted in anger as he shouted, "Daemon, you dare show yourself before me?!"
Without hesitation, he strode forward, raising his fist to strike.
His sudden action caught everyone off guard.
The way he charged, full of aggression, made it seem as though he intended to settle matters with life or death.
"Aegon!"
Aemond gasped in shock, not expecting his brother to act so recklessly.
But Aegon wasn't listening. His eyes, filled with rage, saw only Daemon.
Daemon, however, merely watched with an amused expression, standing his ground as his nephew approached.
As they came face to face, Aegon's punch swung through empty air, leaving him completely exposed.
"Foolish."
Daemon smirked mockingly. Seizing Aegon's arm, he drove his knee hard into his nephew's chest.
A dull *thud* echoed as Aegon's face turned deathly pale, his breath stopping for a brief moment.
Daemon capitalized on his advantage, delivering a stinging slap across Aegon's face before grabbing his silver hair and slamming him onto the courtyard floor.
"Daemon, stop this at once!"
Everything had happened too fast—within mere moments. Rhaenyra, having witnessed it all, cried out in alarm.
The last time Daemon had disciplined Aegon, it had already fueled the Queen's resentment.
If he struck him again, the Queen would never let it go.
At Rhaenyra's shout, the gathered crowd finally processed what had just occurred.
Rhaenys watched in stunned disbelief, her wide eyes filled with confusion.
Aegon… how could he?
That was *Daemon*!
No matter how much he despised someone, he should have known his own limits.
Hearing his wife's voice, Daemon stopped, nudging Aegon's limp form with the tip of his boot. His expression was defiant as he sneered, "My dear nephew, did you think you were your brother, that you could imitate him and speak to me with such disrespect?"
"You bastard, Daemon!"
Aegon groaned in pain, curling up on the ground.
He admitted—he had underestimated him again.
Seeing that Aegon still had the nerve to curse, Daemon's gaze darkened. He crouched down, yanked Aegon up by his collar, and gripped his jaw firmly.
This little brat had been nothing but trouble ever since he took up the title of Lord of the Narrow Sea.
Daemon had tolerated him long enough.
"Daemon, think about what you're doing. Stop this now," Rhaenyra pleaded, rushing forward while clutching her stomach. She frantically pushed against her furious husband.
If he continued unchecked, who knew what might happen?
Daemon took two steps back, casting Aegon a look of disdain before scoffing, "He threw the first punch. I'm merely providing some much-needed education to my unruly nephew."
At this point, the spectators could no longer remain silent.
Borros was the first to step forward. His sorrow faded, replaced by anger. "Daemon, this is my father's funeral. You should show some respect."
At his words, Daemon ignored Aegon's groans and turned toward the blazing pyre.
As he passed by a servant, he took the bouquet from their hands and tossed it into the fire. Then, clasping his hands together, he murmured a prayer.
At the very least, he observed proper funeral rites.
Borros glared, his frustration shifting toward Rhaegar. His voice was heavy with anger. "Prince, is this what House Targaryen considers proper conduct? Disrupting the funeral of a man who served the realm?"
"Lord Borros, it was Aegon and Daemon who came to blows. This was never our intention," Rhaenyra explained, striving to keep her voice calm.
Rhaegar, his expression unreadable, cast a fleeting glance at Rhaenyra, who had spoken out of turn.
This was his matter to address.
And he would not have answered as she did.
Borros did not care for explanations. To him, the name *Targaryen* was all that mattered. He fumed, "Is Daemon not the King's brother? Is Aegon not the King's son? They have shown House Baratheon nothing but disrespect!"
Rhaenyra's face darkened, about to retort.
"Enough, Rhaenyra."
Rhaegar pulled her back, wrapping an arm around her waist.
He had no interest in debating right and wrong—it would only escalate this farce further.
Turning his cold gaze to Daemon, he said, "Don't you have anything to say for yourself, Uncle?"
Attacking someone outright—regardless of Aegon's immaturity—Daemon, as an elder, should have de-escalated the situation, not provoked it further.
He had placed the honor of House Targaryen under public scrutiny.
Daemon, having paid his respects, didn't spare a glance at anyone. His tone was indifferent. "An unruly nephew must be disciplined."
"Aegon *is* a fool," Rhaegar acknowledged coolly, "but he is not the only one who refuses to listen."
His voice was calm, but inwardly, he regarded his uncle with growing caution.
Daemon had returned to the family and enjoyed a peaceful life for over a year.
Now, out of nowhere, he was making waves.
Clearly, something was happening behind the scenes.
"Prince, my father's body still burns upon the pyre. I demand an explanation!"
Borros, unrelenting, pressed forward, his face red with fury.
Rhaegar lowered his gaze slightly, studying the Duke of Storm's End with a composed expression. "Lord Borros, what *explanation* do you seek?"
As he spoke, he slowly stepped closer, his tall frame towering over the enraged noble.
This fool had slighted him multiple times—did he really think Rhaegar had not noticed?
Borros hesitated, his breath hitching as he recalled the deafening roars of dragons earlier.
Rhaegar came to stand directly before him, his violet eyes sharp as blades, piercing through Borros's faltering composure.
He spoke, his voice calm yet commanding.
"The late Lord Boremund was a man of great wisdom and tolerance. I am certain he would have wished the same for you."
As the conversation continued, no one present dared to interrupt. Instead, they watched anxiously.
Everyone knew that Lord Borros had clashed with Prince Rhaegar in the past.
But no one expected their conflict to escalate into a standoff.
Daemon watched with keen interest, feeling not a shred of guilt—only disdain for Borros.
He was a Targaryen. He would never bow to anyone.
Rhaegar's response was exactly to his liking.
"Hissss..."
Human thoughts were complex and unpredictable, but a dragon's mind was far more straightforward.
Sensing its rider's discontent, the gluttonous beast let out a warning hiss. Its thick neck lowered as it stretched forward, its massive black head casting a shadow over Rhaegar.
A pair of eerie green slit-pupils fixated on Borros, who now seemed as insignificant as an insect.
With just a single command from its rider, it would unleash dragonfire and rid the world of this disobedient little worm.
"Gulp~~"
Facing a towering dragon—its massive form capable of blotting out the sky—Borros swallowed hard. A cold sweat instantly drenched his back.
At that moment, his mind raced, recalling countless memories.
One, in particular, stabbed at his heart like a dagger.
It was something his father had often repeated during his lifetime:
**"The Targaryens never lack for armies, because they ride dragons!"**
His father had once fought alongside King Jaehaerys I, defeating thousands of Dornish soldiers.
But peace had lasted too long. The world had grown complacent, knowing of dragons only by name—
Forgetting the wrath of a slumbering beast.
The next second—
Borros forcefully suppressed his instinct to flee. Trembling, he lowered his once-proud head and cautiously said, "Prince, this was merely a minor misunderstanding. It will never affect the generations-old friendship between House Targaryen and House Baratheon."
He had yielded.
His ducal status did not grant him the freedom to act recklessly—to openly challenge the heir to the throne.
Rhaegar remained silent, hands folded before him, gazing at Borros as if he hadn't heard a word.
The dragon bared its teeth in a cruel grin, its breath synchronized with its rider's.
Seeing those razor-sharp fangs, Borros' heart nearly stopped. Desperate, he blurted out, "Prince, once the funeral ends, a grand feast awaits inside the castle!"
At this point, he had no idea what to say to beg for mercy, babbling aimlessly in his panic.
Recognizing his distress, Rhaenys slipped free of her husband's grip and stepped forward to mediate. "Rhaegar, Borros is as generous and magnanimous as his father. Let's not let a misunderstanding arise."
First, Aegon had brawled with Daemon. Then, Borros had provoked the wrong man and ended up under the dragon's glare.
The situation had shifted too quickly, leaving most onlookers bewildered.
The atmosphere had turned ice-cold, the very air growing heavy with tension.
Borros, still on edge, clung to his cousin's voice like a lifeline. Trembling, he took small, hesitant steps in the direction of her voice.
"Lord Borros, where are you going?"
Rhaegar suddenly spoke.
Borros flinched violently, freezing in place.
Yet the prince did not press him further.
Instead, Rhaegar let out a deep breath and spoke in a soft, even tone. "On behalf of my reckless younger brother and uncle, I offer my apologies to you and your late father. I hope you will not hold it against them. They had no intention of causing trouble."
His words carried genuine sincerity, neatly shifting the blame onto Aegon and Daemon.
Borros barely registered the apology—he didn't care. As long as the situation was defused, nothing else mattered.
He hurriedly nodded. "It's nothing. The banquet is about to begin. Let us move inside the castle."
Despite being a duke, he had lost considerable face in front of his vassals. He wanted nothing more than to leave the scene as quickly as possible.
"As you wish, my lord," Rhaegar replied with a faint smile, his usual gentle demeanor returning.
The point had been made. There was no need for unnecessary conflict.
Borros forced a stiff smile, too humiliated to face his vassals. Under the watchful eyes of his guards, he retreated to the castle.
"Everyone, let us head inside as well," Lady Elenna urged, her expression awkward. With her two daughters, she worked to smooth over the guests' moods, leading the way back to the castle.
Her husband's temperament had always been his downfall—his mercurial nature often left him with no escape route.
Soon, the guests, who had just witnessed such a spectacle, began dispersing with their own thoughts.
For a brief moment, the courtyard was left to the Targaryens alone.
Daemon, with nothing better to do, took Rhaena's hand and gently caressed her slightly swollen belly, feeling the tiny life stirring within.
Rhaegar glanced at him but had no desire for conversation.
A man as arrogant and self-absorbed as Daemon would never heed wise counsel.
Meanwhile, Aemond and Daeron struggled to support Aegon, helping him stand beside Rhaegar.
Compared to their aunt Rhaenys, Lord Corlys, or even their uncle Daemon—whom they had always despised—
Their eldest brother Rhaegar was undoubtedly the one who made them feel safe.
That massive black dragon—
It had silenced all who dared to challenge them.
"Daemon, don't think I don't know what you're plotting. I won't let you get away with it."
Despite his bruised and battered face, Aegon continued to seethe, glaring furiously at Daemon.
(End of Chapter)