ARC 1: Birth of the Daemon and Daenerys
Chapter 11: The Dragon's Hoard
As Daemon approached his first year on Dragonstone, the stark contrast between him and his twin sister, Daenerys, only deepened. While Daenerys was a whirlwind of burgeoning mobility, crawling with determined enthusiasm and filling the ancient keep with her delighted squeals, Daemon remained a creature of quiet observation. He moved with a deliberate stillness, his large violet eyes absorbing the world around him with an unnerving intensity, as if cataloging every detail in a silent, internal library.
Rhaella, though her grief for her lost family remained a constant undercurrent, found a strange fascination in her quiet son. She would often carry him through the echoing halls of Dragonstone, pointing out the ancient tapestries depicting their ancestors and the carved stone dragons that adorned the archways. While Daenerys would bat at the colorful threads and gurgle at the grotesque yet majestic figures, Daemon's gaze would linger, his unfocused eyes seeming to trace the intricate details, a faint furrow occasionally creasing his brow as if he were deciphering a forgotten language.
Ser Willem Darry, ever vigilant, noticed Daemon's peculiar fascination with the older parts of the keep, the sections rarely visited, where dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight filtering through narrow windows and the air hung heavy with the scent of aged parchment. He had once found the infant prince, barely able to crawl, inexplicably drawn to the heavy, iron-bound doors of the castle's library, his tiny hands resting against the cold metal as if sensing the knowledge locked within.
The Dragonstone library was a vast, dimly lit chamber, its shelves lined with countless scrolls and ancient tomes, many dating back to the days of the Valyrian Freehold. They contained histories of the dragon lords, accounts of their magical practices, star charts, and forgotten lore. Rhaella rarely ventured into its dusty depths, the memories of her learned brother, Rhaegar, often too painful to bear. The maesters occasionally consulted its texts, but for the most part, the library remained a silent repository of the Targaryen dynasty's long and often turbulent past.
Yet, Daemon seemed drawn to it with an almost magnetic pull. Even before he could properly crawl, he would become agitated if kept away from the vicinity of the library, his usual quiet demeanor replaced by a subtle restlessness. Once he gained some mobility, he would often propel himself, with surprising determination, towards the heavy oak door, his small hands patting against its unyielding surface.
One afternoon, a young serving girl named Lyra was tasked with watching Daemon while Rhaella rested. Distracted by her own thoughts, Lyra didn't notice when the infant prince, with an unusual display of strength, managed to push open the library door, which had been left slightly ajar. She found him moments later, amidst the towering shelves, his tiny hands reaching for the lower scrolls, his unfocused gaze seemingly fixed on the rolled parchment as if he could somehow perceive the secrets held within.
Lyra, though simple, felt a prickle of unease. It was unnatural for a babe of such tender age to be so drawn to dusty old scrolls. She quickly retrieved him, her whispers to the other servants about the "strange prince" adding to the growing mystique surrounding Daemon.
As Daemon grew stronger and more mobile, his fascination with the library only intensified. He would often escape the watchful eyes of his nurses and crawl with surprising speed towards the heavy oak door, his small hands scrabbling at the latch. Ser Willem, witnessing this persistent attraction, began to take a more active interest in the library's contents, wondering if there was something within its ancient pages that somehow resonated with the infant prince.
He began to spend time within the dusty chamber, carefully examining the lower shelves, the ones within Daemon's reach. He found nothing particularly remarkable, mostly mundane histories and genealogical records. Yet, Daemon's fascination persisted.
One day, while Ser Willem was perusing a particularly ancient scroll detailing the lineage of dragon breeds, he noticed Daemon, who had managed to slip away from his nurse again, lying on the floor nearby, his gaze fixed on a section of the scroll that depicted intricate drawings of dragons and their Valyrian names. As Ser Willem's finger traced the unfamiliar script, Daemon's tiny hand mirrored his movement, his unfocused eyes seeming to follow the alien symbols.
It was another unsettling incident, another impossible observation that chipped away at any rational explanation. Ser Willem began to suspect that Daemon's connection to the library was not mere childish curiosity. It was something deeper, something tied to the ancient blood that flowed within him, a silent recognition of a heritage he should not yet comprehend.
Rhaella, too, began to spend more time in the library, often carrying Daemon with her. She would read aloud from the histories, her voice soft and melancholic, recounting the tales of dragon riders and their magnificent beasts. While Daenerys would often become restless, Daemon would remain still, his gaze fixed on the illuminated letters and intricate drawings within the ancient texts.
It was as if the echoes of the past, the whispers of dragons and Valyria, were somehow resonating within the infant prince, stirring a dormant part of his being. The library, the repository of his house's long and storied history, had become his silent playground, a place where something ancient and knowing seemed to stir within the mind of the young Daemon Targaryen, hinting at a connection to his heritage that defied the স্বাভাবিক progression of infancy. The dragon's hoard of knowledge seemed to call to him, a silent siren song echoing through the chambers of his nascent consciousness.