Daemon couldn't believe it.

When he returned from Harrenhal to support his wife Queen Rhaenyra and see her progress with the dragons, Daemon learned that the Queen had sent about fifty bastards from KingsLanding to try to claim two of the unclaimed dragons of DragonStones. Many perished as expected but Rhaenyra's plan bore fruit since the bastard Hugh now rides Vermithor and you ride Silver Wing.

It wasn't the act that had shocked Daemon, Rhaenyra had used all the possible assets, she had made the right choice. No, what had shocked Daemon was you and your physical resemblance to him. You looked exactly like the Rogue Prince.

Even in your movements, in your way of speaking you seemed to have his tics, his facial expressions. Rhaenyra confronted him on this subject, asked him if he had not had a bastard in his youth. Even his own daughter Baela came to question him about your existence. Always the same negative answer. Daemon did not have a bastard, he was sure of it.

Yet this constant reminder of your presence, seeing your face every day began to make him doubt. He would have had a bastard in his first discoveries of the brothels of the silk street? How was it possible that he never knew anything about it?

It was this doubt that pushed Daemon to summon you early this morning. He had asked you to join him on the beach without giving you more details.

When you arrived he was standing, looking at the horizon where the sun was rising above the sea. He was leaning on his sword, black sister stuck in the sand.

"You're late." Daemon said, his voice sharp and unyielding, though his eyes betrayed a glimmer of something more. Was it suspicion? Frustration? Or perhaps… curiosity.