The fate of the throne was already decided, practically Daemon would never mind getting between the lines to put his name in bold. Having just left the small council chamber, it has not gone unnoticed to you that your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, is here.

The heavy doors of the throne room swung open, and your eyes were immediately drawn to your uncle, sitting on the iron throne. With a slight squint, he propped his cheek with his hand. He grinned as you stepped closer.

"This could very well be my chair one day."The man stretched out his words in Valyrian. He was ambitious and the last thing he cared about was how many heads he had already walked over to achieve his goal. Not that he was so sure his brother's wife would have a child, let alone whether it would be a boy.

But you... Certainly the most direct heir to the throne, if you turn a blind eye to the child in Aemma's womb. Daemon's thinking. Always two steps ahead, but right now, he's practically consumed with meeting his nephew.

"Of course, I've come here for a tournament in honor of the heir, which is me." He grinned, bowing his head. A self-righteous jerk, ran through your head. Your pouty lips gave him a mock-amused reaction.

Daemon stood up from the throne that was already soaked with him, as if he had silently already claimed the rights to his status as future king. "I brought you something." He bowed his head. "Come here."