"Daeron, you're here."
Elia was very open and felt no shame about breastfeeding.
Daeron stopped at the door, not moving forward, and asked, "Are you nursing the child yourself?"
While such a question might have been considered intrusive in his previous life, in Westeros, it wasn't hard to say.
A look of tenderness appeared on Elia's face. "I want my child to grow up on my own milk."
Daeron nodded.
Normally, wet nurses would be hired for feeding, rather than noblewomen doing it themselves.
Ashara sighed softly. "Princess, doing this will affect your physical recovery."
Elia's health was already poor, and giving birth had only added to the burden.
Nursing day and night would drag her health down further.
Elia shook her head gently, insisting on nursing the child herself.
Rhaegar didn't even concern himself with this, so Daeron had even less of a say.
Organizing his thoughts, he comforted her, "I heard my father didn't see you. Don't mind it; that's just how he is."
However, Aerys was even more cruel to his daughter-in-law, Elia.
Elia's expression was lonely as she said, "His Majesty said he didn't want to see a child that smelled of Dorne."
"Even so, she is still the eldest princess of house Targaryen."
Daeron gave her some encouragement.
The two had a pleasant conversation, mentioning the past of the two younger brothers on Dragonstone.
Elia's smile returned as she asked, "Have you met my brother, Oberyn Martell?"
"He set out a step ahead of me; he should be arriving at King's Landing soon."
Daeron felt strange inwardly. "Not yet."
He deeply suspected the intentions behind Elia bringing her daughter to King's Landing.
Normally, when a new member of the family is born, they should receive the King's recognition, and the people of the city should share in the joy.
His father, Aerys, was clearly not normal.
Even Rhaegar and Oberyn weren't quite normal either.
The Tourney at Harrenhal was set for mid-April, which was practically around the corner.
At this point in time, to send Elia and her young child to King's Landing—only Rhaegar could have come up with that.
Prince Doran of Dorne was the same way.
Claiming he wanted to pay homage to the Iron Throne, yet saying he was in poor health and could not travel.
Instead, he sent his brother Oberyn Martell, known as the "Red Viper," to King's Landing.
Regarding Prince Doran, he was not the paralytic from the show who endured time and again.
The sentence Daeron remembered most clearly about him was what he said to the Sand Snakes.
"I am not blind, nor am I deaf. I know that you all believe me weak, frightened, and easily bullied, but your father knew me better."
"Oberyn is the viper—deadly, dangerous, unpredictable. No man dares tread on him. I am the grass—gentle, compliant, sweet-smelling, swaying with every breeze."
"Who fears the grass?"
"But it is the grass that hides the viper from his enemies and shelters him until he strikes."
Daeron knew very well.
The dangerous one wasn't Oberyn, who was out in the open, but Prince Doran, who released the viper from behind the scenes.
Now that Oberyn had arrived in King's Landing, it proved that Prince Doran must be making a move.
"None of them are normal."
Daeron grumbled to himself.
Elia was puzzled. "He hasn't arrived? That's not like Oberyn's nature."
As soon as the words left her mouth, a burst of hearty laughter came from the corridor.
"Sister, I could hear you calling my name from the hallway."
Daeron turned his head.
A lean, black-haired, short-haired Dornish youth of tall and handsome appearance, looking quite the suave rake, strode in.
He wore a deep yellow lining, his lower body was neatly dressed, and he had a reckless air about him, as if he had just returned from a debauched time at a brothel.
As soon as he reached the door, Oberyn's smile vanished. His eyes locked onto Daeron as he asked, "Was it your person who took my cloak?"
Daeron looked him up and down and replied coolly, "Watch yourself next time, or I'll strip that skin right off you."
"Heh, interesting."
Oberyn wasn't provoked. With a hidden edge in his smile, he said, "So you are Rhaegar's brother, the 'bold' Daeron they talk about outside—the King's second son who threatens Rhaegar's succession to the Iron Throne?"
He truly lived up to the name Red Viper, acting like a cunning snake, staring at his chosen prey, waiting for a single strike to inject his venom.
"I don't like you."
Daeron stated simply.
Oberyn was taken aback, looking the other over in surprise.
It wasn't that he suspected the other's sexual orientation was the same as his, but rather that since being exiled from Dorne, he had never heard such blunt words.
It was unlike the typical noble of the Seven Kingdoms who maintained a polite facade.
He was right.
Not only was there no facade, but it was also simple and brutal.
The gentleness in Daeron's eyes faded, replaced by a sudden flash of cold light.
Bang!
Without warning, he struck, seizing Oberyn by the throat and slamming him against the wall, lifting him half a foot off the ground.
Oberyn felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, and his neck felt as if it were caught in iron pincers, strangling the breath out of him.
Instinctively, he pulled a dagger from his lower back to counterattack.
Daeron saw it all. He slammed a knee into Oberyn's crotch and simultaneously wrenched his wrist to disarm him.
In an instant, the Red Viper had become a common snake with its fangs pulled.
Daeron remained emotionally stable, having no habit of putting on a show of ferocity. In a calm voice, he said, "Let me teach you something: next time you see me, greet me properly first."
"If you dare show your teeth again, I'll sew your mouth shut stitch by stitch and throw you into Blackwater Bay to feed the fishes."
To hell with the Red Viper; if he dares to be insolent to my face, I'll skin him on the spot.
Oberyn struggled and shook his head, his face turning bright red, though whether from lack of air or pure rage was unclear.
Daeron didn't let go, waiting for his answer.
Oberyn was gutsy enough; as long as Daeron didn't let go, he wouldn't say a word.
The two remained in a "difficult" standoff.
"Stop it at once!"
By the time Elia reacted, her dear brother Oberyn looked as if he were about to suffocate.
Disregarding her poor health, she rushed over to break them up.
Daeron didn't make things difficult for her. Once she reached the door, he tossed Oberyn to the ground.
"Heh—cough—"
Having survived the ordeal, Oberyn clutched his throat, the pupils in his narrow eyes dilating and contracting.
He had a premonition that the other man really would have dared to kill him just now.
Even more terrifying was that the other man had the ability to do it.
"Are you alright?"
With her clothes in disarray, Elia knelt on the ground to check her brother's injuries.
Oberyn's mouth was tougher than a blade. "I'm fine, just a little joke."
Elia wasn't stupid; how could she not see the difference between a joke and a conflict?
With one being her brother and the other her brother-in-law, both were dear to her.
Daeron spoke first. "I'm leaving now. I'll have someone send some tonics to you later."
"Wait—"
Elia wanted him to stay, but he was already far away.
Leaving the Red Keep, Daeron headed toward the Dragonpit.
The Tourney at Harrenhal was a major turning point where the Targaryens went from decline to destruction.
As the date drew near, it was a time for careful vigilance.
Prince Doran sending his brother Oberyn to King's Landing undoubtedly represented Dorne's formal entry into the fray.
"Both the dragons and the Iron Throne have moved the other side."
Daeron speculated boldly.
Faced with Oberyn's provocation, he didn't show the same disdain he had for the "Wild Wolf" Brandon, but instead chose to strike hard.
He believed in the saying: "One punch to open the way saves a hundred punches from coming."
When he had no dragon, he kept a low profile and waited for opportunities.
Now that he had a dragon.
He had to achieve the state of 'the great man changes like a tiger, his patterns are brilliant.'
This means that the transformation of a great man should be as clear and striking as a tiger's stripes—distinct and remarkable. When he acts, he is swift and powerful, possessing an unstoppable and peerless momentum.
Whoever dared to provoke him would be met with blood and fire.
The Red Viper was not the first, and he would not be the last.
"Prince!"
As soon as he appeared, the Dragon Guards responsible for guarding the entrance at the foot of the mountain saluted.
"Mm."
Daeron nodded slightly, still maintaining his gentle and cheerful demeanor.
He had always believed that his true nature was that of a kind and understanding person.
The Dragonpit.
Caraxes lay on the ground, before him a pile of charred sheep remains.
Seeing Daeron, he immediately scrambled up impatiently.
"Let's head back to the Farm first."
Daeron gently stroked the red dragon's neck and flipped himself onto its back.
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