When did Daemon's body start having problems?
Even Daemon himself didn't know when it happened. In late 131 Conquest Era, Daemon still flew his dragon to Lys to inspect the spoils of "selling" his son. In 132 Conquest Era, he personally flew to Dragon Nest City to celebrate the birth of Dragonzel's third child.
Diana gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, but her mother was very displeased. According to later bards, Diana almost burst into tears when she saw her daughter:
"I didn't even give my husband a child with silver hair and purple eyes!"
However, bards who publicly sang such ballads mysteriously disappeared in the wilderness, and this record also vanished from public view.
Of course, Dragonzel didn't mind this, because when this beautiful girl, who was born smiling, with honey-colored hair and one purple and one blue eye, was born, Sarafasas in the Dragonpit let out a joyful roar.
This proved the bloodline of the girl named "Serena" and also proved that the bloodline characteristics of Valyrian Dragonlords would indeed fade when mixed with other races. Ray happily recorded this in his notes.
In 133 Conquest Era, Daemon presided over the opening ceremony of Jacaris Grand Cathedral. The Regent personally placed a brand new crystal crown on the Pope. Caraxes circled King's Landing that day, its sharp cries echoing throughout the capital. Every citizen of King's Landing saw the prince whose silver hair was turning gray.
He attended Helaena Targaryen's funeral at the end of that year.
This ill-fated nun "Queen" died of a severe illness that year. Dreamfyre, which had completely turned into a wild dragon, resumed its lazy state of eating and sleeping, and sleeping and eating, from the day Helaena died, no longer participating in anything in the Dragonpit, just like Syrax.
This once profligate prince, now also dedicating his efforts to the governance of the Realm, had rebuilt King's Landing, which had suffered heavy losses in war and riots, before he discovered problems with his body in 134. He had served as Regent for nearly five years. The Red Keep's courtyard was expanded, Jacaris Grand Cathedral was completed, and the roads throughout King's Landing were re-leveled. The streets, once covered in mud and excrement, were paved with cobblestones and flagstones. Although Flea Bottom still existed—after all, the problem of urban poverty has always been a difficult one to solve, and Summerhall also had similar slums like "Ant Alley"—both the roads and houses were renovated.
King's Landing's treasury was also refilled with gold, but Daemon followed the advice of Lord Bartimos Celtigar and Rogério Rogare of the Rogare family, who were sent to help. He invested this gold in various industries in King's Landing and purchased large quantities of grain to support the lords struggling through winter.
Everything was moving in a good direction. Daemon was now eagerly awaiting King Aegon's sixteenth nameday.
Until Daemon discovered blood in his stool, a heavy foreign sensation in his abdomen, and occasional annoying sharp pains.
It was already too late.
Archmaester Munkun, a man of profound knowledge, immediately recognized Daemon's illness. This disease was almost incurable. Archmaester Munkun only had medicine to alleviate Prince Daemon's pain, but he was speechless about whether he could recover.
"King, I can only provide information about similar patients we have treated before." Archmaester Munkun looked somewhat haggard. He had tirelessly read every medical book he could find, but he was still helpless regarding Daemon's condition. "The longest-surviving patient lasted a month."
"I understand, Grand Maester, you may withdraw." Daemon waved his hand, but then immediately said, "Come back."
"King, I am here."
"Tell the Small Council to continue working." Daemon stood up, pressing on the armrest of his chair. "Write to Dragon Nest City, inform Prince Dragonzel of my physical condition."
"Tell him the truth?" Archmaester Munkun asked.
"The truth," Daemon said.
"As you wish." Archmaester Munkun sighed and withdrew.
Daemon struggled to stand straight, walking quietly to the window, looking at the bustling streets of King's Landing and the setting sun.
He closed his eyes.
When he opened his eyes, it was as if something had returned to his body. Daemon seemed to regain his strength and rushed out. The Old Prince, over fifty years old, picked up a golden shoulder robe and draped it over his shoulders.
Seeing Prince Daemon, clad in a gold robe, walk out of the Red Keep's courtyard with his head held high, Lord Bartimos, who was passing by, froze for a moment, then immediately grabbed a Red Keep guard: "What does the Regent intend to do?" The count asked, somewhat frightened, but only received equally puzzled looks from the Red Keep guards.
"King, you are..." The Gold Cloaks captain looked in surprise at Daemon, who had burst into the barracks. The Old Prince, gasping for breath, looked at the captain and pointed to his shoulder robe. "You understand what I mean, boy from House Bych." He looked at Ser Barion Bych, the current captain of the City Watch. This captain had followed Daemon when he was young and was no longer young himself.
Barion, whose hair was also half-gray, looked at the Old Prince's hand covering his stomach and understood something. He picked up a Gold Cloaks sword and supported the prince with his other hand: "I'll gather the brothers now."
Daemon smiled. He broke free from Barion's support, indicating that he could walk on his own.
So, on that night, the older residents of King's Landing witnessed a familiar sight: Prince Daemon, wearing his familiar black armor and a gold robe, parading through the streets with the Gold Cloaks. When the Gold Cloaks caught thieves, these ruffians roared and swung their swords, cutting off their arms. When the Gold Cloaks caught men who assaulted women, their swords found the scoundrels' privates.
The Gold Cloaks kicked open the doors of the gangs they had once turned a blind eye to, offering the heads of those who had paid them tribute to their "Capital Prince."
Daemon smiled, watching this familiar scene. This time, Prince Daemon said not a word.
He just quietly watched the Gold Cloaks enforce the law publicly, and this time it was much gentler than before.
The Gold Cloaks only arrested familiar faces. As for the law-abiding citizens, these usually fierce fellows dared not act arrogantly.
This was also because Prince Daemon was present.
Leading such a group, Daemon saw the brothel opened by Rogério Rogare.
"King..." Barion looked at Daemon nervously. He had followed Daemon in his youth and knew the Old Prince's bad habits when he was young.
However, this time, Prince Daemon just shook his head and smiled, continuing to patrol the city with the Gold Cloaks. That night, the entire King's Landing saw the Gold Cloaks passing through every street. This mighty procession finally stopped at the foot of the Dragonpit. Daemon looked at the Gold Cloaks, who snapped to attention at his gaze. "Dismiss, everyone."
"King..."
"Follow orders, dismiss, return to camp."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Daemon watched the Gold Cloaks leave in an orderly fashion, then slowly walked into the Dragonpit.
Caraxes crawled over somewhat frantically. It seemed to sense its companion's physical condition. The slender dragon even let out whimpering sounds at this moment.
"Don't be sad, Caraxes, let me rest for a while." Daemon smiled and leaned against Caraxes, slowly sitting down. Bloodworm carefully sat down, letting his companion lean against him comfortably. When Caraxes adjusted his position and looked at Daemon, the Old Prince had already fallen into a deep sleep.
It seemed the pain no longer affected him.
In distant Dragon Nest City, Dragonzel, who was about to go to sleep, seemed to sense something and frowned, looking North.
"What's wrong, my dear?" Diana also looked North, somewhat puzzled.
"Nothing, let's sleep." Dragonzel sighed deeply and lay down. He knew that his strange feeling just now must have foreshadowed something, and perhaps he would soon know the answer.
Daemon slowly walked into the magnificent Throne Room. He saw the empty Iron Throne.
But the next moment, a person sat on the Iron Throne, someone Daemon would never forget in his life.
Viserys I, the slightly plump man, looked at his brother with complex eyes. "Brother..." Daemon slowly walked towards Viserys, not knowing what to say.
"You've grown old, brother."
Daemon was stunned. He didn't expect his brother's first words to be this. Viserys tremblingly reached out and touched Daemon's head, "You've worked hard, Daemon. I didn't expect my foolishness to cause such a great disaster." His voice trembled: "Daemon... I'm sorry..."
"Those words should come from me, brother." Daemon knelt on one knee, allowing Viserys to more easily touch his head: "Only when I sat in that position did I realize how terribly wrong I was."
Daemon sighed deeply: "Only then did I realize how absurd I was back then."
"I know." Viserys said with a smile, "You've done very well, Daemon. From the beginning, I knew you had no ambition for that position; it was just your unwillingness..." The Old King looked up at the sky. The sharp swords of the Iron Throne pierced through his body. Daemon tried to grab his brother in horror, but it was ultimately futile.
"I was wrong, Daemon. My hesitation led to bitter fruit." Viserys's voice slowly deepened: "I caused the death of my children, Daemon. These past years, you've worked hard..."
Daemon reached out, but Viserys's figure dissipated on the Iron Throne. Another hand suddenly grabbed him.
Rhaenyra.
Daemon looked at the woman in front of him, somewhat at a loss for words. This woman was once his tool, his lover, his wife, and his Queen.
But now, she was his wife, the wife who had entrusted everything to him.
Rhaenyra suddenly embraced him tightly, passionately kissing Daemon's lips.
They said nothing, only sat together on the Iron Throne, embracing and kissing, until Rhaenyra disappeared in Daemon's arms.
"Daemon, so, do you think it was all worth it?" Dragonzel's voice sounded at the right moment.
Daemon looked at Dragonzel, who had walked to the side of the Iron Throne, and gently nodded: "I was wild in my youth, awakened in middle age. I was once ambitious and lustful, and also loyal and faithful, but I have no regrets." He sat on the Iron Throne: "And facts have proven that I won."
"Speak properly, Daemon."
"I'm so tired." Daemon had never felt the Iron Throne so comfortable. He could completely sprawl on the Throne, stretching however he wanted, without worrying about injury: "I'm really too tired. I think what King Aegon said before he died was very true."
"I almost regret it to death." Daemon said with a carefree laugh: "I should have continued to fight Vhagar back then, how good it would have been to die on the battlefield, no need to worry about these annoying things. Only the seven gods know why I thought the Iron Throne was a good thing when I was young, maybe I was too foolish? Or maybe I was too eager for Viserys's attention?"
"Aren't you worried that this Iron Throne will eventually belong to my family?" Dragonzel also smiled.
"Hahaha, Dragonzel, everyone can see your aversion to this Iron Throne." Daemon sighed, but he still sprawled carelessly on the Iron Throne, pointing at Dragonzel and saying: "What's the difference between your descendants sitting on this chair and my descendants sitting on this chair? The moment the Targaryen family and the Varezes family bloodlines merged, I understood this truth. By the way, Dragonzel, I've always wondered why you were in such a hurry to stay in Westeros."
"The Long Night," Dragonzel said. "A new Long Night is about to descend, and the song of ice and fire will soon play in the future. We must be a part of it. That is my reason."
"No wonder..." Daemon's voice grew weaker and weaker. Gradually, he too disappeared from the Iron Throne.
Only Dragonzel remained calmly watching all of this, and gradually, he too dissipated within this dream.
Daemon woke up.
Feeling his companion awaken, Caraxes hurriedly twisted his neck and moved closer to his companion. Daemon stroked his companion's head, looked South, then North, as if he had understood something, and sighed deeply.
"Buddy, take me for one more flight." Daemon laboriously climbed onto Caraxes's dragon saddle. He skillfully patted Caraxes's back.
The dragon roared as it took off from the Dragonpit. The blood-red, slender dragon circled King's Landing three full times before slowly landing on the flat ground next to the Dragonpit's back gate.
Tyland in the Red Keep looked at the departing Caraxes, then somewhat wistfully at Lord Bartimos beside him: "Count..."
Bartimos sighed: "This is the Dragon King's pride, Lord Tyland. We must prepare for the aftermath for the King, until King and Prince Dragonzel return to King's Landing."
"Understood."
Caraxes gently landed on the flat ground, allowing Daemon on his back to slowly dismount.
Daemon finally felt intense pain; he had almost fallen off the dragon saddle just now. This made it very difficult for him to climb down from the dragon saddle now.
The Old Prince laboriously walked in front of Caraxes: "Caraxes, dracarys."
Caraxes froze.
"Caraxes, dracarys."
Caraxes looked around, not finding anything to burn, and finally looked at Prince Daemon, who was clutching his stomach and almost kneeling.
"Old friend, we were born of blood and fire, and we shall die of blood and fire. This is my glory."
Bloodworm whimpered and turned his head away.
"Listen, Caraxes, you don't want me to die painfully in a sickbed, do you?" Daemon smiled: "That would be worse than killing me."
Caraxes finally turned his head back.
A red glow slowly surged in Bloodworm's throat.
Daemon closed his eyes contentedly.
Crimson dragonflame surged forth amidst Bloodworm's whimpers.
Daemon Targaryen, Regent of the Targaryen Dynasty, died as he wished in blood and fire in 134 Conquest Era, at the age of fifty-three.
An era ended.
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