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A curt knock yanked Garren out of sleep.
“Enter”, he called, already knowing it was his uncle who was waiting. A knock like that would belong to no other in the Red Keep. His eyes opened to find that the sun had just begun to climb over the horizon. Otto Hightower stepped in quietly, cast in dim violet light.
“Wake up, boy. We have a problem.”
Garren pushed himself up, pushing his dark locks back. Wavy, like his cousin’s, but shorter than hers. “Already? The day has not yet begun.”
Otto pinched the bridge of his nose. “Indeed, but it will be off to a rather terrible start if we don’t fix this. Where is Daemon?”
“What?”
“The Prince is missing. I assume you were the last to see him.”
Garren cursed softly. “After he retired for the evening he said he didn’t feel like sleeping. He dragged me to Flea Bottom.”
“And? Is he still there?”
“I don’t know. He waved me off and slipped away with someone.”
Otto scoffed. “You are aware that he is meant to meet with his betrothed today, are you not?”
Garren bristled. “You’ve met Daemon, uncle. I’d have an easier time getting his dragon to cooperate.”
Otto turned away, hand still massaging his brow. “I hope you might at least know where to find him.”
“I’ll go check his usual places.”
“Get him back here as quickly as possible. And looking presentable, if you can.”
.....
The city was still quiet, save for a few shopkeepers setting up for the day and the occasional stray cat. Not for the first time, Garren found himself reminiscing on his days in Oldtown. Only a few short months ago, he had spent his days training for tourneys and dueling with Gwayne. One fall from horseback and he was reduced to this; trailing after a spoiled prince and cleaning up his messes.
Worst of all, perhaps, he was meant to feel honoured by it. There were much worse fates for an incapacitated knight, as Otto was always quick to remind him. In truth, he was grateful to Otto. Had it not been for his connection to the Targaryens, Garren would never have landed the position. While Daemon was many things, at least he wasn’t boring.
He cursed the prince a second time as he felt his leg flare up in the cold morning air. Maybe I should have just had the damn thing cut off, he thought to himself bitterly. He pulled his forest-green cloak further over his head as he arrived at the pleasure house, knocking softly. After a pause, a short woman with wheat-blonde curls answered.
“You’ll be looking for Daemon?” she whispered. Garren nodded, following as she gestured him in. “He’s with Mysaria in the usual room.”
“Thank you.”
He headed up the narrow staircase, already dreading his task. He braced himself before quietly entering. Mysaria sat on a lounge chair across the room, legs folded neatly beneath her. She looked away from the window, her eyes carrying the intensity of a hawk’s.
“I thought you might come,” she greeted, standing up to leave. “His mood is terrible. Be cautious.”
“Thanks for the word of warning,” he whispered as she left. His eyes fell on Daemon, sleeping face-down on the bed. His hair spanned messily across his bare shoulders, and the smell of sweat and cheap wine reached Garren’s nose. Garren considered taking the water on the bedside table (kindly left by Mysaria, he was sure) and throwing it at the prince. Tempting, but unwise. Instead, he scanned the room for Daemon’s trousers, scooping them off of the floor and tossing them next to him before clearing his throat.
“My prince.”
Daemon groaned, the strong curves of his back shifting beneath the navy bedding. “Fuck off,” he said without looking up.
“It’s Garren. I’m here on behalf of the crown.”
“I know who it is,” Daemon spat.
“It’s nearly time for your hunt with Lord Royce.”
“I don’t care about Lord Royce.”
“You’re marrying his daughter!”
“If Viserys truly believes I’m going to just fuck off to Runestone and play house, he doesn’t know me very well.”
Garren sighed, biting his tongue. “If you don’t come willingly, I do believe he’ll send his men up to retrieve you. It sounds like he’s quite displeased.”
Daemon huffed. “Well he can’t send men if he doesn’t know where to send them, can he?”
“And I can’t maintain my position by keeping secrets from the king. We both know that I cover for you enough as it is.”
“For a man who used to be a knight, you sure shy away from excitement.”
Garren was used to this dance of theirs by now. He wouldn't give the Targaryen prince the pleasure of getting a rise out of him. He chuckled softly at the attempt. “I’ll be waiting outside. Ten minutes.”
He only narrowly dodged the small pillow lobbed at his head.