Daeron froze for a second as the implications hit him.
A Long Sumr. He knew exactly what that ant.
In this world, sumrs could stretch for years—sotis two, sotis ten or more. The climate here was already chaotic, especially in Westeros, but the Long Sumr and Long Winter were the real ga-changers. Both had been uncomfortably close in recent decades.
There had been a brutal three-year winter from 273 to 276 AC, followed by another full year in 279. Daeron still rembered huddling by the hearth with Shaena and the boys during those endless cold months. The last few years had finally felt normal again—proper seasons, predictable weather.
Until now.
He dug through his mories of the "original" tiline. After the War of the Usurper, Westeros had entered a Long Sumr that lasted nearly a decade. The timing here was off by about five years.
If the Long Sumr was arriving early… what did that an for the Others?
Daeron's mind sharpened. In the original story the Others had started stirring while the Long Sumr was still going. If this version was starting five years sooner, then the Long Night might arrive sooner too.
He let out a dry laugh. "Great. So the Long Sumr is the dragonlords' power-up phase, and the Long Winter is the Others' version? The gods really do love their balance patches."
Ten years of sumr instead of fifteen. That was five fewer years to prepare before the dead started walking.
Not exactly good news.
Maester Aemon took over the discussion in his calm, asured way. "A Long Sumr lasting several years can be just as dangerous as a Long Winter. We should begin stockpiling grain and dicine now, in case of drought, heatstroke, or outbreaks of plague."
Lord Corlton frowned. "It might not last that long. What if it's only one or two years?"
Davos spoke up for the first ti. "We've had two harsh winters in quick succession. By Westerosi patterns, this sumr should run at least three to five years. The smallfolk will feel it."
Mace Tyrell, Lord Staunton, and Lord Lucerys all nodded. Everyone understood the pattern: long winter followed by long sumr. The real danger ca at the end, when the heat beca oppressive and the air turned thick and humid—the so-called "ghost sumr" that bred disease.
Tywin's expression grew grave. "Maester Aemon, the Conclave is certain this Long Sumr will last three years or more?"
"The Conclave does not make mistakes," Aemon said quietly. "And my own instincts tell it will last even longer than they predict."
Tywin's jaw tightened. He had guided the realm through two Long Winters during Aerys's madness. This would be an entirely new challenge.
Daeron made the decision. "Then we stockpile. Start with King's Landing, Lannisport, and Oldtown. Buy grain and dicine in bulk. Prepare for the final years of sumr—and whatever cos after."
Tywin nodded. "We'll also open the spring and autumn hunts in the North and the Vale and buy up furs at fair prices. We'll need warm clothing if winter follows."
Davos added, "The royal treasury won't hold that much. We'll need new warehouses across the Crownlands."
"Build one in King's Landing and three on my fief," Daeron said. "If that's not enough, we'll build more."
The eting shifted from betrothal and coronation to full war footing against the coming Long Sumr. For the first ti in weeks the entire Small Council worked in perfect unison, hamring out a comprehensive plan.
Only Lord Corlton looked like he was watching his life savings burn. Tens of thousands of gold dragons—gone. He felt like the Prince was preparing for an invasion rather than a season.
---
When the eting ended, Daeron grabbed Varys before he could slip away and headed straight for lisandre's quarters. He wanted a second opinion on how long this sumr would actually last.
The red priestess stood before a brazier, staring into the flas. Sweat beaded on her forehead. After a long silence she spoke in a tired voice.
"This Long Sumr will last a very long ti. I cannot see the exact number of years, but it will not be short."
Daeron nodded to himself. Longer sumr ant more ti for dragons to grow. That part was good.
lisandre drank a vial of sothing dark and her color returned. "The Lord of Light showed sothing else. The arrival of this Long Sumr confirms that the tide of magic is rising again."
"How high?"
"To levels not seen in a hundred and sixty or seventy years."
Daeron's eyes narrowed. A hundred and seventy years ago was the height of the Dance of the Dragons—when House Targaryen still had nineteen living dragons. That had been the last great surge of magic before it faded for over a century.
Now it was returning to that level.
And it was still rising.
lisandre stepped closer, her red robes whispering across the floor. "I was going to seek you out today even if you hadn't co. This Long Sumr is both danger and opportunity. Which one it becos depends entirely on those who live through it."
Daeron studied her. She was beautiful, mature, and carried an aura that matched his own growing hunger for power. For a mont the air between them thickened.
Then Varys coughed loudly from the corner.
lisandre shot the eunuch a withering look and stepped back, pulling her robes tighter.
Daeron exhaled quietly. For the first ti he was genuinely grateful for Varys's presence.
They left the silk rchant's house together. Varys glanced sideways. "I didn't interrupt anything important, did I?"
"You did well," Daeron said.
Varys smiled thinly. "The red priestess is dangerous. Best to keep so distance."
Daeron gave him a sideways look. You're one to talk, Master of Whispers. Still, the warning felt genuine.
They walked through the cleaned streets of King's Landing. Daeron spoke casually. "Lord Varys, you hear everything from both sides of the Narrow Sea. Any word on dragon eggs?"
"Dragon eggs are extrely difficult to find," Varys replied carefully.
Daeron didn't bother with subtlety. "Keep your ears open. The world is changing fast. I don't want any eggs slipping out of reach."
Varys stopped walking. "You trust with this?"
Daeron t his eyes. "History doesn't move backward, Lord Varys. So things belong in the dust. The Blackfyre cause died with the last male heir. Who would support them now?"
Varys went very still. "You know who I am."
"I do. And I'm choosing not to kill you for it—yet. Your head is useful. Use it for House Targaryen and for Westeros. Blood alone won't fix old hatreds."
"Like Baelor the Blessed making peace with Dorne?"
"No," Daeron said. "Like how I spared Stannis and Renly and left a thread of Baratheon blood alive."
Varys fell silent for a long mont. He knew exactly what that ant—Renly was living comfortably in Pentos under Illyrio's old protection. Daeron was telling him he knew.
Then Daeron added, almost casually, "Prince Rhaegon still owes an explanation. When I have ti, I'll collect it."
Varys's mind raced. So the Prince suspects Illyrio's child is hidden with Rhaegon in Pentos. He suddenly felt very exposed.
Daeron waved a hand. "Focus, Lord Varys. We're almost at the Red Keep."
They continued walking. Daeron spoke again. "Rhaegar wants to found a new branch in Lys. Who knows—one day the Blackfyres might even be welcod back into the royal fold as a new Valyrian-blooded house."
Varys let out a bitter laugh. "You don't need to test , Prince. The Blackfyre male line is truly gone."
Daeron turned his head. "Really? I don't believe you."
Varys spread his hands helplessly. "Truth and lies. Who can truly tell anymore?"
Daeron decided to accept it—for now.
They reached the gates of the Red Keep. As they parted, Daeron couldn't resist one last jab.
"Lord Varys, when you say the Blackfyre male line is extinct… does that include you?"
Varys's face darkened. He turned and walked away without another word.
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