"What do you think, Your Grace?"
Lord Corlton and the other councillors watched the young king with hopeful eyes.
Daeron nodded. "I approve it."
A tourney was a good idea. It would lift noble spirits and smooth over any awkwardness after the new king's coronation.
Daeron thought for a mont. "Seven days. Don't hold back on expenses. Thirty thousand gold dragons for the champion. Work out the rest among yourselves. No need to go overboard."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Lord Corlton exhaled in relief and smiled.
Nobles loved tourneys and royal hunts.
During Aerys's reign the king had rarely left the Red Keep, let alone hosted anything like this.
They had debated for days before bringing the idea to Daeron.
After the four-kingdom rebellion, the Great Council at Harrenhal, Bitterbridge's fall, and the new coronation, the lords were tense. They needed a release.
A tourney would ease nerves and bring the crown closer to the nobility.
Lord Owen spoke up. "Your Grace, Lord Leyton wishes to see you."
"Oh?"
Daeron looked mildly surprised. "Did he say why?"
"Well—"
Lord Owen hesitated.
:
A short while later, Daeron t Lord Leyton alone.
"Your Grace, congratulations on becoming king. Under your rule the realm will surely rise to new heights."
Lord Leyton was no longer young, but his words flowed smoothly.
Daeron wasn't in the mood for flattery. He toyed with a Valyrian steel dagger and said flatly, "Lord Leyton, I hear you have sothing to discuss."
"The Exile" Inar's dagger. The Conqueror's Crown. Dark Sister.
All he lacked was Blackfyre. Then he would possess every Valyrian steel heirloom in the family.
He wondered when he could reclaim it from the Golden Company.
"Yes. I apologize for taking your ti."
Lord Leyton smiled politely and eased into it. "House Hightower remains grateful. When I gave you the dragon egg, I set three conditions. One was three years of special crops and items."
"You kept your word. You provided them for the full three years."
Today marked the end.
Daeron looked up, slightly dazed. "Three years already? Ti flies."
In the blink of an eye Caraxes had grown into a young adult dragon.
"Indeed. Ti is rciless. The gods treat every man with perfect equality."
Lord Leyton spoke with feeling and touched his graying temples.
Daeron wasn't really listening. He simply smiled and waited.
First the pleasantries, then the conditions tied to the dragon egg.
He was about to ask for sothing.
"Your Grace, the second condition was a seat on the Small Council once Prince Rhaegar took the throne."
"Now that Prince Rhaegar has gone overseas, that condition is void."
Lord Leyton built carefully. "There was a third condition I never nad. Does it still stand?"
Daeron kept his face neutral. "House Targaryen keeps its word."
He always did.
When he traded for Tessarion's egg, he had known this day might co.
Lord Leyton ca straight to the point. "You have two younger brothers. I hear Prince Jaehaerys remains unmarried. I boldly propose a match between my daughter Lynesse Hightower and him, to strengthen the bond between the crown and House Hightower."
There it was.
Daeron's eyes darkened. He didn't hide his displeasure.
He had expected this.
The expression was deliberate—so Leyton would understand his stance.
Lord Leyton held his gaze steadily.
The request was reasonable on paper, yet also rude.
House Hightower stood far above most houses and made a fitting match for royalty.
But after the Dance of the Dragons, relations between the crown and House Hightower remained awkward.
Asking outright would have been one thing. Using an old favor made it pushy.
Daeron tapped the Valyrian steel dagger against the desk with a sharp clang. "Jaehaerys's marriage is mine to decide."
"Marriage to House Hightower, however, requires careful thought."
Lord Leyton considered, then pushed. "Your Grace, my daughter Lynesse is the right age for Prince Jaehaerys. If you agree, Oldtown will raise its taxes to the crown by an extra five percent."
For example.
Oldtown earned roughly eighty thousand gold dragons a year. It previously paid thirteen percent—about ten thousand four hundred gold dragons.
Raising it another five percent would bring the total to fourteen thousand four hundred.
Daeron didn't blink. "You may go. I'll consider it."
The dismissal was obvious.
Lord Leyton gritted his teeth. "I'll provide Lynesse with a generous dowry. She and Prince Jaehaerys will want for nothing."
Daeron gave him a little face. "My lord, you know why I must think carefully."
"Your Grace—"
Lord Leyton tried to add more.
Daeron's voice turned cold and final. "I said I will consider it."
The young king was not yet of age, but his handso face carried natural warmth. Once he made a decision, however, his presence beca as commanding as a dragon coiled and ready.
Lord Leyton fell silent, bowed, and left without another word.
When the door closed—
Daeron muttered, "How presumptuous."
:
The tourney began soon after.
The lists were set up outside the King's Gate in a wide field.
Daeron sat in the royal box and watched the matches below.
First bout: Eddard Stark versus Ser Arthur Dayne.
No contest.
After four passes with the lance, Ser Arthur broke his third lance and unhorsed Eddard, sending him crashing into the mud.
"Excellent!!"
The watching lords cheered as one, clapping and shouting with real excitent.
Seeing that, Daeron knew the tourney had been worth it.
"Your Grace, I have news."
Varys slipped up quietly and spoke into Daeron's ear.
""
Daeron looked surprised. "What is it?"
Varys glanced around, signaling this wasn't the place.
Daeron rose and walked behind the lists.
Tywin, seated nearby, narrowed his eyes as the two left together.
Varys dropped the bombshell. "The Triarchy is fighting again."
Daeron blinked, genuinely surprised.
Varys sighed. "Prince Rhaegar took Bloodstone and rested for two months. Then he struck Grey Gallows. Lys and Myr had secretly reinforced the island. They drove him back."
"Now both sides are at war over the Stepstones."
Daeron asked, "What about Lyanna? How are she and the child?"
Why was Rhaegar fighting while his wife and son were left behind?
"Lady Lyanna and the boy are safe. Prince Rhaegar moved them beforehand."
:
Varys had already confird everything.
Daeron felt a little better.
Lyanna was secondary. Young Aegon—forrly Snow—carried true Targaryen blood.
If he fell into Lysene hands, Daeron would fly there on dragonback and take him back himself.
Varys continued, "The fighting in the Stepstones is fierce. Prince Rhaegar appears to have made contact with the Golden Company. Soone is backing him."
"But whether it's the Golden Company or House Martell remains unclear."
Daeron said, "Let them fight. It was bound to happen eventually."
The Triarchy had grown far too comfortable. Westeros would pay the price if they kept expanding.
Rhaegar was tying them down single-handedly. That was a service to the realm.
Varys offered dry comfort. "Let's hope Prince Rhaegar has enough n to last."
"You said soone is supporting him."
"The Triarchy is united. Their strength is formidable."
Daeron chuckled. "Then keep watching. If Rhaegar starts to falter, his little brother will lend a hand."
Rhaegar could start the fight. The right opponents would find him soon enough.
Evening.
Daeron returned to the council chamber and began reviewing the reports stacked on his desk.
Most concerned tourney expenses, furs from House Stark, and minor clashes between the Blackwoods and Brackens—
Tywin had already filtered everything. Only the most important matters reached him.
Below that pile sat all the "garbage" reports.
Sheep stolen from a shepherd in King's Landing. A brothel fire that killed people. A man drowning in a public latrine and his family demanding compensation—
Those went straight to Tywin. He handled them personally.
Even so, both their desks were buried in paper.
"How did Father ever govern without doing any work? How has Tywin lasted this long?"
Daeron had only reviewed half the stack and already felt overwheld.
:
And why were the Blackwoods and Brackens still bickering?
Couldn't they stop creating extra work for him?
Daeron picked up another report. The seal was House Hightower's burning tower. He broke it open.
Another marriage proposal.
The third one tonight.
He was betrothed, yet the great houses hadn't given up. They had simply shifted their eyes to his youngest brother, Jaehaerys.
Jaehaerys was eleven—pri age for a betrothal.
House Targaryen was rising. Dragons had returned.
Who wouldn't want dragon blood in their line?
"How persistent."
Daeron tossed Lord Leyton's report into the trash. He had already decided.
He could marry Jaehaerys to anyone—except House Hightower.
Especially not Lynesse Hightower. In the old stories she had been Jorah Mormont's wife. She couldn't handle the cold of the North, drove Jorah into debt, and when he was caught selling slaves she left him for the bed of Lysene governor Tregar Ormollen.
A vain, faithless woman with no loyalty or sha had no place in House Targaryen.
Agreeing would only hurt his brother.
"Enough for tonight."
Daeron rubbed his temples and gave himself a break.
Governing for the first ti was exhausting. He wasn't used to the workload yet. He would take it slow.
He massaged his brow and thought, "It's been almost two months. The rare seed should be ready. One Gemstone Sweetberry. Ti to break my Life Seed and form a new one."
Advancing from Knight to High Knight was a true leap in life force. The benefits were enormous.
Barristan and Ser Arthur had both grown noticeably younger after breaking through. n in their thirties and forties now had more energy than twenty-year-olds.
Daeron started tidying his desk, then paused and glanced at the door.
He kept cleaning.
Outside, Jaehaerys stood in thought, then turned toward the maester's tower.
The library.
Maester Aemon was still awake, assisted by Maester Harwin, studying records of Long Sumrs.
Jaehaerys knocked and entered.
"What is it, child?"
Maester Aemon set his book aside and asked kindly.
Jaehaerys opened his mouth, then rembered his brother's words: a man must be decisive. He straightened.
"Great-uncle, I want to go to the Citadel. I want to beco a maester."
Maester Harwin looked surprised.
Maester Aemon frowned slightly, his expression turning serious. "Why do you want to beco a maester, child?"
It didn't seem like the best path.
:
Jaehaerys didn't hide anything. "I'm a Targaryen too. I want to help the family. Staying in King's Landing only burdens my brother. Going to the Citadel would be better."
"Once I finish my studies, I believe I'll be able to assist him properly."
Maester Aemon's face softened into a smile. "You want to improve yourself. That doesn't require the Citadel. It's harder than you think."
The first three years at the Citadel were nothing but nial labor—cleaning, fetching, the lowest tasks.
He had endured it once. He didn't want his great-nephew to suffer the sa.
Jaehaerys insisted. "I can handle it."
"I still advise against it."
Maester Aemon shook his head.
Jaehaerys was determined. He had made up his mind to better himself.
Originally he had wanted to approach the red priestess and learn blood magic or fire magic—focus on the occult.
But the red priestess had left a bad first impression. Sothing about her felt off.
Behind those deep, captivating eyes hid the soul of an ancient, weary man.
Later he had gone to the Yi Ti healer for lessons in astrology, divination, and dicine.
The healer refused.
He said astrology and divination were easy to learn but hard to master. dicine he could teach, but overall the Citadel offered more complete knowledge.
At the very least, the Yi Ti healer still used the naked eye for stargazing.
The Citadel used high-powered lenses improved from Myr's single-tube telescopes.
After thinking it over, Jaehaerys decided the Citadel was acceptable.
The Citadel also taught the higher mysteries—things mainstream Westeros rejected.
"Child, will you listen to an old man's ramblings?"
Maester Aemon was wise. He never rushed to judgnt. He preferred to guide gently, find the root of the problem, and help.
He had asked why Jaehaerys wanted the Citadel. No criticism. No judgnt. Just patient thought.
Jaehaerys stayed quiet and waited for advice.
After a long mont—
Maester Aemon spoke slowly. "I understand your good intentions, child. You want to help your brother."
"But have you ever asked him directly what he truly needs?"
Jaehaerys blinked, then thanked him and left.
Maester Aemon watched him go with a warm smile, then returned to his books.
For now, this generation of Targaryens were good children.
Far better than their own generation had been.
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