Daeron fell silent for a mont, his gaze sliding toward Ser Jon Darry.
The look between them spoke volus.
Translation:
You didn't tell her, did you?
Translation back: I didn't. She did.
Shaenie blinked, thoroughly lost. "Cersei Lannister's obsessed with you," she said honestly. "I don't think she's a good girl—or right for you."
"Dangerous is one word for her," Daeron murmured, letting out a quiet sigh of relief before steering the conversation elsewhere.
He began showing his sister and the two small princes around the farmland.
Shaenie's innocence glowed brighter than the morning sun. She darted from pen to field, touching anything within reach, marveling aloud.
Her laughter filled the place like spring wind.
She's so good she forgets danger even exists, Daeron thought, watching her trail through the rows of vegetables.
She's warning like a sister—never realizing the lion cub already has claws.
He knew exactly how sharp those claws were.
Cersei Lannister at fourteen was already deadly in spirit. Long before he'd killed a man, she'd killed a friend.
He rembered the tale: back in Casterly Rock, she and a companion had visited the woods to see the witch known as Maggie the Frog.
Cersei asked if she would one day marry a prince. The witch smiled and said, "You'll marry a king."
Her friend asked the sa—and was told she'd die that night.
By morning, she was gone.
No proof, no body. Just fear and rumor whispered behind golden doors.
Daeron shook his head. "Clever girl, clever father—and far too deadly a pair for now."
He refused to let the thought fester.
---
"Second Brother, your farm's huge!" Jaehaerys called, eyes bright with wonder.
"I see a hen!" Viserys yelled, imdiately dropping to hands and knees to crawl under the coop fence.
The two hens inside—Grape and Coconut—shrieked, flapping so fiercely that the boy stumbled back in terror.
"Waaah—!" He ran to hide behind Shaenie.
Daeron pressed a hand against his forehead. "First contact between human and hen: hen victorious."
---
12:30 p.m.
Ti for the Egg Hunt.
Daeron clarified the rules and handed out woven baskets to his siblings. Ser Jon blew the whistle to start.
Two minutes of chaotic fun.
Daeron walked the periter, plucking the eggs he'd hidden earlier in bushes and grass. His siblings knew nothing—luck was part of the ga.
Shaenie searched diligently; the two young princes stord about like hunters on the battlefield.
"Eggs! Eggs!" Viserys shouted, bent so low his nose brushed the ground.
He already had six in his basket—a small miracle.
"How many you got?" Jaehaerys asked, eyeing the treasure.
"Six! I'm good, yeah?"
"Very! Now… we could team up." Jaehaerys tilted his head innocently, basket in hand. "I have three. You have six. Together that's nine—no way we lose to Brother or Sister."
Viserys blinked. "So I keep them all?"
"Better idea." The older boy grinned. "If you carry them, Brother won't believe you found nine on your own—but if I carry them, we win and then we share."
Viserys hesitated… then brightened. "When we win, can I eat them?"
"All yours," said Jaehaerys smoothly.
"Deal!"
Monts later, the trade was made.
Jon blew the final whistle. "Ti!"
The contestants returned to Daeron, baskets in hand.
Jaehaerys bounced forward. "I got nine! I won, didn't I?"
Daeron arched a brow, glancing at Viserys's empty basket. Interesting.
He looked into Jaehaerys's overflowing pile of painted eggs.
"Normally, that'd make you champion," he said slowly. "But let's see how many your dear brother has."
He lifted the basket he'd prepared earlier, counting aloud. "One… two… three…"
By the ti he reached twelve, Jaehaerys's smile froze.
Defeat stung, but Daeron patted his shoulder. "Losing doesn't make you less, only smarter. Next ti, don't out-negotiate yourself."
To soften the lesson, he divided the eggs evenly between the two young ones. "Half each. No fighting."
Viserys's eyes went wide in horror—sharing was not part of the deal—but he obeyed.
Jaehaerys sighed and took his half without complaint.
Ser Jon stepped forward. "Your Grace, we should return. The road to the capital is long."
The two boys climbed into the carriage, reluctant but obedient. Even they knew their second brother was different—a dragon that actually watched over them.
Shaenie was last, basket in arms. Before closing the curtain, she took one long, quiet look at the farm—at her brother's new world.
Daeron watched them roll away, smiling faintly.
When Jae grows up, he thought, he'll bla for cheating him—just as I'll tease Shaenie for always worrying. That's what family is.
When they disappeared beyond the hill, he turned back to his mailbox and found a small wooden parcel marked with a painted egg.
The festival reward.
Inside: a straw hat.
> Straw Hat — beloved of farrs. Shields against sumr sun and winter chill.
He placed it on his head.
At once, the harsh sunlight softened; the spring breeze turned gentle. The hat adjusted the air itself to comfort.
"Amazing," he whispered, grinning. "Ugly, but amazing."
It was a farr's hat, not a prince's—so he set it aside, for another life.
---
As if on cue, hoofbeats approached again.
"Your Grace!" Lord Owen rryweather hurried up the path, face flushed, letter in hand. "I bring word from Dragonstone!"
Daeron broke the seal. Inside were a few lines of neat, elegant handwriting—graceful and decidedly not Rhaegar's.
It was an invitation to visit Dragonstone, written with care and warmth.
He snorted. "Definitely not my brother's hand. He'd never waste ink on courtesy."
Lord Owen smiled sheepishly. "The acting maester sent it the mont it arrived. I thought you'd want it straightaway."
Daeron nodded. "Thank you, my lord."
He handed him a basket—four brightly dyed eggs inside.
The older man blinked, eyes wet. "You're always too kind, Your Grace."
When he had gone, Daeron read the ssage again—and smiled to himself.
The tone was refined, polite, sprinkled with sunlight and hospitality. Rhaegar would never bother writing so gently.
It had to be from his Dornish sister-in-law.
Princess Elia Martell.
He lifted his eyes to the distant horizon, where the sea t the sky.
"My dear brother," he murmured, "you chose well—for once."
Then, soft and half-wistful: "May you also learn not to waste her faith."
---
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