Casterly Rock – 252 AC
Daeron Targaryen
"Welcome to Casterly Rock, my prince!" boomed Lord Tytos Lannister, his round face splitting into a genial smile as Daeron dismounted. "I hope the trip was smooth."
Daeron offered a polite nod, brushing travel dust from his crimson cloak. "Thank you, Lord Tytos." He handed Nike's reins to a stableman, giving the filly a gentle pat along her dark neck. "The journey was pleasant. I was able to see much of the Westerlands. Its lands are fair—strong and beautiful, like the people who hold them."
He offered a curt bow, more gesture than humility. "An honor to meet you, Prince Daeron."
Daeron returned the nod with equal composure. "And you as well, Lord Tywin." Their gazes held for a moment before he turned to Tytos again.
Tytos clapped his hands together. "And here," he said, beckoning to the others, "are my younger children—Kevan, my second son, and Genna, my daughter. I have another, Tygett, he's only two years old."
Kevan gave a bright smile and an enthusiastic bow; his sincerity was a refreshing contrast to his brother's restraint. "Welcome to Casterly Rock, Your Grace!"
Genna, all golden curls and confidence, dipped into a neat curtsy. "We're so pleased you're here, my prince. The Rock can be dreadfully dull without guests."
Daeron smiled lightly. "Then I shall do my best not to disappoint."
"And finally, my wife—Jeyne," Tytos announced proudly, turning toward the poised woman standing beside him.
Daeron took her hand and planted a kiss on her knuckles. "You look more beautiful than they say you are, my lady."
Lady Jeyne's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Flattery at such a young age? You'll make a dangerous man one day, My Prince."
Daeron just chuckled and nodded. "I hope it is as you say, my lady."
Gerold Hightower, ever silent, watched the exchange with a knight's practiced eye. A cautious boy, that Tywin, he thought. And a sharp one. This stay may prove more… interesting than expected.
"Now, if you excuse me, my Prince, I have to meet Lord Lydden. My Wife will lead you to your Rooms." With that, he left to meet Lord Lydden, who had just entered the Castle, a few minutes behind them. Daeron nodded to the Lord of Castle Rock and turned to his Wife.
"This way, My Prince." Lady motioned towards the castle.
"Of Course."
======================
"What problem does that guy have with me?" Daeron asked Ser Gerold as he settled down in his room. He tossed his cloak across the chair and ran a hand through his hair, still damp with sweat from the ride. "Did I insult someone or something?"
"I think I know what it is," Gerold said, pouring himself a cup of water from the jug on the table. "Every child has a phase like this once in a while. They think they are the most superior in the room or think themselves better. Tywin Lannister has that thinking. He didn't show it outright, but he was observing you—how you spoke, how you carried yourself. He looks cautious, too, if you ask me."
Daeron raised a brow, half impressed, half amused. "Damn, Ser, you observed all that from one look? That too in such a short encounter?"
Gerold smirked faintly beneath his mustache. "When you've stood guard beside kings and lords for half your life, you learn to see more than what's said. And pride like that either grows into greatness… or rots into arrogance."
Daeron leaned back on the bed, staring at the carved lion motif on the ceiling. "Let's hope it's the first one, then. I'd rather not have to deal with the second while I'm here."
Gerold took a slow sip of water, his tone calm but knowing. "If he's anything like the stories say, my prince, he'll be testing you before long. Best be ready when the lion decides to roar."
Daeron, already sprawled across the bed, gave a lazy grunt, eyes half-lidded. "Yeah, I don't give a fuck. I need to sleep now."
Gerold raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. "Hmm. You kiss your mother with that mouth, my prince?"
Daeron didn't bother to open his eyes. "Hey, what's that got to do with kissing my Mother?"
That earned a low chuckle from the White Bull. He sat by the desk, pulling parchment toward him and dipping his quill in ink to write the weekly report. "Well, you've just earned yourself extra laps around the castle tomorrow."
"Urgh!" Daeron groaned, burying his face into the pillow. "You're a cruel man, Ser."
Gerold's voice was amused but steady. "Cruelty builds discipline. And discipline, my prince, keeps you alive long enough to curse me another day."
"Yeah, yeah," came the muffled reply from the bed. "You sound like a Maester when you say things like that."
Gerold didn't look up as his quill scratched against parchment. "Then consider this your first lesson at Casterly Rock—words have weight. And yours are going to make your legs hurt tomorrow."
====================
Joanna Lannister
Yesterday, when the prince had arrived, she'd stood quietly at the back beside her father, swallowed by a sea of tall adults. She'd caught only a glimpse of silver hair before he disappeared into the castle halls.
"Sigh… I should've pushed through," she muttered to herself, still annoyed at her hesitation.
She took her usual path toward the gardens, expecting the quiet rustle of leaves and the familiar spray of the sea wind—but what she found instead stopped her dead in her tracks.
There, beneath the old elm, sat Prince Daeron Targaryen, rubbing his legs and wincing slightly, his silver hair catching the light. When he noticed her, he brightened instantly and waved her over with a grin so open and genuine it made her heart skip.
Oh gods… he's adorable.
"Good morrow, my prince," she greeted, trying to hide her sudden nervousness.
"Good morning, my lady," Daeron replied cheerfully. "I didn't know such a beautiful girl lived here in Casterly Rock."
Her pulse roared in her ears. She was certain her face had gone scarlet.
"You exaggerate, my prince," she said, twirling a golden strand of hair between her fingers. "There are many ladies far lovelier than I."
Daeron tilted his head, pretending to pout. "I'm telling the truth, my lady—and I'm known to be honest. Are you declining a compliment from your prince?"
Joanna tried to keep her voice steady, but her smile betrayed her. "If you insist… thank you, my prince."
Butterflies filled her stomach as she met his bright violet eyes. He looked like something straight out of the songs—charming, kind, and impossibly princely.
He's exactly like the princes from stories.
She noticed his hands still kneading his calves, his face tightening with each motion. "Is there anything wrong with your legs, my prince?" she asked softly.
Daeron sighed, leaning back against the tree. "Ah, my knight made me do some extra drills today—extremely extra. Then I got lost running around the castle. I was kind of excited to explore, so… my legs didn't take it well." He let out a small laugh, stretching them out in front of him. "I just hope they get better before the tourney tomorrow."
Joanna tilted her head, an idea forming as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "If you don't mind… Genna says I have magical hands." She extended her palms toward him with a confident smile. "I'll make them feel better in no time."
Daeron blinked, surprised, then chuckled awkwardly. "No, no, I couldn't have a beautiful lady tire herself for me. I could ask the maester for something."
"Trust me, my prince," she said, lowering herself to sit beside him. "Helping you isn't a burden. Many would die to be of service to a prince."
Before he could protest further, Joanna gently took hold of his knees and began massaging in slow, careful circles. Her touch was light but deliberate, moving from his thighs down toward his calves, then back up.
Daeron froze at first, unsure of what to do, then sighed as the tension in his muscles began to ease.
"Now stay still," she murmured, her golden hair brushing against his shoulder as she worked. "I told you—magical hands."
"I still don't know the name of the beautiful girl helping me," Daeron said, finally lifting his gaze to her face.
Joanna's cheeks warmed slightly, but she smiled. "I'm Joanna Lannister, my prince," she said, inclining her head gracefully. "Daughter of Jason Lannister."
Daeron's eyes lit with recognition. "Ah, yes—Lord Tytos's younger, and only, brother." He extended a hand toward her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Joanna. As you know, I'm Daeron Targaryen, and from now on… You may call me Daeron."
Joanna shook his hand delicately, though a trace of hesitation lingered. "Ah, but I cannot be so informal with a royal prince," she said softly. "My septa always tells me to control myself around those above my station."
Daeron's lips twitched into a faint, amused smile at the mention of her septa.
"I don't mind, my lady," he said smoothly. "Besides, Rhaella says friends may be informal with each other… and you remind me of her." He gently brushed a loose strand of her golden hair behind her ear, and Joanna's blush deepened noticeably.
"If you insist, Daeron," she murmured, allowing herself to meet his violet gaze.
They sat for some time, talking quietly about their lives. Joanna's golden hands worked with precision, and as she had promised, Daeron's leg ache had noticeably eased.
"You really do have magical hands, my lady," he said, flexing his legs and smiling. "Your future lord husband will be a lucky man."
Before she could respond, a shout cut through the garden. "What are you doing, Joanna?"
Her head snapped up. It was her cousin, Tywin Lannister, face flushed with indignation.
"Ah, Tywin," Joanna said evenly, though her voice carried a slight edge. "I was helping the prince with his ache."
Tywin's gaze flicked to her, then to the prince, narrowing dangerously. "Did you order her to do this, my prince?" he demanded.
"Stop, Tywin," Joanna tried to interject, " It was I who insisted—"
"What if I did?" Daeron interjected sharply, standing. Though only seven, he now stood nearly as tall as Tywin, who was ten.
"This is not your playground, you spoiled brat. I'll put you in your place!" Tywin bellowed.
"Oh? I'd like to see the pussycat try," Daeron shot back, eyes flashing with confidence.
Tywin Swung first. Daeron sidestepped with ease. "Starting with Punches already, little kitty?"
The prince swung, catching Tywin squarely and sending him stumbling backward. A sharp crack echoed—Tywin's nose had likely broken.
"Stop!" Joanna cried, rushing forward, but Daeron's movements were fluid and unstoppable. Tywin launched another swing, striking Daeron in the chest, but the prince blocked, twisted Tywin's hand atop his shoulder, and slammed him to the ground; his movements were unlike anything she had ever seen. (A/N: Classic Judo Slam)
Joanna gasped. "Please… my prince! Stop!"
But Daeron, eyes cold and focused, climbed atop her cousin, raining disciplined punches, thrashing his face.
Finally, like a knight in Silver Armor, a Kingsguard burst into the garden. Ser Gerold and two other knights seized Daeron and pulled him off Tywin.
"Enough, Daeron," Gerold said firmly. "He's already down."
Daeron's chest heaved as he stared down at Tywin sprawled on the grass, his violet eyes cold and unblinking. Joanna knelt beside her cousin, whose face was bloody, dabbing at the tears that had escaped her eyes. She looked at Daeron, her expression a mixture of shock and worry.
The prince's gaze softened slightly when he looked at her. "I'm sorry you had to see this," he said quietly, his voice steadier now. "And… thank you for helping me."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned, his silver hair catching the morning light, and walked away, leaving a stunned silence behind in the gardens. Joanna watched him go, a flutter of something unnameable in her chest—part admiration, part awe, and entirely captivated by the little prince.
======================
Note: The main character is physically(He is tall though) and mentally that of a seven-year-old. His intelligence, cunning, and skills will develop as he grows in later chapters. And yes, despite his age, he often ends up causing unexpectedly messy or bloody outcomes.