10:30 a.m.
After breakfast, Ser Jon refused Daeron's insistence that he rest on the bed. Instead, he stretched out on the thick rug in front of the fireplace, using his freshly dried white cloak as a blanket, already half-asleep within minutes.
"I have a man of my own now," Daeron thought, watching him.
It was a strange feeling — unfamiliar but powerful.
He had never cared for the sycophantic nobles fawning over his father in the court, nor envied Rhaegar's halo of adoration. But this — seeing someone follow him out of loyalty, not blood or fear — was something else entirely.
So this was what power felt like.
Warm. Heavy. Addictive.
"Can't waste time, though," he murmured, pulling on his rain cloak. "Rain days are lucky days for an old farmer."
Grinning, he headed back out into the downpour.
Tomorrow, the chickens would mature and begin laying eggs. After that, he could safely leave the farm for a while — time to return to King's Landing and advance his plans.
But for now, he set out again, his bamboo fishing pole in hand, eyes on the Blackwater River.
Noon.
Luck favored the drenched and determined.
On his way down the hill, Daeron spotted three wildflowers and four edible plants — spring season treasures.
Daffodil – "A symbol of spring, perfect for gifts."
Leek – "A delicious cousin to the onion."
Horseradish – "A spring root spice with a strong flavor."
Dandelion – "Not the prettiest bloom, but its leaves make good salad."
He gently picked the third daffodil, breathing in its soft floral scent. The warmth that pulsed through his abdomen was immediate, glowing faintly like sunlight under his skin.
[You have something to reflect on before the day ends.]
When he opened his eyes, the farm interface shimmered to life.
[Farmer: Daeron Targaryen]
- Farming: Level 1
- Mining: Level 0
- Foraging: Level 1
- Fishing: Level 0
- Combat: Level 0
The faintest smirk curved his lips.
"Perfect. That means trees will start dropping seeds now."
Any Stardew veteran knew the importance of tree seeds — especially oak. They were vital for crafting oak resin, the key ingredient for brewing barrels later on.
By the time he reached the Blackwater, Daeron's spirits were high. He stood on the ancient stone bridge — gray with age but solid as steel — and cast his line into the current.
"River fish, behold your conqueror!" he proclaimed grandly.
6:40 p.m.
Back at the cabin, Ser Jon was tending the fire again when Daeron returned, scowling and dripping, holding one pitifully small perch by the tail.
"Dinner," Daeron announced flatly. "Fish… soup."
Jon tried not to laugh.
The next morning.
Spring, Day 4 – Thursday – Clear skies – 6:00 a.m.
"Hyah! Haah!"
The sharp rhythm of sword swings filled the morning air outside the cabin.
Daeron rolled from bed, smiling at the sound. When he stepped outside, sunshine poured down onto wet grass, and Ser Jon was in full white armor again — blade slicing arcs of silver in the early light.
"A diligent knight," Daeron said approvingly.
As he turned toward the field, he caught sight of his eleven crop plots — freshly watered. The horses were grazing happily, ropes loosened. Someone had clearly been busy.
Daeron chuckled knowingly. "Efficient too."
He crossed to the waterfall and unlatched the chicken coop.
"Cluck, cluck!"
Out strutted two plump hens — one brown, one white — marching proudly in side-by-side formation.
When he looked inside the coop, two perfect eggs rested on the old wooden planks.
One brown. One white.
"Well done, girls," he said, grinning ear to ear.
He picked up the eggs and lifted both chickens, hugging them like trophies.
"Cluck!"
The white hen — Coconut — lifted her head proudly, chest puffed like a queen.
When he turned, Ser Jon had finished his exercises and was now polishing his armor near the door.
"Look! Two eggs!" Daeron called, raising them like treasures.
"Eggs?"
Ser Jon blinked, stepped closer, and frowned slightly. "Your Grace… these contain vital energy."
Daeron paused mid-step. He hadn't expected him to feel it. "You've awakened your life force, haven't you?"
The shift was unmistakable — the presence, the quiet power radiating from within. A warrior reborn.
Jon nodded solemnly. "Yes, my prince. Thanks to the special crops you entrusted me with — I've succeeded."
Daeron's grin widened. "That's excellent news!"
All of the other Kingsguard had already achieved mastery over the life force. Jon Darry, a disciplined knight with deep training, had simply needed the final push — and Daeron had given it to him.
Now his return to King's Landing looked far safer.
"When do we depart, Your Grace?" Jon asked, his tone eager now.
Two decades of training had tempered the man, but mastery felt divine — as if the world aligned beneath one's stride. He could probably fight ten of his old self and win.
"In due time," Daeron said, setting the eggs on the table. "First — breakfast."
Jon helped build the meal. A small iron pot hung above the fireplace, filled with water for boiling the eggs, while the last silver-quality potato roasted under the flame below.
Jon also retrieved what remained of Owen Merryweather's gift — two silver-quality apples and one ear of golden corn — for their side dishes.
It was a meal fit for a king, worth at least 400 golden dragons in today's markets — though neither of them cared to convert.
"Exquisite," Jon murmured, carefully peeling the boiled egg. The vital energy in it hummed faintly against his fingers before spreading warmth through his body.
Such a thing would fetch a fortune — hens capable of producing life-infused eggs were almost mythical.
But Daeron said nothing. He simply chewed and smiled.
On his interface, unseen by his companion, a small notification blinked:
[Quest Complete: Harvest One Egg]
Reward: 100g credited.
Noon. The Red Keep.
Three horses trotted through the rain-slick gates of the castle's lower ward — Daeron, Jon, and their pack mount.
Daeron dismounted without ceremony, passing his reins to a steward before striding through the inner corridors straight into his father's quarters.
Aerys II, lounging in his chambers, nearly leapt to his feet when he saw his son enter.
"My dear boy!" he said, eyes gleaming with unrestrained warmth. "How splendid to see you again!"
He praised Daeron lavishly, words tumbling over one another — a rare storm of affection and manic delight.
Daeron listened patiently through the incessant flattery, smiling faintly.
Finally, Aerys leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Go to Lord Owen Merryweather. I've promised that funds will be given for your castle's construction."
Daeron inclined his head respectfully. "Yes, Father."
If the King was happy, the realm slept easier — and Daeron, standing once again in the Red Keep, knew the real game was about to begin.
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