Leaving the farm, Daeron arrived at Bounty Hall and saw Shaena tending to the flowers and plants.
Shaena looked up slightly. "Morning."
"Morning!"
Daeron walked right up and gave her a hug, making himself entirely at home.
Shaena furrowed her delicate brow, but her body betrayed her as she didn't pull away.
"I'll give you those three dragon eggs. How about you look after them for me?"
Daeron handed out a quest right off the bat, acting like a video game NPC.
"What dragon eggs?" Shaena asked.
The three petrified dragon eggs were from the same clutch as Toothless's egg, found deep within the Dragonmont.
Daeron led her to his room and dug out the clutch of eggs.
There had been four in total. One was shattered beyond saving by anyone's hands. The remaining three were all covered in a layer of stony crust.
"Dragon eggs..." Shaena murmured in surprise, her pale, delicate fingertips gently brushing the shells.
The three eggs were a dull gray, but their original colors were faintly visible: one grayish-white, one pale green, and one yellowish-gold.
"They can't be hatched right now," Daeron explained. "But I'll figure out a way to restore their vitality."
Petrified dragon eggs were completely different from normal ones. Normal eggs still had a spark of life and could be energized with Solar Essence. Petrified eggs were essentially dead; ordinary materials wouldn't do a thing.
Shaena's gaze suddenly grew determined. Her voice was soft. "Okay."
"You're the best," Daeron smiled.
Shaena had been living in Bounty Hall for over a month. Aside from teasing Cersei, she spent her days gardening. Handing this clutch of eggs to her gave her a sense of purpose.
Shaena lifted her chin proudly, looking genuinely motivated.
Knock, knock, knock! The door chimed as Davos came in with a message.
"Prince, there's news from King's Landing."
A hint of doubt crossed Daeron's brow. "Anything important?"
For the past month, his father had been writing constantly. The gist of every letter was the same: trying to trick him into returning to King's Landing with promises of making him the heir. It was like a scammer promising free gold if you just walked into a dark alley.
Davos glanced at Shaena and hesitated. "Prince, it's actually something major."
"I'll leave you to it," Daeron told Shaena.
He found an incubator for her and placed the three petrified dragon eggs over the charcoal fire. Shaena simply stared blankly, showing no extra emotion.
...
Stepping outside.
Daeron walked and asked, "What's the big emergency? Did the Triarchy invade?"
He had heard about the Triarchy seizing the Stepstones. They were just a bunch of pirates and greedy merchants. Once his dragons grew up, dealing with them would be a piece of cake.
"No, Prince," Davos stammered, struggling to force the words out. "The letter from King's Landing says... His Grace has fallen ill!"
"Huh?"
Daeron stopped dead in his tracks.
Davos hurriedly pulled the letter from his tunic. "See for yourself, Prince."
The letter was brief. His father, Aerys, was sick. Gravely sick! The Small Council was summoning Daeron back to King's Landing immediately, just in case the worst happened.
After reading it, Daeron looked grave for a second before his expression melted into an amused smirk. "He's really pulling out all the stops to trick me into coming back."
They say the good die young, while the wicked live forever. His father hadn't earned the title of the "Mad King" for nothing. Unless someone literally stabbed him with a sword, he wasn't dying anytime soon.
Davos looked helpless. "We thought the same, but the Small Council used His Grace's severe illness as the official reason. We can't just ignore it."
"Any word from Lord Lucerys?" Daeron asked.
Ever since the Triarchy started wrecking the Narrow Sea, Lucerys had been sending him frequent letters before heading back to Driftmark to gather resources, temporarily going off the grid.
Davos shook his head.
"Guess I'll make a trip back," Daeron decided, flicking the letter.
It wasn't because of his father's fake illness, but because of two other points mentioned in the letter. After a lengthy selection process, the Conclave at the Citadel had chosen a candidate for Grand Maester, and he was currently en route. At the same time, the recruitment for the new Kingsguard was almost complete.
"Picking a Grand Maester without asking me first?"
Daeron wasn't having it. Who knew what kind of sketchy old man the Citadel was sending. In his mind, the position of Grand Maester already belonged to his great-uncle, Maester Aemon.
No time like the present. He ordered Davos to gather their men and prepare to return to King's Landing.
...
King's Landing.
Riding Caraxes, Daeron led his retinue through the King's Gate.
The moment the red dragon appeared, the people of King's Landing erupted in cheers.
The Triarchy's actions had somewhat impacted the lives of the common folk. Everyday goods were getting scarce. Things that used to cost one silver stag were suddenly jumping to one stag and ten copper pennies.
The dragon's presence gave the people a much-needed sense of security.
...
The Red Keep.
Ser Gerold came out to greet him, looking excited. "Prince, please come in."
Daeron cut right to the chase. "How is my father?"
"Uh—"
Ser Gerold froze instantly. The honor of a White Knight wouldn't let him lie.
Seeing this, Daeron knew exactly what was up.
"Prince, His Grace is being sincere. He's missed you so much he can't even eat. He's lost a lot of weight," Ser Gerold sighed.
Daeron didn't buy a single word of it. He wasn't missing his son; he was missing the dragons.
"Ser, get out of the way!"
Before Ser Gerold could say another word, a large hand roughly shoved him aside.
Ser Gerold scowled, clearly offended.
Jacaerys, clad in heavy black armor, was leading a squad of Dragon Guards behind the Prince, his attitude aggressive. Seeing the knight's displeased expression, he repeated his demand.
"Ser, get out of the way!"
By now, Daeron was already taking the stairs two at a time.
Helpless, Ser Gerold turned his gaze to the retinue, giving them a scrutinizing look. And what he saw shocked him.
The group was subtly divided into three factions.
The first was led by the two Kingsguard, Ser Barristan and Ser Jon, followed by the smooth-talking Davos. These three were Daeron's earliest followers.
The second faction was the arrogant Jacaerys standing right in front of him. He was Lord Lucerys's nephew and the current commander of the Dragon Guards. By his side was the short-statured Howland Reed.
The last group was "The Blackfish," Brynden, and the Riverlands knights he had brought with him. They were the only cavalry force under Daeron's command. Assuming dragonriders counted as cavalry, that is.
"Jacaerys, do not disrespect Ser Gerold," Barristan stepped up, defusing the imminent conflict.
Ser Gerold wasn't scared, just surprised by the sheer muscle Daeron had amassed. He could see it clearly: every single one of these men had mastered Vitality.
What was even more terrifying was that most of them were armed with special weapons. Even Davos and Howland, who looked like they couldn't fight their way out of a paper bag, had special daggers tucked into their belts. All of them were loot Daeron had farmed from the mines.
"Ser, get out of the way," Jacaerys said for the third time, though slightly more politely. "You protect the King, I protect the Prince. Let's just stay out of each other's lanes."
With that, he led his squad of Dragon Guards up the stairs.
Aside from Alliser, who served as the deputy commander of the City Watch, Jacaerys had the most men under him and the most aggressive style. Anyone who dared disrespect Daeron would immediately face his wrath.
Ser Gerold reluctantly stepped aside. As the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he was undoubtedly a failure. He had basically turned himself into a general without an army.
...
The Throne Room.
Before Daeron could track down his father, his father found him first. Aerys was wearing his crown and fine robes, looking about as sick as a horse.
"Boy, you finally realized you should come back and see your King."
Daeron kept a straight face, glancing at the few remaining lords standing before the Iron Throne. Staunton was recovering from his injuries, and Lucerys was on Driftmark. The Grand Maester position was empty.
An incompetent ruler really dragged the whole court down. They couldn't even scrape together a full Small Council.
Daeron sighed softly. "Father, I'm here. Spit it out."
Aerys had been waiting for those exact words. He roared, "Fine! Give me my dragon back! My black dragon!"
"Sure!" Daeron said softly, an unreadable expression on his face. "As long as you can tame it."
A moment later, a commotion came from outside the doors. A squad of Dragon Guards led a goat into the hall, luring Toothless inside.
"My dragon!"
Aerys was practically vibrating with excitement. He shot up and practically sprinted down from the Iron Throne.
"Skreee?"
Toothless's green, slitted eyes filled with confusion. He had absolutely no memory of this man. He quickly turned his attention back to the goat.
Compared to a month ago, the young dragon had hit another growth spurt. He had gone from the size of a warhorse to over sixteen feet long, starting to show the true majestic bulk of a dragon.
"Easy, Toothless!"
Daeron spoke in High Valyrian, calming the eager hatchling.
Toothless raised his head and locked eyes with Aerys.
Aerys rushed over and demanded, "Boy, how do I tame it? How do I make it obey my commands?"
He—he wanted a dragon so badly it physically hurt!
"It's simple," Daeron said calmly. "Just give it a command and make it obey."
"Are you messing with me?" Aerys flared up immediately.
If he could get the baby dragon to listen, he would be riding it already.
Daeron shot back, "If there was a shortcut to taming dragons, the blood of the Dragonlords would be a joke, wouldn't it?"
Aerys paused. His second son was right!
If he couldn't win the dragon's approval through his own bloodline, then his Targaryen blood was completely useless.
Aerys gritted his teeth. "Fine, then I'll try again."
He refused to believe he couldn't tame a single dragon.
Daeron stepped aside.
"Skreee!"
Toothless was already starving, practically drooling as he stared at the bleating goat.
He wasn't a tiny baby anymore. As they grew, the three dragons' appetites had skyrocketed. Feeding them exclusively special fish was impossible to maintain. While they still got a steady diet of special fish, regular livestock like cows and sheep had become their main filler food.
Occasionally, the three dragons would hunt in Blackwater Bay and the Kingswood to catch their own meals. When they got desperate, they'd even raid the farm's special crops, devouring whatever fruits and veggies they could find. As long as it provided the nutrients they needed to grow, the dragons weren't picky.
Aerys rubbed his hands together and walked up to the young dragon, shooting nervous glances at his son and the Dragon Guards.
"Careful," Daeron warned out of sheer common decency.
Aerys was a bundle of nerves. He looked back at the lords. Tywin, ever the concerned old friend, was standing on the steps of the Iron Throne, keeping a hawk's eye on the dragon's every move.
I am the dragon. I am the King. Aerys hypnotized himself, forcing down his fear until his eyes turned sharp and manic.
"Skreee!"
Toothless, beyond hungry, yanked the chain right out of the Dragon Guard's hand and scrambled toward the goat.
Now's my chance! Aerys looked absolutely deranged as he suddenly screamed, "Dracarys!!"
The command, barked in High Valyrian, startled the dragon right out of its hunting crouch.
"Skreee!"
Toothless instantly snapped. Aiming right at the screaming human, he unleashed a blast of spectral green dragonfire.
Aerys's face drained of color as he shrieked in sheer terror.
"Your Grace!"
At the critical moment, Ser Gerold launched himself through the air, tackling the King out of the way just as the flames washed over where he'd been standing. With a sickening crunch of breaking bone, the two men crashed to the floor.
"Skreee!"
Toothless, his wild instincts taking over, moved to press the attack.
Daeron, who hadn't moved an inch, finally spoke up, barking a command in High Valyrian: "Stand down!"
Toothless froze. His green, slitted eyes darted between the annoying human pinned under the giant knight and the dark expression on his 'father's' face. He decided it was best to chill out.
"Skreee!"
With a quick burst of green flame, the goat was instantly roasted. Toothless scrambled over and started tearing into his meal.
The sound of the dragon ripping and swallowing meat echoed alongside the King's agonizing screams. The lords looked grim; the atmosphere in the room plummeted to absolute zero.
"Guards! Get in here!"
Chelsted was the first to react, yelling for men to put out the fire on Ser Gerold's back.
Fortunately, the dragonfire had only ignited his white cloak without melting through his silver armor, leaving the Lord Commander with only moderate burns on his back.
"Ahhh! It hurts!"
Pinned under the literal brick wall that was Ser Gerold, Aerys felt like he had been run over by a carriage repeatedly. When the guards finally lifted Ser Gerold off him, they saw the King was ghost-pale, his forehead slick with cold sweat.
"I'm here."
Maester Harvy rushed in to examine the King's injuries. The initial diagnosis: he hadn't been burned by the dragon. Instead, Ser Gerold landing on him had snapped three of his ribs and fractured his shin.
"Your Grace! Your Grace, are you alright?"
Chelsted was practically bawling, tears and snot running down his face in a touching display of loyalty.
Aerys was in no condition to care about who was loyal. He was twitching in agony on the stretcher as they hauled him back to his chambers.
And just like that, the circus act was over.
Daeron hadn't moved a muscle, just watching the chaos with cold indifference. Baiting his father into taming the dragon and getting him hurt made him feel a tiny bit guilty.
But then he remembered that his father had three broken ribs and a busted leg, had seen firsthand how vicious the dragon was, and would never dare covet his dragons again. And suddenly...
He felt pretty damn good about it!
Tywin approached with an icy expression. "Prince, His Grace was injured while taming the dragon. We will have to ask you to step in and attend the upcoming Small Council meetings."
"Lead the way." Daeron gestured for him to proceed.
Right in front of the other two lords, the master and student put on a masterclass in teamwork. The King was too injured to rule, so the Prince would act as Regent. Business as usual.
...
The King's bedchamber.
Aerys had his wounds treated, took his painkillers, and ate a hoarded special crop, slowly stabilizing his condition. But the terror the young dragon had struck into his heart was like a jagged scar that refused to heal.
"Damn it! Damn it all!"
Aerys pounded his fist against the bedboard, his bloodshot eyes filling with tears as he choked out helplessly, "My dragon... It's all that ungrateful bastard's fault. He must be colluding with Tywin to murder me."
Thinking about his broken heart brought fresh tears to his eyes. He couldn't even tame a dragon. He wasn't worthy of the blood of the dragon.
Knock, knock, knock! People knocked on the bedroom doors. Some came to check on his injuries, some to report on Ser Gerold's status, and others just to make sure the King hadn't gone completely off the deep end.
Jaime was mixed into the crowd, stopping to stare at the broken, miserable King.
Aerys's sharp eyes immediately locked onto the Lannister boy by the door. He saw Jaime's youthful arrogance and recognized him as Tywin's golden boy.
A wave of vindictive malice swelled in his chest. Aerys's lips twisted into a cruel smile as he let out a demonic whisper: "Boy, do you want glory?"
---