"I'm going North to bring back Aemon Targaryen."
Daeron made his announcement at Small Council meeting.
Tywin frowned, asking, "Maester Aemon is ancient. What good will bringing him back do?"
"I'm going to make him Grand Maester," Daeron stated flatly. "He will serve House Targaryen."
It was a notification, not a discussion.
Given current situation, Rhaegar and Lyanna were bound to elope, triggering War of Usurper.
Daeron wasn't afraid of war.
Rebel army defeated Royalists mainly because Rhaegar got killed by Robert in single combat, causing army to collapse. If anyone else stepped into that role, Targaryen dynasty wouldn't fall.
Besides, he had three dragons.
Once war broke out, continent's rules would be shattered, forcing a complete reshuffle.
Daeron wanted to fight this war, and he intended to win it. He would use victory to legally become Crown Prince.
To do that, he needed political backing.
Maester Aemon, with his massive seniority, was a perfect candidate.
Daeron also wanted to take opportunity to find lost ancestral sword, Dark Sister.
Small Council fell silent for a long moment.
Chelsted and Varys exchanged looks but stayed quiet, knowing they lacked weight to object.
Tywin chewed it over before finally conceding. "Very well. Maester Aemon has dedicated half his life to Night's Watch. It's time he returned to King's Landing to enjoy his twilight years."
What threat could an eighty-something-year-old man pose anyway?
Let him do what he wants.
Three days later.
Mud Gate, Harbor.
Rogue Prince led two large ships out toward Gullet.
Tywin stood on city walls, watching ships leave.
Skreee—!
A long, piercing shriek tore through sky. A violent gust of wind swept overhead, forcing everyone to duck.
With its rider mounted, Caraxes slithered through air like a snake, catching up to departing fleet to act as escort.
Tywin turned his head, looking toward towering cliffs along coast.
Tessarion and Toothless crawled to edge and dove off together, spreading their massive wings to follow their older brother and 'father'.
"One man, three dragons. What a sight."
A sharp glint flashed in Tywin's eyes, solidifying his resolve to secure a royal marriage.
Even if Daeron was off table, Jaehaerys or Viserys would do.
As long as Targaryens had dragons, there would always be an opening to exploit.
Meanwhile, Eyrie was hosting a secret meeting between uncle and nephew.
"Uncle, marrying into Royal Family has no downsides," Elbert urged again.
Lord Jon Arryn sat behind his heavy desk, slowly savoring a glass of rich red wine.
Lord Arryn was getting up there in years. He had kind, proper features and a slightly plump build, looking every bit gentle old man.
But in front of him, Elbert felt like a child.
"I know what you're getting at, Elbert."
Lord Arryn set down his goblet, gently dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief. He spoke with a lecturing tone. "You talk about a royal marriage, but those two princes are basically toddlers. It'll be at least a decade before they come of age."
"Can House Arryn afford to wait ten years?"
"Mad King has Seven Kingdoms on edge," Elbert argued. "But Prince Daeron is young, capable, and a Dragonrider. Backing him is a sure bet."
"But he isn't going to marry a daughter of House Arryn."
Lord Arryn hit nail on head.
He added silently that House Arryn didn't even have a girl of right age anyway.
Among Great Houses, House Arryn of Eyrie was unique, famous for its notoriously thin bloodline.
Historically, whenever a major crisis hit, they were always caught in an awkward position with only widows and orphans left in charge.
Lord Arryn was over sixty and childless, forced to prop up his nephew Elbert as heir.
Elbert was past forty and also had no kids.
Even if they locked down a Targaryen marriage, they'd have to scrape up a girl from a distant branch family.
Elbert was speechless.
His uncle left one harsh truth unspoken: alliances were built on equal footing.
House Targaryen was experiencing a massive resurgence.
If House Arryn jumped into a betrothal now, they likely wouldn't be able to enforce it ten years down line.
"Don't look so down," Lord Arryn continued. "We might not get a royal marriage, but I fostered Robert and Ned. They are honorable men. They'll be House Arryn's strongest allies in future."
"Yes, Uncle."
Elbert forced a smile.
Few realized that in STAB alliance—Eagle, Stag, Wolf, and Fish—Eagle and Wolf were actually pulling strings.
His uncle, Jon Arryn, was brains of entire operation.
Asking him to ditch four-region alliance for a royal marriage was like asking him to chop off his own arm.
Lord Arryn, ever cautious and calculating, pulled out paper and quill. "Stories of Blacks and Crown Prince's faction are spreading out there, making Seven Kingdoms restless."
"I'm writing to Lord Rickard. I'll tell him to get his kids married off ASAP to solidify foundation of our alliance."
"If we really are looking at another Dance of Dragons or Blackfyre Rebellion, we need a secure foothold to survive chaos."
"Brilliant, Uncle."
A short while later, a raven flew out of Eyrie, heading straight for Winterfell in North.
But Lord Arryn's calculations were already obsolete.
Dragonstone.
In a single day, Rhaegar received a letter via raven and an anonymous gift.
Letter was from Lyanna Stark.
Gift was a Valyrian steel dagger.
Doubt flashed in Rhaegar's eyes. He held Valyrian steel dagger over a fire until glowing red blade revealed rows of tiny script.
It was written in High Valyrian. Meaning: Song of Ice and Fire.
"Father's dagger?"
Rhaegar recognized it.
When he was a boy, his grandfather, Jaehaerys II, had taken him into his chambers and personally told him secret carved into this blade.
But why was it here on Dragonstone? Who stole it from his father?
Rhaegar couldn't figure it out, so he focused his attention on dagger itself.
It held Song of Ice and Fire passed down by Conqueror, warning future generations to stay vigilant and unite all possible strength against an unknown darkness and cold.
Rhaegar became mesmerized, muttering to himself, "Dragon has three heads. Prince that was promised will be born from my line."
His wife Elia had given him a daughter.
After Tourney at Harrenhal, she stayed in King's Landing for a short visit and never returned to Dragonstone.
Rhaegar's hopes of having more children with her were shattered.
However, he saw hope in Lyanna.
She was brave, beautiful, and wild—like a direwolf running through snow.
Rhaegar let his imagination run wild.
Targaryen was fire. Stark was ice.
Prophesied prince born of ice and fire could be perfectly conceived by him and Lyanna.
Once they had an idea, Targaryens were people of action.
Rhaegar tucked Valyrian steel dagger away safely, summoned Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell, and rest of his crew, and rode hard for Riverlands.
Day two at sea.
Daeron flew Caraxes midway across Narrow Sea, entering Crab Bay.
"Gulltown is just ahead."
Before reaching White Harbor in deep North, Gulltown was essentially last major open port.
Daeron surveyed area, his mind drifting elsewhere.
In game of thrones, entire story originated from that Valyrian steel dagger.
And he was one who had secretly forwarded that dagger to Rhaegar.
His father didn't need damn thing.
Rhaegar was superstitious about prophecy; he'd put it to use.
Better to steer flood than try to dam it!
If Daeron couldn't stop False Spring, he might as well hit fast-forward on it.
Eagle, Stag, Wolf, and Fish were tied together, presenting a united front.
Once war kicked off, he would rip them out by roots.
Just as he was thinking this, a sinister laugh echoed from below, followed by sounds of slaughter.
Daeron focused his gaze.
A merchant ship flying flag of a burning yellow tower had been intercepted by pirates. Sailors fought back desperately but were being butchered without a prayer.
"Hahaha! Kill all these noble lapdogs!"
A young swordsman dressed like a knight let out a maniacal laugh, his mouth splitting almost to his ears, making his face look utterly demonic.
His swordplay was vicious. Everywhere he walked, nearby sailors lost their heads.
Whenever someone tried to strike back, they found their swings effortlessly dodged, no matter angle.
A flash of emerald green lit up Smiling Knight's eyes. He channeled his specially enhanced Vitality into his feet, weaving across deck like a viper, brutally hacking down terrified sailors.
He wanted revenge!
Kingsguard had slaughtered his crew, forcing him to run like a beaten dog until he had no choice but to join Triarchy.
Since he wasn't dead, he was going to make sure Seven Kingdoms never knew peace.
He would make name 'Smiling Knight' famous across realm, a boogeyman to silence crying children.
"Hahaha!"
Smiling Knight laughed wildly.
Suddenly, a streak of blazing red tore through sky. An inescapable shadow fell over ship.
Before he could react, a command in incomprehensible High Valyrian echoed from above.
"Dracarys!!"
Caraxes' molten-gold eyes gleamed with malice. His serpent-like body circled above ship, unleashing a continuous torrent of dragonfire.
"What hell!?"
Smiling Knight panicked. Out of corner of his eye, he saw roaring flames engulfing his pirates, burning them alive as they screamed.
Survival instinct kicked in. He flooded his legs with his special Vitality, preparing to launch himself into ocean.
Boom—
A blast of diamond-blue dragonfire swept past, igniting man and his armor. He screamed as he plummeted into water. Two and a half seconds later, he went completely still.
Tessarion, agile and sleek, did a lap around ship.
"Yep, that's all of them."
Daeron looked down from high above, confirming no pirates survived.
Just a bunch of pirates. Kill them all and be done with it.
He had zero idea that his dragonfire's AoE damage had just one-shot a mini-boss.
Daeron saved surviving sailors, waited for Rogue Prince to catch up, and shipped them back to Gulltown.
That same day, he was treated to a massive feast by Lord Grafton.
Inside Grafton Estate.
Lord Gerold Grafton was in his twenties, short but built like a brick house, sporting a highly noticeable mop of blonde hair.
He enthusiastically shook Daeron's hand, thanking him endlessly. "Thank you for riding your dragon and burning Smiling Knight to a crisp! Gulltown will never forget this favor."
Daeron paused, realizing that pirate crew actually had remnants of Kingswood Brotherhood.
Lord Grafton had all loot recovered from pirate ship sent over to Rogue Prince. Hearing Prince was heading North, he also opened his own vault to heavily fund expedition.
His whole vibe perfectly demonstrated what it meant to be filthy rich.
Daeron hit it off with him immediately.
Not just because of money, but because during War of Usurper, Lord Grafton locked gates of Gulltown, directly defying his liege lord Jon Arryn and Robert's rebel army.
He was a certified, hardcore loyalist to Crown.