Daeron summoned Lords Cafferen, Fell, and Grandison. After warm greetings, he rewarded them according to their service.
Lord Cafferen had done the most, so Daeron granted him huge tracts of land west of the Blueburn River—almost all the way to Greenvale. He also gave him a one-year license to harvest within a hundred miles of Deerfield in the Kingswood: hunting, logging, gathering herbs, whatever they wanted—but no cutting trees older than sixty years or any saplings.
The other two houses got similar treatment.
Lord Fell received only a small addition to Fallwood but was granted three years of Kingswood harvesting rights.
Lord Grandison's Stonehelm sat right on the Dornish Marches, so no new land. Instead, Daeron canceled three years of taxes on the castle and sent 10,000 gold dragons worth of goods straight from the royal treasury.
The three lords nearly wept with gratitude and swore they would support Daeron and the Iron Throne with their lives.
They hadn't sent many troops and were never rich houses—these rewards were more than generous.
Daeron personally helped them up and said kindly, "You ignored your liege lord's stupid orders and chose to fight for House Targaryen. House Targaryen will never forget loyal men like you."
"Obeying the Iron Throne is our duty," burly Lord Fell said smoothly.
Daeron smiled. "Most Stormlords rebelled. In the end, the realm will have to rely on men like you three."
The lords flushed red, bodies shaking with pride.
After seeing them off, Daeron sent ravens to Blackhaven and Nightsong.
Both houses had answered the Iron Throne's call but couldn't join the fighting because of where they sat. He waived a full year of taxes for Nightsong and sent twenty wagonloads of furs, salted meat, and strongwine to Blackhaven—practical, valuable goods the hardscrabble Dornish Marches always needed.
The rewards were announced. The five loyal houses would spread the word themselves.
Getting rewarded by the Iron Throne was an honor.
Daeron also let it be known that, acting as Lord of Storm's End, he would personally visit every Stormlord to see the true state of the lands.
To outsiders it might look like showing off. It wasn't.
Westeros respected strength. Beat your enemies fairly, then show them a generous heart—that was what a true king did.
Besides, the Stormlords respected and feared Daeron. Their real hatred was aimed at the Reach army.
That was the beauty of regional grudges.
The Westerlands were strong, but their two main roads out were blocked by House Tully in the Riverlands and House Rowan in the Reach. Those three regions were always at each other's throats.
Dorne had never bent the knee and constantly raided across the Marches into both the Reach and the Stormlands.
The Reach and Stormlands shared a border and had always competed.
The three regions kept each other in check, while Dorne earned the hatred of both.
That was why Mace Tyrell leading the Reach host north and stealing Randyll Tarly's credit at Summerhall had turned every Stormlord against the roses. Mace was still hiding in King's Landing, terrified of getting a knife in the dark.
"Smash some, reward some, bribe the rest," Daeron thought.
Next Day
Fifth Year, Spring, Day 2 – Tuesday, Clear Skies, 6:00 a.m.
Daeron woke up in the farmhouse, stretched, and realized something important.
His body had finally hit puberty.
At thirteen and a half, thanks to the Life Seed, he was developing fast.
Most noble boys got dragged to brothels by older brothers or cousins at twelve for their first lessons.
Daeron clicked his tongue. "Rhaegar really was a shit big brother. Zero responsibility."
He checked the TV for the morning show, cooked fried eggs and a fish roll on the stove, paired it with a big bottle of Iridium Star milk. Breakfast sorted.
Then he headed back to King's Landing.
Red Keep
The moment Daeron stepped into Maegor's Holdfast he ran straight into Rhaegar walking the other way.
The brothers locked eyes.
Daeron kept it casual. "Morning, brother."
"Morning," Rhaegar replied with a small nod.
They passed each other without another word.
Daeron paused for a second, watching his brother's back disappear.
Gotta give them credit—they had an unspoken agreement. Both were quietly building power instead of fighting while their father was still alive.
Because it was pointless.
Aerys was in his prime. In the old Targaryen family, a king like him could easily outlive both sons.
Daeron muttered under his breath, "I really hope Robert smashes your skull at the Trident."
The thought was dark, but realistic.
Looking at Rhaegar now, he clearly didn't have the balls Duncan the Small had—giving up the throne for love and handing it to his brother.
So it would come down to the old Targaryen tradition of "the strongest brother wins."
"Whatever. Thinking about it just makes me more Targaryen."
Daeron kept walking and immediately noticed the court felt… off.
Normally, with both princes in the Red Keep, the place should be split into two factions sniping at each other.
Instead it was lively but weirdly harmonious.
"Someone's pulling strings," Daeron thought.
He ran through recent events.
Aerys had been unusually quiet. Tywin and Olenna were both keeping low profiles.
"Those three old bastards… are they setting me up?"
He was almost certain.
All three had been milking him for benefits. Now that he was breaking free and building his own power base, they wouldn't let him go without a fight.
Meanwhile, in the Tower of the Hand
Tywin and Olenna sat across from each other, sipping red wine like civilized enemies.
"You came all the way up those stairs for a reason," Tywin said, still stinging from her jab at the King's Gate.
"Of course. Otherwise why would I bother?" Olenna snapped, then got straight to it. "The Riverlands are a disaster. The king is sitting on the orders and refusing to let the Reach army reinforce. That was your idea, wasn't it?"
Tywin didn't bother denying it. "Daeron's already covered in glory. If we send him north now and he wins again, his power will be unstoppable."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Olenna asked, though she already knew the answer.
Tywin just looked at her. The message was clear: neither of them wanted a Targaryen with dragons rising too fast.
Olenna's face tightened. "The king feels the same?"
Tywin gave a thin, contemptuous smile. "Aerys is jealous of his own eldest son. You think he's not twice as jealous of the boy who actually wins battles?"
"Oh, what a wonderful mad king," Olenna muttered, pouring herself another cup. She was sick of these selfish power games.
The Lannisters sat on a mountain of gold—why were they so stingy when it came to actual power?
A strong Iron Throne was good for everyone. Look at the Free Cities slaughtering each other over the Stepstones.
Maybe the Reach really was richer and more open-minded because its lands were fertile.
Olenna sighed. "Aerys won't step down and he's paranoid about both sons. We can't change that, so we might as well work with it."
Olenna thought about Daeron's new Stormlands system and finally nodded. "Daeron will take the throne eventually, but until then we still need to prove our value. We can't let him cut us loose."
Tywin was more patient—he still hoped for the marriage. "War isn't a game. The Iron Throne needs to end this quickly. House Tyrell invested heavily; we won't let you waste it."
"Of course," Tywin said, reaching to refill her cup.
Olenna covered it with her hand and lifted her chin, too proud to drink with him.
Stormlands – Haystack Hall
Haystack Hall was the seat of House Errol, east of the Kingsroad and north of Storm's End.
Because it sat on the same latitude as Coppergate, it was Daeron's first stop.
From the air the castle looked practical, surrounded by working farms and sheep pastures.
Daeron circled once on Caraxes and landed in the outer yard.
The stone flags groaned. Dust rose. Piles of hay in the corners fluttered.
Caraxes sniffed the air, smelling sheep.
"A sheep-farming noble house?" Daeron guessed instantly.
Not every lord was as rich as the Whents of Harrenhal. Stormlands soil was average, the weather fickle, and Shipbreaker Bay brought constant storms. Most houses scraped by; only a few lived comfortably.
The red dragon announced a royal guest. The gates opened slowly after the household clearly needed a moment to steady their nerves.
"Prince, House Errol offers sincere greetings and welcomes you," a young golden-haired lady said, gliding forward. A two- or three-year-old boy clung to her white skirts.
Daeron blinked. "Where is Lord Errol?"
The lady smiled gently. "You may call me Lady Sylla Errol."
She was a widow—born an Errol, married her cousin the late lord. Like Lady Darry or Lady Lannister, she now ran the house alone and raised her fatherless son.
"Life must be hard for you," Daeron said, remembering the "haystack" sigil he'd seen among the rebel dead. They'd surrendered quickly and been pardoned.
"I'm luckier than the farm wives who work for me," Lady Sylla answered with quiet pride.
A woman managing an entire house alone—yes, she had every right to be proud.
"You're very strong," Daeron said, and handed her a Gold Star daffodil as a gift.
"Thank you. You are as generous as the stories say."
Lady Sylla's smile brightened. She invited him inside.
Daeron ate the bread and salt.
"Dragon!" the little boy stared wide-eyed at Caraxes, clearly dying to run over and touch it.
Lady Sylla scooped him up. "Sebastian, manners."
"Dragon!!"
She couldn't scold the wonder out of a child. Her own eyes held a flicker of awe when she glanced at the red beast.
"Caraxes is dangerous. Best not to bother him," Daeron warned gently.
Lady Sylla hugged her son tighter and lowered her head. "Of course, Prince."
"Of course," Daeron added with a grin, "he listens to me perfectly. When your boy becomes a proper man, I'll take him flying."
"Oh!" the child cheered.
Lady Sylla relaxed, her elegant face softening. She saw the mad side of the Targaryens… but also the other side.
They talked over lunch. Lady Sylla had limited experience, but when Daeron explained the new Kingsroad Warden and Coppergate customs offices, she immediately pledged support. She would obey the acting Lord of Storm's End and send ten household knights to serve as road wardens.
The road wardens were the local officers under the High Warden of the Kingsroad. The new system would eventually recruit Stormlanders to form a standing force independent of the noble levies.
Lords who backed Daeron could send men. Lords who resisted… well, Caraxes was waiting.
Lady Sylla Errol had just become the first major Stormlander noble to openly embrace the new order.
Daeron left Haystack Hall smiling.
One by one, he would win them all.
The Stormlands were already his.