Half a Month Later
Rhaegar stepped off the ship at the Mud Gate—the first time in over a year the Prince of Dragonstone had shown his face in public.
The moment word spread that the crown prince was back, the entire Red Keep exploded with whispers. Every lord and lady had an opinion.
Prince Daeron had already crushed Robert's army, pacified the Stormlands, and been named Warden of the Realm. Most of the realm now saw him as the clear heir to the Iron Throne.
But plenty of old-school lords still backed Rhaegar and the ancient law of first-born sons.
Everyone expected a dragon-on-dragon showdown the second Rhaegar returned.
Instead… nothing happened.
Rhaegar came home quietly, brought ten thousand Dornish spears sailing behind him, and kept his head down.
Daeron didn't even acknowledge his big brother—he was too busy ramming the new Stormlands reforms through, working from dawn till midnight.
The two princes simply ignored each other. The whole palace stayed eerily calm.
Red Keep – Royal Bedchamber
Rhaegar sat on the edge of the bed, cradling one-year-old Rhaenys in his arms. Across the room, Elia stood by the window, silent, staring out at the bay.
He had already written her everything he promised Doran: Rhaenys would remain his named heir unless he and Elia later had a son. That bloodline was locked in.
But now that he was actually home, reality felt heavier than the letter.
"Daeron defeated Robert's host and took the entire Stormlands?"
Rhaegar's indigo eyes darkened. He could feel his claim to the throne starting to crack.
When he learned his little brother had ridden Caraxes into battle again and again, smashing Stormlander armies like they were toys, the weight in his chest grew worse.
A dragon barely three years out of the egg—big enough to carry a rider and dominate a battlefield? That wasn't normal. Not even in the old tales.
"The red comet… the rising tide of magic," he whispered.
Rhaegar had spent his life studying prophecy and the occult. He understood what was happening.
And right then, he wanted a dragon more than air.
Not to steal Daeron's.
He wanted to copy his brother's path—find eggs, hatch them, raise them, bond with them.
The Prince That Was Promised still needed time and the right tools to grow into his destiny.
The greatest Targaryen weapon had always been dragons. A Targaryen without one was only half a dragonlord.
If he had a dragon, his children could inherit one—or at least an egg.
"Doran only agreed to keep the marriage because he wants to repeat what the Hightowers and Velaryons did," Rhaegar realized. "Marry into the blood, then wait for dragons to appear in their own line decades from now."
He refused to stay trapped in that narrow prophetic tunnel anymore.
He would win this war first.
Then he would sail east and hunt for dragon eggs himself.
Dragon-Tongue Farm
Daeron walked through the oak grove he had planned months ago, collecting the sticky resin dripping from the leaf collectors.
Fifty-six portions of oak resin.
Add thirty lumber, one copper ingot, and one iron ingot to each… and he had fifty-six perfect little barrels.
"Finally time to start brewing," he grinned.
He pushed open the greenhouse doors. Ancient fruits glowed on every vine. Apple, orange, apricot, pomegranate, and cherry trees sagged under heavy loads.
He harvested everything, stored the extras in the big chests inside the cottage, then headed back to the upgraded house.
The little cottage was gone.
He had spent 1,000 gold and 450 lumber to upgrade it to a Level 2 cabin—now a full two-story farmhouse with a kitchen and bedroom. The outside looked brand-new.
To the left stood a brand-new stable. His white stag lay inside on fresh hay from the silo, lazily munching every few minutes.
Stable Requirements: 10,000 gold, 100 hardwood, 5 iron ingots.
"Money's for spending," Daeron shrugged.
He stepped into the large separate brewing hall he had built—150 gold for the base cabin upgrade, then another 20,000 gold, 550 lumber, and 300 stone for the full expansion. Inside stood row after row of small barrels, ready and waiting.
He dropped the ancient fruits into the first barrels. They immediately started pulsing, swelling and shrinking as fermentation began.
"Done!" He dusted his hands, grabbed what he needed, and headed back to King's Landing.
Red Keep
Daeron gathered his inner circle and got straight to business.
The three new offices had been assigned:
- Master of the Kingswood: Ser Barristan Selmy
- Warden of the Coppergate Pass: Lord Manly Stokeworth
- High Warden of the Kingsroad: Davos Seaworth
Barristan's second-in-command, Ser Arys, had pulled five hundred men from the City Watch to form the first company of the Kingswood Guard.
Their duties: protect the Red Keep, stable the royal horses, patrol the Crownlands, and keep the royal forest safe.
Davos and Lord Manly were a package deal—Davos oversaw the entire Kingsroad and Coppergate customs, while Manly handled the local garrison and road wardens.
Blackfish Brynden and a dozen Riverlands knights had already become the first official road wardens.
It wasn't exactly fair. It was pure nepotism.
But these three posts were too important—Daeron could only trust his own people.
Take the Master of the Kingswood, for example.
Barristan was already a Kingsguard. Giving him the new title quietly stripped Ser Gerold Hightower of control over the Red Keep's patrols and folded three hundred royal guards into Daeron's personal force.
All the royal horses were now "confiscated" for the Kingswood Guard—some kept for daily use, the rest moved to Daeron's fief for careful breeding.
Cavalry won wars. Controlling every warhorse in the capital was power.
In plain terms: if Daeron ever wanted a coup, he now owned the palace guards.
"Prince," Barristan said, looking uncomfortable, "I have enough men to guard the Red Keep and stable the horses, but patrolling the entire Crownlands and securing the Kingswood… we're nowhere near enough."
Daeron waved it off. "That's why the post has multiple duties for now. Once the Kingswood Guard grows, we'll split the roles properly."
Barristan relaxed a fraction.
Daeron understood the man's unease. Barristan had gone from honorable Kingsguard to suddenly holding terrifying power. Ser Gerold was already watching him like a hawk.
Money was the real bottleneck. Aerys was stingy as hell; the treasury couldn't fund a full army overnight. So for now the Kingswood Guard had to wear multiple hats.
The Blackwater fief and the Dragon Guard were already Daeron's. Combine them with the new Kingswood force and he effectively controlled King's Landing and most of the Crownlands.
"Prince, we've hit a wall on our end," Davos said, exchanging a look with Lord Manly.
The Coppergate garrison and road wardens were supposed to be filled locally, but the Stormlords and smallfolk hated the Reach army. Every step was sabotage and refusal.
Without local troops, the entire reform would collapse.
"Ah," Daeron said, rubbing his chin.
The core problem was obvious: he had no standing army of his own, so he was forced to use Reachmen to enforce his new system. The Stormlanders despised them, creating a perfect deadlock.
"What about Lords Cafferen, Fell, and Grandison?" he asked.
Davos hesitated. "They're still in King's Landing, but their soldiers were sent home after the fighting ended."
Daeron nodded. In the last two weeks he had spent every waking hour cleaning house in the Stormlands—pardoning some lords, executing the die-hards, exiling families across the Narrow Sea, or sending others to the Wall. He had already reshaped the region from top to bottom.
But he still hadn't rewarded the loyalists.
He thought for a moment, then smiled.
"Davos, go bring Lords Cafferen, Fell, and Grandison. Tell them I want to repay their support."
He paused, then added with a wolfish grin:
"And make sure you summon them in my name—as the acting Lord of Storm's End."
To rule the Stormlands, he had to stand on Stormlander ground.
"Yes, Prince."
Davos left at once.
Daeron turned to Barristan—himself a Stormlander by birth—and started going through which lords could be bought and which could be broken.
Power was simple: crush some, reward others.
The crushing part was done. He had already shown the iron fist.
Now it was time to open the other hand and show the Stormlords that loyalty would be rewarded.
Only then would they follow him willingly.
And once they did… the Stormlands would become his true power base—political, military, and completely his own.