Olenna Tyrell was trapped.
She couldn't say yes—she'd be lying through her teeth, and Varys was standing right there with a head full of every secret she'd ever whispered. She couldn't say no either. Not if she wanted to walk out of the Red Keep alive.
"Of course House Tyrell will always support the Crown," she said smoothly, swallowing her rage. Without waiting for permission she dragged the nearest chair out and sat down hard.
She was tired of standing like some stable boy.
Olenna settled in, shifted her hips until she was comfortable, and put on her Queen of Thorns face. "But Prince, what good is House Tyrell's support alone? The Seven Kingdoms still have plenty of hard-headed lords. Some back Prince Rhaegar, some cling to King Aerys. If you mean to step over both your father and brother to take the throne, have you considered what that will do to the realm?"
She laid out every risk, every consequence, trying to make him see reason.
Daeron didn't blink. "Lady Olenna," he said mildly, "did I invite you to sit?"
Olenna froze.
"Still haven't learned your place," he added, almost regretful. He gave a small wave toward the door.
Barristan and Ser Jon didn't hesitate. Their swords flashed. The twin guards—Eric and Arryk—died where they stood, guts spilling across the floor before they could even draw.
Olenna closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to watch the men she had raised and paid for bleed out. Her hands clenched so hard her knuckles went white.
Mace stumbled backward into Lord Corlton, nearly falling.
Daeron's voice stayed calm. "Do I look worried about consequences, my lady?"
Olenna drew a slow breath. "You win. House Tyrell cannot afford to fight you."
She sat back down—slowly, deliberately—because standing up now would mean her house was walking away from the Crown.
"Good," Daeron said, setting the blood-red orb aside. "Now let's talk about the Great Council."
Olenna's eyes were sharp again. "I've lived a long time, Prince. Longer than most clever men. Do you know why?"
Daeron inclined his head, polite.
"Because I never waste time arguing with sheep. And you, my prince, are a dragon." She leaned forward. "Dragons don't negotiate with sheep."
Daeron smiled faintly. "So you finally understand."
Olenna gave a small, tired nod. "House Tyrell supports the Great Council. Fully."
"Excellent." Daeron's tone turned pleasant. "You may return to Highgarden whenever you like. But Lord Mace will remain as Master of Works. Janna will stay in King's Landing as Princess Shaena's companion. And your grandson Willas—eleven now, perfect age—will serve as my squire and train with the City Watch."
Olenna's face went tight, but she didn't argue. She had already paid for the chair with two dead guards. She wasn't about to pay more.
Daeron dismissed them. The Tyrells left in silence.
---
Evening, Hand's Tower.
Daeron climbed the stairs and knocked.
"Come," Tywin called, as if he had been expecting him.
Jaime shut the door behind Daeron and stood guard outside.
Daeron dropped into the chair across from the Hand. "You knew Olenna was plotting something."
Tywin set his quill down. "And your Master of Whisperers didn't tell you?"
Daeron ignored the jab. "I'm not here to threaten you, Lord Tywin. I want to talk."
"Talk?" Tywin's eyes narrowed. "Are you finally going to marry Cersei?"
"Not quite." Daeron leaned back, relaxed. "It's about you, actually. You've been a widower for more than ten years. I understand you loved Joanna, but you're still a young man. Have you ever considered taking another wife? Someone to warm your bed and run the Rock when you're gone?"
Tywin's face went stony. "Watch your tongue, boy. I will not discuss Joanna with you."
Daeron kept his voice light. "I'm only asking because if you have no plans to remarry, that means Casterly Rock will eventually pass to Tyrion, doesn't it? He's been working under me. I can give him more responsibility, more training—"
"Enough!" Tywin slammed his fist on the desk. "I would rather die than leave the Rock to that little monster."
Daeron waited a beat, then asked softly, "Then who will you leave it to?"
Tywin said nothing.
Daeron offered the bait. "If you have no heir you trust, I could release Jaime from the Kingsguard. Let him go home and take his rightful place."
Tywin stared at him for a long moment, reading the offer and the trap behind it.
"He made his choice," Tywin said at last, voice cold. "The Kingsguard does not leave. He stays."
Daeron inclined his head, satisfied. He had his answer.
The lion was still invested.
For now.