read lots story at patreon
always update and finish
Game of Thrones: House of Black Dragon
Game of Thrones: BLOODTHIRSTY BASTARD
Game of Thrones: Dragon Knight of Harrenhal
Game of Thrones: Archer's Ordinary Life
CaveLeather only for 9$
Daeron moved with ruthless speed.
The moment the Great Council at Harrenhal ended, he gathered most of the lords of the Seven Kingdoms and marched straight back to King's Landing to hold the inheritance ceremony.
Mid-January for the Great Council.
January 20th — departure.
End of January — the ceremony.
In the blink of an eye, it was the first day of February, 284 AC.
Everything was settled. Daeron was now the official heir to the Iron Throne, holding the titles of Prince of Dragonstone, Warden of the Realm, and Regent Prince. The grand ceremony had been announced across all Seven Kingdoms, making the change of heir official and undeniable.
---
Dragonstone.
At the foot of the towering Dragonmont, three hundred Dragon Guards patrolled in shifts, guarding the mountain.
Accompanied by Barristan and Ser Jon Darry, Daeron walked into the volcanic tunnels.
"Hiss-graa!"
Drogon flapped his wings and launched himself from Daeron's feet, excitedly exploring the hot, smoky caverns.
In just one month, the black hatchling had grown noticeably. Head to tail, he was now over three feet long — bigger than a normal hunting dog when lying flat. His long, slender neck and tail still made up half his length, so he didn't look particularly sturdy yet.
"Quiet, Drogon."
Daeron didn't stop him. He let the young dragon explore the suitable environment, as long as he didn't cause trouble.
Drogon's temper was even fiercer than Toothless's wild-dragon bloodline. Fortunately, he was still obedient enough to follow simple commands.
"Hiss-graa!"
Drogon let out a cry and landed on a nearby rock wall. His front claws dug into the cracks as he climbed like a lizard, sniffing the air intensely.
Daeron rubbed his forehead.
To be fair, once Drogon grew up he would be magnificent and terrifying — a true heir to Balerion the Black Dread, possibly descended from the great dragon "Dreamfyre" of the Dance era.
His build was powerful and stocky, with explosive strength beneath his jet-black scales. Unlike Caraxes, Tessarion, and Toothless, Drogon had red dorsal fins running along his neck and tail. Those fins and his wing membranes would help him fly more steadily in the future, reducing wind resistance and improving maneuverability.
Right now, though, he was in that awkward teenage phase. The red fins looked a little silly, making him oddly cute for a dragon.
"Your Grace, he must have smelled others of his kind," Barristan observed.
The first thing Daeron had done after becoming Prince of Dragonstone was pull half the Dragon Guards from the Dragonpit in King's Landing and station them here to protect the mountain.
After the ceremony, he had brought all four dragons to Dragonstone and encouraged them to make nests inside the volcanic tunnels.
For dragons, the best environment was a hot, volcanic area.
Unknowingly, Daeron reached the deep underground cavern where he had once slain the malformed dragon.
The two white knights stayed outside — the heat was too much for them.
"Hiss-graa!"
Drogon flew in first. He sniffed the air, then his red vertical pupils locked onto a piece of red fungal growth.
He immediately pounced on it and swallowed the lava mushroom whole.
"Lava mushrooms?"
Daeron looked around. The cavern had returned to its original state since his last visit. The ground was covered in rubble mixed with scattered volcanic crystal ore. In some dark corners, he could still see traces of where lava mushrooms had grown — though most had been eaten, leaving only scraps.
Drogon was literally eating garbage.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Suddenly, a section of cracked lava floor trembled. From the shadows emerged a massive crimson dragon. Caraxes shook the stone dust from his long body and slowly crawled toward them.
His molten-gold eyes were cold with the irritation of being woken from a good sleep. With one lazy swipe of his tail, he sent the bad-tempered black hatchling flying, then approached his rider.
"You've been eating well."
Daeron smiled as Caraxes bumped his head against his chest. He reached up and rubbed the red dragon's neck scales.
He had come to Dragonstone today to check on things.
He hadn't expected the mountain to still be producing volcanic crystals and lava mushrooms.
Volcanic crystals were rich in fire magic — perfect for decorating a dragon's nest.
Lava mushrooms were also full of fire magic and made excellent edible forage. Most importantly, dragons loved them.
Caraxes had chosen this underground cavern wisely.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes gave him a hard nudge, pushing Daeron back a step as he vented his annoyance at being disturbed.
Daeron chuckled and calmed his eldest down.
---
The next day.
Daeron flew Caraxes back to King's Landing and landed at the Dragonpit.
He needed to return to the Red Keep quickly. There was still important business to handle.
When he entered the council chamber, the entire Small Council was already waiting.
Daeron took the king's seat and got straight to the point.
"The news about the merger of the three kingdoms can be announced now."
"Are we not going to wait a little longer?" Lord Corlton asked cautiously.
Daeron shook his head. "No need. The lords of the Crownlands, Reach, and Stormlands have all agreed. The plan can proceed smoothly. There won't be any major obstacles."
The ministers exchanged glances.
The prince really didn't waste time.
The four-kingdom rebellion had barely ended. The Narrow Sea war had just concluded. First he held the Great Council to settle the succession, then rushed through the inheritance ceremony. Now he was moving to merge three entire kingdoms.
This was the moment when royal prestige and the authority of the Iron Throne were at their peak.
If anyone dared object to the merger, well… too bad.
"The Westerlands will fully cooperate," Tywin said calmly from his seat to the king's left, his green eyes steady.
Lord Mace Tyrell, sitting a little further back, quickly added, "House Tyrell will also give its full support."
With the North and Dorne effectively sidelined, the Vale half-colonized, and the Dornish Marches under royal control, the crown's power was nearly absolute.
As long as the Westerlands and the Reach stayed in line, there would be almost no trouble.
Daeron turned to his great-uncle. "Your position as Prince of the Dragonblood has been confirmed. Once Summerhall is rebuilt, we can begin officially recording Rhaegar's children."
He had promised to name Rhaegar Prince of Summerhall and rebuild the castle. He intended to keep that promise.
Summerhall was too important — both symbolically and geographically — to leave in ruins.
No one had pushed for its reconstruction before because Jaehaerys II's reign had been short and consumed by the Blackfyre rebellions. Aerys had wanted to build a "New King's Landing" on his own princely lands and had completely forgotten about the ruins.
In his later years, Aerys had been too mad to care about anything outside the Red Keep.
Daeron had both the money and the time. He enjoyed grand projects.
Whether Rhaegar ever returned to Westeros or not, spending the gold to rebuild Summerhall would not be a loss.
"I never thought these old bones would end up holding so many titles," Maester Aemon said with a soft laugh, accepting the responsibility.
Even with his decades of experience, he understood how important the position was.
The most important thing for any family wasn't just wealth or power — it was orderly succession.
House Targaryen was already strong and growing stronger. In times like these, clear rules and structure were essential.
Otherwise, history would repeat itself with another Dance of the Dragons or Blackfyre Rebellion.
"No problem, Your Grace," Lord Mace said promptly.
As Master of Works, rebuilding Summerhall naturally fell to him.
Daeron smiled. "Then I'll leave it in your capable hands, Lord Mace."
He then instructed Lord Corlton to slow down the five-year renovation plan for King's Landing for now. They only needed to start gathering the necessary funds and materials.
There might still be trouble before the three kingdoms were fully merged.
It was better to clear the obstacles first, then implement real reforms.
The meeting ended.
As Daeron stepped out of the chamber, he ran into Oberyn Martell.
Oberyn smiled, holding his niece Rhaenys in his arms. "Got a moment to talk privately?"
Daeron nodded. The two walked together toward the throne room.
Once they arrived, Oberyn handed Rhaenys to a maid and got straight to business.
"You're now the new heir to the Iron Throne. House Martell supported you. So tell me — how do you plan to treat Rhaegar?"
He was fishing for benefits on Rhaegar's behalf.
Logically, if Rhaegar hadn't married Lyanna on his own, voluntarily giving up his claim could have earned him some political concessions.
But Rhaegar had gone too far and cut himself off from Westeros completely.
Oberyn studied Daeron's face and aura. The difference from Rhaegar was striking.
"Rhaegar plans to conquer the Stepstones," Oberyn said. "He'll probably call on his old supporters."
This was his opening move.
Daeron understood immediately and replied flatly, "Anyone who wants to go help him fight can. But if a lord wants to go, he must transfer his title to another family member first. If a noble's second son or sworn knight wants to go, they can never set foot in Westeros again."
That was his bottom line.
Anyone who followed Rhaegar had to do exactly what Rhaegar did — abandon everything in Westeros.
Oberyn took the hit without flinching. He recognized Daeron's decisiveness and chuckled. "Targaryens really are Targaryens. Even with your own brother, you're this stingy. No wonder your family has had so many civil wars throughout history."
Daeron's expression didn't change. "House Martell is hardly better. To resist the wrath of dragons, you forced your smallfolk to slaughter sheep, skin them, and poison what few wells you had left. How many Dornishmen starved or died from poison?"
He laid it out plainly.
House Targaryen had made real contributions to Westeros. They had maintained peace and prosperity for generations.
House Martell? Their words were "Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken," and their sigil showed a spear piercing a sun. They loved telling everyone how much hardship Dorne had endured.
But where did that hardship come from? Don't ask.
If not for the generations of marriage alliances between House Targaryen and House Martell — and for Elia's sake — Daeron's first act as king would have been to launch a war against Dorne.
Six kingdoms had already knelt. Was Dorne really that special?
Did they think the Conqueror's military skill was lacking? Or that House Targaryen was too unstable to fight a long war?
"The Young Dragon" Daeron I had already proven that defeating Dorne wasn't that difficult — and he hadn't even needed dragons.
Daeron would simply be harsher. No mercy. No believing Dornish promises.
House Martell wouldn't last long.
"Why is it that every time we meet, your eyes make me uncomfortable?" Oberyn asked, narrowing his eyes. "I get the feeling you're thinking something completely unreasonable."
"You're mistaken."
Daeron denied it immediately.
Oberyn didn't believe him, but he had no proof.
"Rhaegar wants to conquer the Stepstones. That's good for the Iron Throne. Don't you want to get involved?"
Daeron countered, "What capital does Rhaegar even have?"
When Lord Lucerys had cleaned out Dragonstone, he had mentioned that Rhaegar had controlled the royal fleet for years and made some money through sea trade.
But that money could at best hire a sellsword company of under ten thousand men, or buy ten galleys, twenty longships, and a handful of cogs. That wasn't nearly enough to fight a real war.
If the Stepstones turned into a prolonged fight, that money would be gone in an instant — worse than throwing it into the sea.
At least throwing it into the sea would make a splash.
Was House Martell still licking Rhaegar's boots and supporting him despite everything?
Oberyn gave a small, proud smile. "I've already pulled the Second Sons and the Windblown into his camp. I can probably get the Golden Company too. Do you think that's enough capital?"
"The Golden Company?"
Daeron didn't believe it for a second.
The Golden Company had always been Blackfyre loyalists. They might serve anyone — except House Targaryen.
Well… maybe not.
In the original timeline, Illyrio had funded them, and the Golden Company had shown interest in joining Daenerys in Slaver's Bay. But after getting fed up with Illyrio's constant changes of plan, they had instead backed the (possibly fake) Aegon and invaded the Stormlands, even capturing Storm's End for a time.
Rhaegar cutting himself off from Westeros… it wasn't impossible that the Golden Company would support him.
"But the chances are extremely low," Daeron thought.
With Illyrio dead, Varys no longer had any real control over the Golden Company. The sellswords were now a wild horse running free, ready to make their own mark on history.
They were far more likely to carve out their own glory than to bend the knee to a prince who had voluntarily abandoned the Iron Throne.
And that was exactly what had happened.
Oberyn had successfully recruited the Second Sons and the Windblown, but every attempt to contact the Golden Company had failed. The entire company had gone strangely quiet, as if they had vanished from Essos.
"The Golden Company is a powerful sellsword company," Oberyn lied smoothly. "Their captain, Myles Toyne, respects Rhaegar's reputation and is considering joining him."
He continued, "The Stepstones have gem veins. Surely the Iron Throne doesn't want to miss out on a share?"
Of course Daeron wanted them.
His next major plan was to take the Stepstones.
But he had no intention of working with Rhaegar. And he had zero interest in the Golden Company.
Unless they were willing to hand over their ancestral sword "Blackfyre." Then maybe they could talk.
Daeron thought for a moment, then said, "I'll provide Rhaegar with two hundred thousand gold dragons as startup capital."
"Additionally, anyone in Westeros who wants to follow him is free to go — as long as they follow the rules I just laid out."
"Consider this, along with the rebuilding of Summerhall, my compensation to him."
Oberyn's smile faded. "So the Iron Throne doesn't want any of the gem veins in the Stepstones?"
He had understood.
Daeron was giving the money for free because he didn't want to be tied to them.
Daeron's gaze was calm. "If I want them, I'll gather the armies of the Seven Kingdoms and take them myself."
He was playing the long game.
Rhaegar had voluntarily given up his claim. Daeron couldn't be stingy with compensation.
Since Rhaegar wanted to attack the Stepstones, Daeron would give him some startup funds.
On the surface, everyone would save face, and the lords of the Seven Kingdoms would see it.
As for whether Rhaegar would actually succeed — and what his real goal was after taking the Stepstones?
Daeron guessed it was either Lys or one of the three Triarchy cities.
At worst, he would carve out his own territory in the disputed lands and found a new city-state.
Otherwise, there was no point in all this effort.
Daeron supported the idea.
After all, the stronger House Targaryen became, the better.
If Rhaegar actually managed to conquer one of the Free Cities, Daeron would immediately mobilize the armies of the Seven Kingdoms and take another one.
The eastern conquest would begin in earnest.