During this critical period of the three-kingdom merger, undercurrents were surging across Westeros.
Daeron sent Varys away and told him to keep gathering intelligence.
Varys felt completely helpless but had no choice.
He could only pray the prince would stop staring at him and that none of this would splash onto him.
Even the best Master of Whisperers could feel insecure sometimes.
Daeron: "Dream on."
If you weren't such a useful tool, I'd have gotten rid of you already.
After Varys left, Daeron welcomed new guests.
Lady Olenna and Earl Leyton Hightower.
One the Queen of Thorns from Highgarden, the other the Voice of the South from Oldtown.
Earl Leyton rarely showed his face, but his status was transcendent—a solid first-tier great lord, second only to the top dogs.
Reach lords big and small were always happy to give him face.
"Prince, what can we do for you?"
Lady Olenna walked in leaning on her daughter Janna's arm. She'd deliberately dressed the girl in something low-cut, hoping to spark a little interest.
As long as Daeron stayed unmarried, every noble house in the Seven Kingdoms nursed the same fantasy.
Even married Prince Rhaegar had run off for love. What if the fine Targaryen tradition of brother succeeding brother continued?
"Prince, good afternoon."
Janna had a round face, fair skin, and a full figure. The deep neckline of her light-green gown did its job, pushing up two impressive peaks.
"Good afternoon, my lady."
Daeron greeted her, then got straight to business. "I heard something and need you to confirm whether it's true."
"What did you hear?"
Lady Olenna took the hint and sat down without waiting.
Daeron glanced at Earl Leyton and didn't sugarcoat it. "Our Master of Whisperers tells me some of House Tyrell's vassals got together and started talking about losing their heads."
"Hmm?"
Earl Leyton's brow furrowed.
Lady Olenna had seen storms that would drown most men. Her face stayed perfectly calm. "Which vassals? What exactly are they discussing? And have you already moved to punish them, Prince?"
She fired off the questions like arrows.
Seemed concerned. Really just dumped every problem in Daeron's lap.
Translation: You know people are plotting. Why aren't you handling it already?
I know nothing.
"Nice try, Highgarden stays clean."
Daeron admired the old woman's nerve and said, "I've got preliminary evidence. I asked you here mainly to see if you've heard any rumors."
"No!"
Lady Olenna shook her head firmly. "Haven't heard a single whisper. This old woman's ears are quite deaf these days."
Whether she'd heard anything or not, playing deaf and dumb was the smart move right now.
Daeron was shaking the realm hard—changing the heir, merging three kingdoms. Nobles were restless.
At times like this, if a few idiots popped up openly defying the crown, it wasn't shocking.
She didn't care either way.
"Since you don't know, that makes things simple."
Daeron didn't press the old lady. He ignored Janna's slightly nervous look and leaned in. "If anyone truly has bad intentions, I'll deal with them according to the law. No mercy."
"Of course."
Lady Olenna's tone was light.
From the way he spoke, she could tell the trouble was in the Reach. Someone wanted to stir the pot.
Daeron had called her here as both warning and reminder.
Don't get involved. Clean your hands fast.
Lady Olenna thought the boy was overthinking. He clearly pictured her as too narrow-minded and lacking vision.
If one or even several Reach lords caused real problems, that would actually be perfect.
Let the crown weaken the Reach lords for her.
House Tyrell was already top-weak and bottom-strong, holding the Reach together through marriages.
A chance to trim the vassals like this? Lady Olenna could wake up smiling.
"Looks like we're thinking the same thing."
Daeron had plenty of schemes of his own.
He wanted to root out the problem once and for all—appoint a Warden of the Rose Road to keep the Reach in check.
Lady Olenna smiled sweetly. "Do as you like. House Tyrell has no objections."
She wanted the crown to weaken her vassals so she could tighten her own grip.
Two people, two different goals. Everything stayed perfectly civil.
"Janna, help this old woman up. I need my beauty sleep."
Business finished, Lady Olenna's smile vanished. Time to leave.
Janna offered her arm and carefully guided her mother out.
The pair disappeared down the corridor.
Janna kept her head low, clutching her mother's arm, looking thoroughly miserable.
"My sweet, why the long face?"
Lady Olenna couldn't stand it and snapped, "Look at you. Lower your head any farther and you could nurse yourself."
"Are you still a baby under one year old?"
Janna was still an unmarried girl. Her face went bright red. She didn't dare lift her head.
Lady Olenna sighed and said, "Lift your chin. Don't let people think House Tyrell can't afford to eat—that our girls can't even stand straight."
Janna obeyed and slowly raised her head and chest.
Lady Olenna looked her over and praised, "Now that's a proper storm at sea."
Janna: ——
Her face burned. Steam practically rose from her forehead.
House Tyrell carried Greenhand blood. The men were strong; the women were famously fertile and full-figured.
Big chest, big hips—standard equipment.
Lady Olenna took her daughter's hand and spoke softly. "He didn't fancy you. That proves you don't have enough value—and that he has no eye. No point making yourself miserable over it.
"You're a grown woman now. Be passionate. Live loud. Splash that youth around. That's what you should be doing."
Janna stayed quiet, her heart still set on the sunny, handsome young heir.
Targaryen beauty was legendary.
This generation of Targaryens was especially fine-looking.
Handsome. Brave. Talented. Riding a dragon.
Which girl in the Seven Kingdoms wouldn't be drawn in?
Janna had only met Daeron a few times, but his presence had already hooked her.
"Listen, child."
Lady Olenna shared her wisdom. "When I was young I met a Targaryen too. Funny thing—he was also handsome, cheerful, good with people, and a fine fighter.
"Even funnier—he was named Daeron Targaryen.
"Guess what happened?
"I had a betrothal to him. We saw each other often at Highgarden and Green Isle."
Janna whispered, "Then why did you marry Father?"
"Exactly. That's the problem."
Lady Olenna sounded proud. "That Daeron was perfect in every way… except his tastes ran a little unusual.
"Your father was different.
"He was a bit stiff, yes, but kind. Good at listening. Not bad in bed either. We got along fine."
Janna's face turned crimson. Her thoughts went very yellow.
Was this really something a mother said out loud?
Lady Olenna didn't care about propriety. The more she talked, the more animated she became. "No matter how wonderful this Daeron is, if he won't put in the work on you, even if you squeeze the valley deeper it won't cut off his air.
"If it really doesn't work, find someone else.
"My parents never forced me back then, and I won't force you now—unless that dead ghost father of yours comes back to life."
Three-legged toads were rare. Two-legged men were everywhere.
If her daughter didn't marry into the royal family, it wasn't necessarily bad for her or the house.
Targaryens had the strangest tempers.
If it weren't for wanting a grandson with dragon blood and the prestige of royal blood, she wouldn't have considered marrying her daughter into the family at all.
Janna's shoulders slumped again. She lowered her head.
After all that, it still came down to no.
Lady Olenna was an expert at cheering people up. She glanced around, saw no one nearby, and whispered, "Remember this: it doesn't matter if he didn't fancy you today. Live long enough—like me—and in a few decades you can tell everyone you were the one who rejected the marriage. You just didn't fancy that fine young Targaryen lad."
Janna had no words.
But her mother's pep talk actually lifted her mood.
Janna knew the truth. She didn't have much of an edge.
Princess Shaena sat above her. Cersei Lannister sat in the middle.
She was soft-spoken, not as striking as either of them. Only her figure gave her any standing—and that put her at the bottom of the food chain.
"If only I were Cersei. She actually knocked on the prince's door at night."
Janna secretly admired her.
Court girls shared everything. Nothing stayed secret for long.
Cersei was the boldest. A true role model.
Lady Olenna finished her little speech feeling quite pleased with herself. While mentally picking which Reach lord's son would make the best son-in-law, she also enjoyed the thought of the crown cleaning up a few troublesome Reach lords and thereby strengthening House Tyrell's grip.
What a lovely day.
"But we'll wait until things calm down. No point picking the wrong side and getting caught in the fallout."
Lady Olenna had her plans well in order.
At the same time, Daeron hosted Earl Leyton.
The two men were old acquaintances.
More accurately, old pen pals.
"I still owe you thanks for your generous help. I was able to recover a dragon egg. That's royal treasure."
Daeron smiled.
Earl Leyton was polite and modest. "That egg belonged to Prince Maelor. Prince 'Bold' Daeron later retrieved it and stored it in the Hightower. I was simply returning what was already the crown's. I claim no credit."
The mood stayed friendly.
Back when Daeron wrote asking about the suspected dragon egg and had Rhaegar apply pressure as heir, Earl Leyton had returned it without much fuss.
The three conditions he set weren't excessive.
Whatever House Hightower's deeper motives might be, whatever schemes Oldtown might hide, Earl Leyton himself seemed reliable enough.
Daeron suddenly asked, "My lord, the Hightower once held a dragon egg. Do you know if any others were lost in the Reach?"
Earl Leyton blinked, then shook his head. "I don't know."
He'd heard that Silverwing, the great dragon, once briefly nested on the island in Red Lake of House Crane. But whether a grieving female dragon would leave eggs in a temporary nest—no one could say.
House Crane denied it completely.
Even "Dragonbane" Aegon III had sent men to search for both the dragon and any eggs. Nothing.
"Since the Dance, even dragon eggs have become rare things."
Daeron's tone carried weight.
Earl Leyton grew cautious. "True. After the civil war of the Dance, House Hightower withdrew from kingdom affairs and has stayed quiet."
The unspoken message: House Hightower was behaving itself now.
Daeron didn't buy it.
If they were truly quiet, Earl Leyton wouldn't be obsessed with the occult—studying alchemy, necromancy, and worse.
"Speaking of which, I must thank you for the special crops and materials you've provided. They've been extremely helpful to my research."
Earl Leyton smoothly changed the subject. "It was only a passing comment at the time. I never expected you to remember and keep sending gifts to House Hightower every month."
Daeron had honored the agreement. Every month a shipment of special crops went to Oldtown.
The value wasn't huge. The real point was the relationship.
Earl Leyton accepted it gladly.
Oldtown was vast, but special crops were still rare and hard to buy.
Daeron waved a hand and asked, "Remember when you said that once my brother Rhaegar took the throne, you wanted a seat on the Small Council? Now that the situation has changed—"
What do you say?
Earl Leyton coughed hard. He didn't dare agree. "Just idle talk. Idle talk."
He wouldn't take a Small Council seat even if offered.
He wanted one in peacetime—not during a messy power transition.
Look at the current ministers.
Lord Mace Tyrell was nothing but a workhorse—spending his own coin and strength for the crown, working himself thin.
Earl Leyton still wanted time for his studies. He couldn't afford the distraction.
Daeron sounded genuinely disappointed. "If you joined the Small Council, you'd bring it real brilliance."
Unfortunately, he couldn't reel the man in.
He truly wanted Earl Leyton on the council—one more reliable workhorse.
The Westerlands were locked tight under Tywin. No cracks there.
The Reach was more divided. House Tyrell didn't rule alone.
Winning over House Hightower would help stabilize the region.
Keeping Earl Leyton in King's Landing also meant Oldtown would think twice before any real mischief.
"Oldtown is good. I really should visit."
Daeron genuinely wanted to understand the greatest of the Five Ports, the Faith, and the Citadel.
"Prince, I have some matters to attend to. I'll take my leave."
Earl Leyton's back felt cold. He made his excuses and fled.
He had wanted the Small Council seat before. Even moments ago he'd been tempted.
House Hightower had stayed out of the spotlight so long they were almost forgotten.
But the prince's manner made him want to retreat to Oldtown and lie low for a while.
Daeron watched him go, hand half-raised but not calling out.
Why run?
He'd only wanted to ask about any other lost dragon eggs in the Reach and maybe offer the man a promotion.
Why not take the opportunity?
Daeron collected himself and thought, "The trouble is all in the Reach. One hard strike and I can end it for good."
Three months from now, he planned to convince his father to step down and crown himself.
The "chickens" hiding in the shadows probably couldn't wait that long.
Suppress the rebellion. Take the throne. Or take the throne and suppress the rebellion.
Once it was done, even if the Seven Kingdoms finally settled, a real golden age would begin.
Daeron muttered to himself, "I wonder how Rhaegar's doing. Best if he can drag House Martell along and hit the Stepstones together. That would buy me precious time to grow stronger."