Sleeping was no longer an option.
Daeron rubbed his brow, forced to accept reality.
His little sister, Daenerys Targaryen, was about to be born.
It seemed to be a year, or perhaps six months, earlier than in the original story.
His father, Aerys, had several mistresses, but he occasionally slept in his mother's room; it wasn't unusual for the two of them to produce another child.
"Will Daenerys still be able to hatch dragons from stone?"
Daeron knew that 'the unburnt' was a unique exception; since he had taken that spot, he feared no one else could replicate it.
Besides, that clutch of Dragon Eggs was still nowhere to be found.
Daeron thought to himself, 'The origins of the petrified Dragon Eggs of Drogon and his two brothers are unknown; whether they came from Asshai or were the lost eggs of the dragon Dreamfyre is a matter of much debate.'
But one thing was certain.
That clutch of Dragon Eggs was most likely in the hands of Illyrio, the Magister of Pentos.
Well, Illyrio had only recently made his fortune, having just shed his status as a mercenary and married the cousin of the Prince of Pentos.
So, whether the Dragon Eggs were actually in his hands was still up in the air.
"The Dragon Eggs must be recovered; there are too many variables if they remain at large."
Having personally hatched three dragons, Daeron had a concept of the magic in the world of Ice and Fire.
If that clutch of Dragon Eggs fell into the hands of someone with ulterior motives and were hatched through something like a Blood Sacrifice, it would be a real headache.
They had to be reclaimed early; they couldn't be wasted.
Daeron took his leave: "I'm going to see Mother and say hello to my unborn little sister in advance."
"Mhm," Shaena nodded blankly.
Daeron walked onto the long gallery and met Cersei, who was wearing a beautiful dress.
"Hey, Prince."
Cersei was meticulously dressed, her golden hair braided behind her head, wearing a low-cut yellow dress with her snowy-white breasts cradled in pink lace.
She approached with a smile, looking radiant.
Daeron's eyes were dazzled, and he didn't hold back his praise: "You look truly beautiful today."
"Really? As long as you like it."
Cersei turned around gracefully, specifically highlighting the material of her skirt: "Silk and lace from Myr, doesn't it really complement my skin tone?"
"Indeed, I like lace."
Daeron nodded in agreement, preferring to speak the truth.
The corners of Cersei's mouth curled up as she reached out to take his arm, saying proactively, "You're going to see Queen Rhaella; I just came from there."
Great achievements are fought for, and good husbands are snatched away.
As long as she was willing to go all out, she would eventually succeed.
"If I didn't know you, I'd think you were a good girl."
Feeling her fair softness, Daeron was impressed by Cersei's facade.
For a moment, he thought he was looking at the future Myrcella Lannister.
Cersei wasn't one for politeness; she held the Prince's arm, attempting to stroll all around the court.
Under Daeron's amused gaze, she finally turned toward the Queen's chambers.
Queen Rhaella was indeed pregnant.
It seemed the pregnancy hormones had given her a better temperament, as she uncharacteristically refrained from saying anything unpleasant.
However, her attitude remained cold, both toward Daeron and Cersei.
Daeron thought to himself, 'With the history involving Joanna Lannister, Mother naturally wouldn't be pleasant toward a Lannister.'
Sometimes he even suspected that Cersei and Jaime carried Targaryen blood.
Their physical traits could be explained by the firstborn taking after the mother.
But the madness and certain tendencies they exhibited were even more Targaryen.
"My father will be marching to war soon; will you accompany him on dragonback?"
Once outside, Cersei's eyes were full of pride, showing great trust in her father, Tywin.
Daeron clicked his tongue inwardly: 'Honestly, this behavior is just like King Joffrey's.'
In the original story, King Joffrey, who didn't know who his biological father was, worshipped Robert and even held Robert's fated rival, Rhaegar, in high esteem.
"What are you thinking about?"
Cersei's expression shifted slightly, feeling that he was thinking of something quite presumptuous.
If he wanted to share a bed with her, they could find a place right now.
But he shouldn't be looking at her with that strange gaze.
Daeron displayed his eloquence: "I was thinking that our relationship might be closer than it appears."
"Of course."
Cersei smiled radiantly.
After seeing off the satisfied Cersei, Daeron had no time for conspiracy theories and went to Elia's room.
Daeron thought to himself, 'Teacher, with a pair of children like this, you're in for a headache.'
This is what Lord Tywin deserves.
Knock, knock, knock!
He knocked on Elia's door, and Ashara opened it.
Ashara was bare-faced, wearing a simple purple dress; in terms of charm, she actually surpassed Cersei.
"Is Elia here?" Daeron asked with a smile.
Ashara stepped aside from the doorway and said softly, "Yes, she just put the little princess to sleep."
Daeron entered and saw a slightly haggard Elia.
Elia hadn't bothered to dress up, still wearing that high-slit yellow dress, reclining on a chaise lounge padded with down cushions, radiating a maternal glow.
"Daeron, it's been a long time."
Seeing him, Elia forced herself to perk up and gave a sweet smile.
Daeron didn't twist the knife, asking, "Raising a child is a very tedious task."
"Indeed, I'm nearly being driven mad by this cute little thing."
Elia agreed wholeheartedly, her smile turning into a wry one.
Daeron looked at Rhaenys in the cradle; she was nearly a month old, wearing a plain white dress and sleeping in that typical infant spread-eagle posture.
"I heard Queen Rhaella is pregnant; that child will be the same age as Rhaenys and will surely be a great playmate."
Elia changed the subject, mentioning her pregnant mother-in-law.
In his past life, if a mother-in-law had a child right after a new daughter-in-law joined the family, it would probably cause an uproar.
In noble circles, however, it was a commonplace occurrence.
Daeron nodded: "The due date is in June or July of next year; it will be a warm summer."
"Summer helps the Targaryen dragon blood boil."
Elia offered a compliment, then asked cautiously, "Do you think, if it's a boy, he could get along with Rhaenys?"
That's a good question.
"Don't take it to heart; I'm just asking. After all, the House Targaryen has traditions in that regard."
Elia explained quickly.
Daeron understood her meaning and said frankly, "This child will be a girl; they can only be aunt and niece."
Even if it were a boy, the family tradition mostly favored siblings; the combination of uncle-niece or aunt-nephew was rare.
Elia felt a bit disappointed that her idea of finding a match for her daughter had fallen through.
Daeron looked around, found a chair to straddle, and spoke face-to-face: "What do you think about Rhaegar's situation?"
"..."
"I am powerless to change it."
Elia looked even more dejected, saying wistfully, "Uncle Lewyn told me that Rhaegar would confess to my brother, but I don't know how to face him."
If it were any other woman, she could still lie to herself that her husband was just having an affair.
But at the Tourney at Harrenhal, Rhaegar gave the crown of love and beauty to Lyanna, and then eloped with her in secret without informing anyone.
If it weren't for her daughter and the powerful support of House Martell...
...she wouldn't even know if she, the original wife, would have to make room for the mistress.
Daeron promised, "Rhaegar will surely regret his actions."
"Daeron, I want to entrust Rhaenys to your care once she's a bit older."
Elia caught the underlying meaning and was willing to part with her daughter early to ensure her safety.
Daeron chuckled: "I'm still a child myself."
Setting aside the cliché about men remaining boys until they die, he was actually only twelve years old and wouldn't be considered an adult for another four years.
"If you're busy, you can leave her to Shaena's care; she's a clever and capable girl."
Who would've thought Elia was a firm Daeron-Shaena shipper?
Daeron's attitude was firm as he politely declined: "We'll see."
In reality, he was a good person who treated his family well.
Even with an arrogant and egoistic guy like Rhaegar, he had no intention of killing him.
First of all, kinslaying is a grave sin!
This isn't just hearsay.
Kinslaying and violating guest right are both unbreakable traditions on the continent of Westeros, carrying severe consequences.
Having seen the Three-Eyed Crow and the drowned god, Daeron firmly upheld these two traditions.
However, in a power struggle, it's either death or injury.
He couldn't kill Rhaegar with his own hands, so he had to find someone else to do the deed.
For example, Rhaegar's fated rival, Robert.
But he would look after Rhaegar's bloodline to some extent.
Times have changed.
The House Targaryen has dragons again; the family bloodline needs to continue and branch out.
Rhaegar's children are also true dragons, capable of strengthening the family.
Except, of course, for Jon Snow, who knows nothing.
He detested that ungrateful wolf.
At least House Martell is 'Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken' and carries the blood of the Rhoynar, so they don't exactly taint the dragonlord bloodline of the House Targaryen.
The House Stark won't do!
They reek of the wolf; the stench is unbearable.
The Dragonpit.
Daeron fed the three dragons and specifically washed the scales of Caraxes.
Dragons are covered in their own stench.
Without regular grooming, they attract biting insects.
Of course, they certainly can't bite through dragon scales, but they make the dragons irritable.
While he was busy, the Dragon Guards announced a visitor.
Under the watchful eyes of the Dragon Guards, Varys slowly entered the Dragonpit, looking like a country bumpkin seeing the world for the first time.
"What business do you have, My Lord?"
Daeron wrung out his rag and wiped his hands clean.
His teacher, Tywin, had taught him.
At all times, one must keep oneself clean and present a neat and respectable outward appearance.
Varys looked around first, then marveled, "Entering the Dragonpit for the first time, seeing the domed architecture you designed, and those three dragons—isn't it something to be proud of?"
"Any more nonsense and I'll have you thrown out."
Daeron had no time for his flirtatious beating around the bush.
Varys shrugged, finding no amusement in his own rebuff, and turned to say, "I have some friends across the Narrow Sea; they've found quite a remarkable Red Priestess who can foresee the future in the flames. I wonder if you'd be interested in meeting her?"
"A Red Priestess?"
"Yes!"
"A believer in the Rhllor?"
"It seems you are informed."
"Guards, throw him out!"
Daeron's face darkened; he didn't want to see this damn eunuch for another second.
The Dragon Guards, specially trained, moved in pairs and hoisted up the plump Master of Whisperers.
With his feet off the ground and his double chin hiding his neck, Varys panicked, "Prince, Prince, please don't joke; I'm quite plump and easily knocked over."
What a joke.
He wasn't an Unsullied from Astapor, strong as oxen.
He was fully cut; his body couldn't handle being manhandled.
"Put him down."
Daeron gave him a chance to explain.
As soon as his feet touched the ground, Varys's intellect regained control, and he quickly said, "That Red Priestess is very capable, and what she says makes a lot of sense."
"For example?" Daeron was skeptical.
Varys said, "Before the Doom, the dragonlords mostly employed blood mages and pyromancers to serve them.
The Targaryens have dragons now, rebuilding the foundation of a dragonlord family.
It's only normal to employ a few specialists."
"My Lord, it seems I'll have to have you escorted out again."
Daeron was clearly unimpressed.
Varys's feet left the ground once more. He quickly gripped the Dragon Guards' arms to keep his double chin from covering his neck and said with effort, "Prince, that Red Priestess also mentioned something about a magic tide."
"A magic tide?"
Daeron confirmed.
Varys was speechless and could only nod repeatedly.
Daeron waved his hand, letting him back down.
.
Night, 23:00.
After a long absence, Daeron returned to the farm, organized the mature crops, and put the bundle items into the shipping bin.
Today was the 27th of Summer, Year 4; there wasn't much time left for planting.
It was time to find the Imp, Apple, and ask for a little reward.
"The Red Priestess Varys mentioned—could it be Melisandre?"
Daeron took a moment to reflect on the day's conversation.
He was interested in what she had said about the magic tide.
The Red Comet arriving early, the emergence of Life Force, dragons hatching ahead of schedule—
All signs indicated that the world was changing.
Unfortunately, 'Bloodraven' Brynden was a riddler; he only said the trend of rising magic was increasing daily, without specifying to what extent.
If it were like the era of the Dance of the Dragons, he wouldn't need to worry too much.
If it were the eve of the Doom, he couldn't just sit idly by.
During the time of Old Valyria, the Fourteen Flames supported thousands of dragons, showing how abundant the magic was.
In a world like that, any Dragon Egg left out could potentially hatch.
Daeron really had to take action against Illyrio, the Magister of Pentos, and reclaim the petrified Dragon Eggs of Drogon and his brothers early.
"Sufficient sleep ensures a peak state for the next day."
Daeron had a regular schedule, going to sleep at 2:00 AM.
[Farming: 4,662g]
[Foraging: 890g]
[Fishing: 0]
[Mining: 0]
[Other: 888g]
[Total: 46,440g]
With the daily tally finished, Daeron drifted into sleep.
"Guji guji~~"
The Imp, Apple, appeared on time, making cheerful squeaking sounds.
.
Having managed the farm for four years, Daeron was already an up-and-coming farmer, completing two bundles at once.
Namely, the Boiler Room (Minecarts) and the Vault (Bus).
One required sacrificing materials dropped from mining and monster hunting, the other 42,500g.
Both of these bundles are meant to facilitate the farmer's activities, so the requirements are the most straightforward.
"Guji guji~~"
Apple waved its thin, wiry arms, looking a bit downcast and seemingly guilty.
But it soon perked up and spoke a long string of Imp language.
The rough translation was: "This isn't Stardew Valley; there are no Minecarts or buses to repair, but they can substitute them with something else."
For example—that clutch of stone eggs.
"I choose the bronze-green dragon egg and the yellow dragon egg!"
Daeron was clear-headed and immediately made his choice among the three petrified Dragon Eggs.
Apple happily agreed.
Junimo are nature spirits, possessing the magic of nature and life, capable of awakening the vitality of petrified Dragon Eggs.
It just takes a little bit of—time.