Tyrosh was a Free City that had stood for centuries. It could be conquered, but it sure as hell wasn't going to kneel easily.
Someone was always going to rebel. That was inevitable.
And abolishing slavery wasn't something you just declared for good PR. Once the slaves were free, who was going to feed them? House them? Give them work?
"Slaves aren't lions," Daeron told the gathered lords when he returned. "They're sheep. Weak, scared sheep. They'll follow whoever wins."
The lords exchanged glances. The same thought hit every one of them.
The king didn't actually want to free the slaves.
Lord Lucerys spoke up. "Your Grace, slavery is a moral red line for the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms. If we keep the old system here, the Iron Throne will lose all respect."
Abolish it or keep it. It was like choosing between shit-flavored chocolate and chocolate-flavored shit. A disgusting choice either way.
Daeron stayed practical. "Whether we abolish slavery or not isn't up to outsiders. First we root out the hidden forces stirring up trouble. Once those are gone, the slaves will fall in line like the sheep they are."
That was the real priority.
The slaves didn't matter. Whoever came out on top, they'd follow.
Finding the people pulling the strings behind the riots? That was urgent.
"Your Grace, we can't make a city full of people who hate us suddenly loyal," Lord Yohn said.
Lord Lucerys thought for a moment. "Then we pull some of the governors to our side. Use them to keep the hidden nobles and merchants in check."
"Can you guarantee the governors you win over won't just turn around and work with the ones we're trying to crush?" Daeron asked.
Lucerys opened his mouth, then closed it. He had no answer.
Tyrosh was like Dorne all over again. They hated the Iron Throne. They hated Westeros. Killing them wouldn't make them loyal. They'd just smile to your face and stab you in the back the second you turned around.
That's exactly how they'd killed the Young Dragon.
The other lords stayed quiet. They were just noblemen. Running a city this size and dealing with an entire population's hatred was way above their pay grade.
Davos and Stannis glanced at each other. They had ideas, but they weren't sure if they were ready to speak.
Daeron looked around the table. "Anyone have something to say?"
The two men hesitated.
Then Tyrion popped up, hand raised. "Your Grace, I have a thought."
Daeron glanced at him. "Speak."
"Sorry, my lords," Tyrion said with a grin. "Opportunity favors the bold."
He looked at Davos and Stannis like he knew exactly what the king was doing—testing them, training them. But he wasn't about to let the chance slip away.
"Your Grace, if you give me the governors, I'll handle them."
Tyrion dragged a chair over, squeezed past Lord Yohn, and climbed up to sit. He liked being close to the king. It made him feel like he was becoming one of the inner circle. Just like how Aerys had made Tywin Hand.
Maybe the young king would do the same for him someday.
Daeron trusted the dwarf's mind. He only asked one question. "You get the governors. What do you do with them?"
"Kill them," Tyrion said cheerfully.
Daeron didn't argue. He told Davos and Stannis to give Tyrion full support and not to screw it up.
Whether Tyrion succeeded or not, one thing was clear.
They needed to kill some people. Make an example.
Over the next week, Tyrion went to work.
Every day he pulled three of the eighteen governors out of the dungeons and executed them in front of the others.
As he put it: "Eighteen governors. Three a day. That's six days of fun."
Meanwhile, the unrest in Tyrosh got worse. Slaves helped assassins target Westerosi soldiers. The Lannister men took the heaviest losses because they kept sneaking off to brothels.
Tyrion found one of the dead soldiers' favorite whores. At first she wouldn't talk. Then he offered her gold and protection for her family. She gave him a name—a Tyroshi noble.
Tyrion kept his word and sent her safely to Volantis.
With that name, he started pulling threads. He called a meeting of Tyroshi nobles, merchants, and slave owners under the excuse of "forgiving" some governors. He needed to figure out who the real hardliners were and who could be flipped.
It wasn't easy, but once you found one man's bitter rival, allies started appearing fast.
By the third day, after nine governors were dead, the remaining nine broke.
They turned on the exposed noble like starving dogs, naming everyone connected to the plot. They didn't care if it was true or not. They just wanted to live.
With that one noble and a dozen others dragged into the light, the hidden resistance took a serious hit. Tyrosh finally went quiet.
Tyrion found Daeron, grinning. "Your Grace, if we parade these people in public and expose what they did, we can turn all the hatred onto them."
"Good work."
Daeron went along with it. On the execution platform, he announced that the Iron Throne had originally planned to abolish slavery and find work for the freed slaves. But because of these traitors, the plan would have to be delayed.
The slaves went wild. They threw rocks and shit at the nobles being executed and begged Daeron to keep going with abolition.
Daeron told them, "I'll spend the next six months negotiating with the governors on how to end slavery. If no one stands in the way, I'll break every chain in Tyrosh."
One speech turned the Tyroshi upper class into the enemy of the slaves and painted the Iron Throne as the righteous savior.
The slaves started turning in anyone connected to the plot, desperate for their freedom.
"Your Grace, I recommend we kill a few more of the remaining governors to keep them scared, then promote some of the friendlier nobles to replace them."
Tyrion was riding high, full of ideas.
Daeron cut him off. "Tyrion, you did well in Tyrosh. But now I'm sending you to the Stepstones. I need you to build me a trading town."
"A trading town?"
Tyrion's smile froze. "What about Tyrosh? Who's going to handle Tyrosh?"
"I know you gave it everything, Tyrion."
Daeron sounded almost regretful. "But Lord Tywin wrote to me. He's coming to Tyrosh himself. He wants to use his experience to stabilize the city."
"My father?!"
Tyrion's face went white. He swallowed his anger. "But I already have things under control! I just need to clean out the remaining governors and bring in some cooperative nobles. Then we can actually move forward with abolishing slavery."
"You still don't understand what I really want," Daeron said. "It's not just this city. And it's not just ending slavery."
He couldn't say the quiet part out loud. So he simply added, "Build me that town on the Stepstones. Get more experience. When you're ready, I'll speak to Lord Tywin about giving you a permanent seat on the Small Council."
It sounded a lot like a promise he might never keep.
Tyrion's chest heaved. He felt betrayed, furious, but forced himself to stay calm. "Your Grace… does my father know what I've done here in Tyrosh?"
"He will."
Tyrion had nothing left to say. His fists clenched at his sides as he lowered his head.
Daeron tossed him a ring. "Don't get discouraged. I'm sending Davos with you to help build the town."
Tyrion caught the ring and immediately read the description.
Yellow Topaz Ring: +1 Defense
A copper band set with an oval yellow gem. It felt warm in his hand.
Tyrion looked stunned. "Your Grace… is this for me?"
"Yes. A reward for what you did in Tyrosh."
Daeron bent down and clapped him on the shoulder. "Keep working hard. There will be a seat for you on my Small Council."
"I won't let you down, Your Grace!"
Tyrion's fire came roaring back.
Daeron felt a twinge of guilt as he watched the dwarf light up.
No wonder they say never give a workhorse stimulants. The effect was ridiculous.
King's Landing.
Daeron returned and met with Tywin alone.
"Your Grace. What do you need?"
Tywin's face was blank, but his mood was foul. Ever since Tyrosh fell, the paperwork had been endless. Every day he had stacks of funding requests thick enough to slap someone with.
Daeron got straight to it. "My lord, Tyrion performed exceptionally well in Tyrosh. I want to make him the first Governor of Tyrosh. And I want to push for him to be recognized as heir to Casterly Rock."
"What did you just say?!"
Tywin had been about to sit. The words hit him like a slap. His voice jumped.
Daeron covered his ears. He hadn't expected the old lion to roar that loud. "Tyrion performed—"
"I'm not asking about that!"
Tywin's voice was heavy. He dropped all pretense of courtly manners. "That little monster actually thinks he can claim Casterly Rock?"
Daeron played dumb. "Jaime took the white cloak. Tyrion is your only remaining son. It makes sense."
He was deliberately driving a wedge between Tywin and Tyrion.
Not that they needed much help. Their relationship was already on life support.
Back when Tyrion was thirteen, he'd met that farmer's daughter, Tysha. (Though in this version, Sandor had taken Jaime's place in the story, and Tywin had been in King's Landing at the time.)
When Tywin found out, he'd ridden back to Casterly Rock in a rage and made the girl's life hell.
Daeron had secretly warned Tyrion, but the boy had been too lost in love to run.
Tyrion had lost the only person who ever truly loved him.
The only reason father and son still spoke at all was because Tywin's presence was so overwhelming that Tyrion didn't even dare fight back.
But whether Tyrion fought back didn't matter. Whether Tywin ever softened didn't matter either.
Daeron needed a heavy hitter who could stand on his own.
Davos and Stannis were good, but not quite there yet. Lucerys lacked real governing skill. Only the Lannister men had what he needed.
So if the Lannister father and son tore each other apart, that worked perfectly for Daeron.
Tyrion wanted to rise. He had to stand against Tywin.
Just like how Tywin had helped Daeron rise while Aerys rotted on Dragonstone.
"Heh."
Tywin had no idea what was happening. He laughed coldly. "I'd rather give Casterly Rock to a beggar than to that twisted little dwarf."
Daeron stayed calm. "Tyrion has a good head on his shoulders. He's smart."
"So what?"
Tywin's face was ice. "He got that brain from me and his mother. But he was born looking like that. How does that honor either of us?"
In short: over his dead body.
"My lord, even if we set the inheritance question aside, Tyrion did excellent work in Tyrosh. He deserves a reward."
Daeron pushed. "Let him be the first Governor of Tyrosh. What do you say?"
"That's the funniest thing I've heard all year."
Tywin was still furious. He shut it down immediately. "Tyrion isn't fit for any real position. Send him back to King's Landing. Or better yet, let him go clean sewers somewhere."
He was every bit the cold, cruel man from the old stories.
When he needed Tyrion, he'd use him. When he didn't, he'd kick him back into the dirt.
Daeron feigned irritation. "If Tyrion isn't running Tyrosh, who is?"
"The Small Council is full of capable men. Surely we can find one or two who can handle it."
Tywin's temper was rising again.
Daeron went for the kill. "What if I want you to go to Tyrosh?"
"Me?"
Tywin paused. Even his anger cooled for a second.
Daeron nodded. "Yes. You. My most capable Hand."
The man he wanted running Tyrosh was Tywin himself.
The reason was simple. Tyrosh wasn't ready yet.
The governors who had submitted, the nobles and merchants still plotting in the dark, even the ungrateful slaves—they all needed someone with an iron fist to break them properly.
That's why Daeron hadn't stopped Tyrion from killing a few governors, but he hadn't fully supported it either.
Those last few governors? They were being saved for Tywin to kill.
Once Tywin—the perfect black glove—had plowed through Tyrosh and clashed head-on with the old power structure, then the Iron Throne could step in and clean up the mess.
Tyrion was clever, but he was too careful and not ruthless enough to truly terrify Tyrosh into submission.
And without a powerful family behind him, Tyrion wouldn't survive the next wave of resistance.
Only Tywin had the weight to do it.
"If I go to Tyrosh, who takes the Handship?"
Tywin's eyes narrowed. He was wondering if Daeron was trying to sideline him.
Daeron reassured him. "Your position as Hand is irreplaceable. Once Tyrosh is stable, I need you back here helping me run the Seven Kingdoms."
As for the Small Council…
In the council chamber, Daeron announced:
"Lord Tywin will be traveling to Tyrosh to deal with the complicated situation in our newest city."
"While he is away, Lord Corlton will serve as acting Hand until Lord Tywin returns."
Lord Corlton looked thrilled. He immediately accepted the power and swore he would give it everything he had.