Mud Gate.
Daeron stood on the docks, watching his former Hand sail away on the Wandering Prince. Tywin was heading to Tyrosh.
As the ship cleared the bay, a large Dornish vessel glided in.
Tywin stood on the deck and frowned without thinking.
"Smells like Dorne."
After Rhaegar refused the marriage alliance, House Lannister had grown to hate Dorne even more than they hated Rhaegar himself.
Tygett noticed and said quietly, "That's the ship carrying Prince Doran's hostages."
Tywin stared at the vessel. He had wanted to use the hostage situation to attack both Rhaegar and Doran, but now that he was leaving for Tyrosh, he had to let it go.
"Tyrosh is dangerous. Kevan and Tygett will be with me. Without reliable Lannister allies in King's Landing, it'll be hard to influence things."
He thought of his three children and felt a fresh wave of irritation. Each one more disappointing than the last.
His eldest son and daughter were reckless and willful. His second son was a twisted, scheming little monster who actually dared to eye Casterly Rock.
The more Tywin thought about it, the angrier he got. He forced himself to stay calm and made a silent decision.
When I return from Tyrosh, there will be no more mercy. House Lannister has no use for dead weight.
Tygett felt a chill run down his back.
Daeron finished saying goodbye to Tywin and turned to greet his arriving nieces.
The Dornish ship docked. People began coming ashore.
"Uncle!"
Rhaenys spotted him and broke into a bright smile. She ran straight over.
"Was the journey smooth, Rhaenys?"
Daeron smiled back.
Rhaenys looked up at him with big eyes. "We hit some rough seas, but nothing serious."
Daeron nodded, studying her. He noticed a single streak of silver-gold hair running through her otherwise dark Dornish locks.
"Pretty, right?" Rhaenys twirled the strand and grinned. "I had it dyed when we passed through Lys. Now I have a little Targaryen in me too."
She looked every inch a Dornish girl—deep olive skin, long black hair, an innocent pretty face, and a figure that had already started to curve.
The silver streak gave her an extra touch of confidence.
"You really care about the family, don't you?" Daeron said warmly. "It looks good. Better than before."
Rhaenys beamed.
Daeron turned to the smaller girl with silver-gold hair and violet eyes.
"You must be Visenya."
Visenya had inherited the best of both parents. She had a long, striking face that leaned more Stark, and when she wasn't smiling she looked serious—almost a miniature Lyanna.
She gave him a polite little curtsy. "Your Grace."
Daeron reached down and ruffled her hair without ceremony. "Call me Uncle when we're alone. King's Landing is your home now. Your grandparents are here. No one's going to give you trouble."
People who knew him understood—he took blood and family very seriously.
No matter how much he disliked Rhaegar and Lyanna, he wasn't petty enough to take it out on children.
In fact, he was quite good to them.
"Thank you, Uncle."
Visenya's face relaxed a little, like she'd been holding her breath.
Then another child stepped off the ship.
A nephew?
Daeron paused. He looked at the quiet black-haired boy, then at Arianne walking ahead of him.
"Who's this?"
Arianne, dressed in a pearl-white off-shoulder gown with gold jewelry, gave a graceful little bow that showed off her full figure. "When the ship passed through Lys, Prince Rhaegar heard the Iron Throne wanted his two daughters sent back. He decided to send Aegon along as well."
"Has Rhaegar lost his mind?"
Daeron's mind raced. Why would Rhaegar suddenly send all three children?
Wait—Prince?
Daeron caught the title. "Rhaegar is in Lys? He made a deal with them?"
"You heard already?" Arianne's eyes sparkled. "Prince Rhaegar signed a truce with the Lysene archons. With the Rogare family's guarantee, he's been accepted into their council and will be named Prince of Lys."
"Rhaegar really can talk his way into anything."
Daeron had to admit he was impressed. Even after everything that had happened, Rhaegar had still managed to worm his way into Lys.
"Did he give up his claim to the Stepstones?"
Daeron went straight for the sensitive question.
Arianne smiled sweetly. "I'm not sure. Probably."
She was only thirteen, but already stunning—curvy, charming, and clearly aware of it.
Daeron took one look and immediately recognized the game she was playing.
Compared to Elia, this one was pure Martell.
Exactly the kind of Dornish woman he'd always pictured—beautiful, calculating, and dangerous.
He gave her the cold shoulder and turned back to the boy.
"Your father didn't want to keep you in Lys?"
To be fair, young Aegon was also good-looking. He had the long Stark face, black hair, and gray-blue eyes, but he was lean and pale with high cheekbones. Half his face was hidden behind his hair, giving him a quiet, melancholic air.
But his eyes were sharp. He was constantly observing everything and everyone around him with a natural, subtle charm.
"He doesn't look like one," Daeron thought, "but he feels exactly like Rhaegar."
In that moment, he knew.
This was Jon Snow. The one who would eventually betray Daenerys in the old stories.
Not a drop of Targaryen in him.
"Whatever. One sheep or two, I'm still herding."
Daeron pushed his prejudice aside and looked at the boy with a fairer eye.
Jon was like Tyrion—well-written and sympathetic in the books, ruined by the show.
According to the old timeline, no one even knew if Jon was still alive.
"Uncle."
Jon spoke softly, then answered the earlier question. "Mother wanted me to stay in Lys, but Father said King's Landing would be safer. He said you would treat me well and give me room to grow."
He sounded cautious. Careful with his words. The kind of kid who had learned to read a room and say the safest thing possible.
"Decent," Daeron thought. "At least he's not an idiot like Viserys."
He smiled. "Your father's got some nerve."
Jon looked down, clearly uncomfortable.
Daeron put a hand on his shoulder and raised his voice a little. "Lift your head. King's Landing is your home now. As long as your father doesn't cause more trouble, you'll always be a Targaryen."
"Remember—you have true dragon blood. You're not some Stark from the North."
If Rhaegar was bold enough to send his son here, then Daeron was bold enough to raise him properly.
Jon was a good kid. Talented, ambitious, and carrying Ned Stark's strong sense of honor. One of the few genuinely decent people in the Seven Kingdoms.
With the right guidance, he could be every bit as useful as the Lannister men.
As long as he didn't turn into a backstabbing bastard.
Jon stared at him, stunned. For the first time since arriving, he felt something warm settle in his chest.
Especially those last words.
I have true dragon blood. I'm a Targaryen.
Jon had never been ashamed of looking like a Stark—Rhaenys looked Dornish too. But he had always felt a quiet disappointment that he hadn't inherited his father's silver hair and violet eyes.
Living in Sunspear under Doran's shadow had only made that feeling worse.
No one had ever told him it didn't matter.
Until today.
Daeron's words hit him like lightning. Simple. Brutal. Clear.
"I have true dragon blood. I am a Targaryen."
Jon felt dizzy. Heat rushed through him. He thought it was the "blood and fire" of House Targaryen waking up.
It wasn't.
A second later, the seven-and-a-half-year-old boy fainted.
Daeron touched his forehead and immediately diagnosed him. "Caught a chill at sea. He's running a fever."
Right. Still not very Targaryen.
A real Targaryen wouldn't catch a cold from a little sea breeze.
Daeron had the boy carried ahead to the Red Keep so Maester Aemon could give him fever medicine and some high-quality milk.
"Come on," he said to the two girls. "Your aunt is throwing a feast at the Red Keep. She's waiting for you."
Arianne looked surprised. "You're not curious about Prince Rhaegar's situation? Or why he sent Aegon too?"
"I don't care what happens to him."
Daeron was blunt. "But sending all his children here… that's unexpected."
Rhaegar really was confident. He'd handed over every single one of his kids—his own heir included.
It meant he was sure Daeron wouldn't hurt them. That they'd be safer and happier in King's Landing than with him.
If their situations were reversed, Daeron would never have sent his children to Rhaegar. He wouldn't have dared.
Rhaegar had always been emotionally distant. He didn't care about parents, siblings, wives, or children. Pure selfishness.
Daeron was the opposite. Family mattered to him almost as much as dragons.
"Rhaegar sending every child to King's Landing tells me one thing—his position in Lys isn't as strong as he wants people to believe. He can't even raise his own heir."
Daeron figured Rhaegar would probably keep swinging between Rhaenys and Aegon as his chosen successor, creating all kinds of drama.
Rhaenys was the official heir on paper. Aegon was the backup.
Now both were here. That said everything.
"When I left Lys, Prince Rhaegar was in deep talks with the archons," Arianne offered.
She smiled again, trying another angle. "I have to admit, I didn't expect the legendary Dragon King Daeron to care so much about a few children."
She had assumed the nieces and nephew would have a miserable time here.
"Dorne treats men and women more equally, but King's Landing isn't some filthy pit either."
Daeron was confident in his own rule. Then he added flatly, "One more thing—call me Your Grace."
Arianne's smile faltered again.
She was used to getting what she wanted with charm. This cold Targaryen king was proving difficult.
As they approached the city gates, she finally snapped out of it and hurried to catch up with her entourage, giving orders to her guards to bring the gifts House Martell had prepared.
Lys.
After years of war, the once-free and lively city now carried a heavy shadow. Beneath the noise and lights, something restless was brewing.
"My prince, Governor Rogare has sent people to escort us."
Alecs Oakheart, young and eager in silver armor and a white cloak, reported dutifully.
Rhaegar answered calmly, "Understood, ser."
Including Alecs, seven silver-armored knights in white cloaks now guarded him—his own version of the Kingsguard. The Silver Guard.
Their armor was brighter than the Kingsguard's, made in Qohor with secret silver materials that made it stronger and more flexible.
They had taken the same seven-knight structure and the same vows—no wives, no children, no lands.
Alecs looked around at his six sworn brothers.
There was Myles Mouton and Richard Lonmouth—Rhaegar's oldest friends and first followers.
Preston of the Mountain Clans, a Skagosi noble's son.
Osmund Kettleblack, once a hedge knight who had given up his family's inheritance.
And two highborn knights—Balon Swann and Lyn Corbray—who had once held great family names.
All seven came from different backgrounds, but they had one thing in common.
Alecs himself was the second son of House Oakheart of Old Oak, one of the oldest and most powerful families in the Reach. His father had died young. His mother ran the family and raised him.
His greatest dream had always been to join the Kingsguard. He had idolized Ser Arthur Dayne and Prince Rhaegar.
He had been too young before. Now the Kingsguard was full.
So he ignored his mother's protests, found Rhaegar overseas, and joined the Silver Guard.
Rhaegar was now Prince of Lys. It wasn't a bad place for a knight of his talent and birth.
Balon Swann was the nephew of the Lord of Stonehelm. Hot-tempered and strange, he had been kicked out by his uncle and left to fend for himself. He had skill with a blade and joined the Silver Guard.
Lyn Corbray's story was similar.
He was the second son of the previous Lord of Heart's Home. During the four-kingdom rebellion he had fought for House Targaryen and helped House Grafton defend Gulltown. But when things turned against them, he switched sides and joined Robert Baratheon, earning great glory.
If Robert had won, he would have been given the family sword Lady Forlorn and become the face of House Corbray.
But Robert lost.
Even the old lord had been badly wounded at the Battle of the Trident. On his deathbed he passed the family to his eldest son, Lyn's brother.
Lyn's brother had never liked him. After the family lost half its lands and wealth at the Great Council—and lost Lady Forlorn—he threw Lyn out.
Like many second sons and bastards, Lyn had become a sellsword in Essos. When he heard Rhaegar had become Prince of Lys, he came running.
"This negotiation is important," Rhaegar told his knights as they walked. "It involves the rumors coming out of the Smoking Sea."
To avoid unnecessary danger, he had sent all three of his children to King's Landing to be raised by his brother.
Daeron was more reliable than him. He actually cared about family.
If Rhaegar failed to achieve his ambitions, his children would be safer and happier in King's Landing than they ever would be with him in Lys or Dorne.
Myles tried to argue. "My prince, the rumors about dragons in the Smoking Sea are just rumors. There's no need to risk yourself."
"That's right," Richard added, looking worried. "The Smoking Sea is cursed."
Rhaegar had already made up his mind.
"The Smoking Sea isn't the point. What matters is what kind of deal the Lysene archons are willing to offer me during these talks. How much they're willing to give."
The people of Lys were greedy.
But when they decided to spend, they spent big.