King's Landing.
Daeron had waited patiently for half a month. Every day he moved between the Red Keep and Dragon-Tongue Farm, handling royal business when needed and farming when he could.
"Dragon-Tongue Farm is packed with special animals and crops. I've already built two wineries. I'm basically living the dream of financial freedom."
Daeron rested his chin on one hand, remembering last night's harvest report. A small smile tugged at his lips.
He'd also discovered something new for feeding dragons.
Smoked fish.
It took one piece of coal in the smoker, but the result was packed with more life energy than fresh high-quality fish. Caraxes got more vitality from one smoked fish than from three gold-star live ones.
"Another thrifty little discovery."
Since becoming king, Daeron had to carve out time every day for politics. That meant less fishing. These days the only dragons who got the really good fish were Caraxes, Tessarion, Toothless, and the hatchlings.
"Too many dragons really is exhausting."
He couldn't stop the grin.
With Tywin gone to Tyrosh, the entire workload of King's Landing had landed on him. He'd immediately dumped most of it on Lord Corlton.
The last few times they'd met, Lord Corlton had dark circles under his eyes and purple lips. The man looked one bad meeting away from dropping dead from overwork.
"I really need to train a proper Hand-in-waiting."
Daeron mentally ran through candidates and landed on two names: his third brother Jaehaerys and "the little monster" Tyrion.
Tyrion definitely needed grooming—he was the perfect counterweight to his father. But whether he could ever sit the Hand's chair was still up in the air.
Jaehaerys, though? Perfect.
The boy's dream was to become a great advisor like Maester Aemon or the Dragonknight. He already had the temperament and talent for it.
"He just needs more experience."
For now, Daeron had his two future Hands picked out. He'd train them properly when the time was right.
He was dead set on taking the Triarchy. That meant a full eastern campaign. King's Landing would need a Hand. The new eastern holdings would need a Hand. And the king himself would need one close by at all times.
Tywin, Jaehaerys, and Tyrion. Three perfect pieces.
"Stannis and Davos are close, but they still need more seasoning. They'll get their chance."
Before the Long Summer ended and the Others rose, Daeron's entire focus was on the eastern continent—the Stepstones, the Triarchy, and the entire Disputed Lands.
That was his plan: expand, grow the realm, and carve out a safe fallback territory in case the Long Night came and the dead overran Westeros.
Tap tap tap—
Light footsteps approached.
Varys came in with his usual quick little steps, hands tucked into his sleeves, his pale round face looking unusually serious.
"Something wrong, Lord Varys?"
Daeron could already tell from the man's expression that it wasn't good news.
"Your Grace." Varys bowed. "You asked me to keep an eye on Prince Rhaegar and Lady Olenna. My little birds finally brought back something interesting."
He laid it all out without holding anything back—how Rhaegar had sailed on Redwyne ships, how Lady Olenna was secretly funding him behind the Iron Throne's back.
"Prince Oberyn took Lord Paxter's ship back to Dorne. I hear that after he reached Sunspear he demanded to know where Prince Doran had hidden Princess Arianne and his Sand Snakes."
Varys kept his voice low.
The "Sand Snakes" were Oberyn's bastard daughters. The oldest was roughly Daeron's age. Oberyn might be a wild man, but he was surprisingly good to his bastards—kept them close and raised them himself. It was probably the only genuinely decent thing about him.
"Arianne's doing fine. So are the Sand Snakes. They're in the Red Keep having the time of their lives."
Daeron had seen exactly how free Dornish women could be. They treated the Red Keep like their own house. Especially the youngest Sand Snake—she spent every day hunting the handsome young knights. If she were a little older she'd probably already be in someone's bed.
Varys gave him a meaningful look. "Your Grace, Lady Olenna seems… unhappy with House Tyrell's current position in the Reach."
"Secretly funding Prince Rhaegar while pretending to be loyal? That's playing both sides."
Daeron had known for a long time that the Queen of Thorns wasn't the type to accept being sidelined. She'd been greedy during the four-kingdom rebellion too. Old habits died hard.
His face stayed calm. "Leave her alone for now. We hold all the cards. We can settle the score whenever we want."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Varys bowed and stepped back.
In his eyes, House Tyrell was being remarkably stupid.
They should have known exactly why the crown was treating them this way. Instead of scheming and playing both sides, they should have been reading the room and trying to repair the relationship.
"Ah, not everyone can be Lord Tywin."
Varys shook his head quietly, almost feeling sorry for Lady Olenna.
Tywin might be arrogant and power-hungry, but at least he stayed loyal and hitched his wagon firmly to the rising Targaryen star. As Daeron's power grew and House Targaryen entered its renaissance, Tywin's influence had exploded—more than it had ever been under Aerys.
Because Daeron knew when to delegate. He kept the major offices under his direct control but left everything else to his Hand. After the new royal domain was created, Tywin went from managing the old Crownlands and the Westerlands (with some Reach and Stormlands overlap) to overseeing the entire new royal domain, the Westerlands, the Dornish marches, half the Vale, half the Reach, and everything south of the Bay of Crabs.
He had become, in every real sense, the second most powerful man in the realm.
And he knew his limits. He took every scrap of power that belonged to him without hesitation, but he never touched the crown's core interests. Impossible to criticize.
King and Hand worked in perfect harmony.
"Compared to that… House Tyrell—"
Varys thought of the three generations of Tyrells and a small, amused smile appeared on his pale face.
---
The Garden.
"Rhaenys, stop!"
"Haha, you're so slow, Trystane!"
A group of Dornish-looking girls were playing and laughing by the pool, filling the air with bright, carefree voices.
Lady Olenna sat in a pavilion with a completely blank expression, watching them.
"Very cheerful girls, aren't they, Mother?"
Lord Mace stood beside her with his big belly, unusually free of work for once.
"Yes. Extremely cheerful."
Lady Olenna pulled her gaze away, her tone sharp. "And loud. My old ears are ringing so badly I can barely hear my own Hand of the King speak."
Lord Mace's face went red. He wisely stayed quiet.
He knew his mother hated Dornish people.
It wasn't just the ancient feud between the Reach and Dorne.
She thought they were arrogant, overly free with their bodies, and completely shameless.
Two years ago at a tourney in Highgarden, Prince Oberyn had faced Willas. They'd broken six lances before Oberyn finally unhorsed him—hard. Willas had fallen badly and broken his leg when the horse landed on him.
Only Willas's early mastery of life force had saved him. He'd managed to yank his foot free of the stirrup and roll clear at the last second. Otherwise the horse would have crushed his spine.
Willas had recovered and even become friends with Oberyn afterward, writing letters regularly. But Lady Olenna had never forgiven it. She still looked at Oberyn like he was poison.
After all, the Tyrell heir had nearly been left a cripple.
Just like Prince Doran.
Of course, Mace also knew a secret his mother would never admit.
Part of her hatred for the Dornish came from her first fiancé—Prince Daeron Targaryen—who had died fighting Dornish rebels during the "Rat, Hawk, and Pig" uprising.
Never mind that Prince Daeron hadn't liked women and had tried to break the betrothal. Lady Olenna had still enjoyed being engaged to a silver-haired prince. She'd even said publicly that House Targaryen wasn't good enough for her.
But before that, she'd loved the prestige.
Even after he broke the engagement, she'd played the wronged party beautifully and become one of the most desirable girls in the Seven Kingdoms.
Then he died in Dorne without making any real impact, and that hidden advantage vanished.
She'd held a grudge against the Dornish ever since.
"Mother… are you sure what you asked Lord Paxter to do was wise?"
Mace asked quietly once they were alone.
Lady Olenna shot him a withering look. "As long as no one can prove it to my face, what evidence do they have? Do you really think the young king is going to rip every rose off the Tyrell tree over a few rumors?"
That would make him a tyrant.
Even the cruel Maegor hadn't gone that far.
Mace still looked nervous. "What about Willas—?"
"I haven't told him a single thing."
Lady Olenna cut him off and stared at her son's worried face. "Stop fretting, my little pufferfish. Your old mother and your eldest son are not the idiots you seem to think we are."
"That's… good. That's good."
Mace let out a shaky breath.
He was terrified of the young king.
"Instead of worrying about these tiny problems, you should focus on something more important."
Lady Olenna's voice turned sharp. She pointed at two silver-haired girls by the pool—one cold, one shy.
"The king has been married five years. The queen is finally with child. I hear Lord Tywin called his daughter Cersei back to King's Landing right before the news broke. Where is she now?"
Mace blinked, slow on the uptake. "She's in the Red Keep. But without Lord Tywin's permission she doesn't dare chase after the king like she used to."
Lady Olenna sighed, full of old resentment. "So many fine girls from good houses are still unmarried because they're all chasing after that charming prince. They're turning into old maids."
Cersei was the perfect example—crying and screaming that she would be queen, until Tywin locked her in Casterly Rock.
"Janna still refuses to come home?"
Mace scratched his head, looking pained.
Lady Olenna's face darkened. "Don't mention her. Just thinking about it ruins my sleep."
She had arranged a perfectly good marriage for Janna—to a Fossoway of New Barrel.
Janna had run off to Oldtown instead and become a septa.
What a disgrace to the family.
Mace felt sorry for his sister. "Maybe if you'd asked the king earlier, Janna could have married into the royal family and become a little queen."
The people of the Seven Kingdoms weren't fools.
Rhaegar had openly revived the old custom and taken two wives. The young king hadn't followed his example, but he clearly supported the idea—he'd already made his niece Princess of Summerhall and brought his nephews and nieces back to the Red Keep to raise them.
During the five childless years of the queen's marriage, if any great house had pushed for the king to take more wives and secure the succession, it probably would have happened.
Lady Olenna's expression turned even blacker. She looked ready to hit her son with a shit shovel.
Who would dare be the first to suggest it?
Anyone who pushed for multiple wives would be branded a heretic and a bootlicker by the entire nobility.
Even Tywin—bold as he was—hadn't dared.
They waited five years… and the moment Tywin finally brought Cersei back?
Surprise! The queen was pregnant.
"In my opinion, House Lannister will never produce a queen."
Lady Olenna took vicious pleasure in Tywin's misfortune.
"If the Lannisters can produce a queen, then so can House Tyrell."
The bitterness was thick.
---
Tyrosh.
Tywin was in the middle of paperwork when he suddenly sneezed. He lifted his sharp green eyes and scanned the room.
Someone was definitely talking about him behind his back.
Otherwise his strong, healthy body would never sneeze for no reason.
"A bunch of petty little men. All they can do is whisper."
Tywin snorted and went back to work.
The stack of documents on his desk was a full foot high—twice what he'd dealt with in King's Landing.
It was challenging, but not impossible.
He'd been running kingdoms for over a decade. This was nothing.
While his mind worked, he thought less about the young king who kept dumping problems on him and more about his three disappointing children.
Daeron was rising fast. He even had an heir on the way.
And here were his own three children…
Tywin felt a surge of helpless rage with nowhere to go. He could only take it out on the unruly people of Tyrosh.
"That little monster Tyrion… if he weren't obsessed with inheriting Casterly Rock, I might actually give him a chance to prove himself and bring glory to the family."
Tywin was biased, but he wasn't blind.
Tyrion was more capable than even Jaime.
"But Casterly Rock will never go to a dwarf."
Tywin's jaw tightened.
Knock knock knock!
The door opened. Kevan entered with Ser Steffon.
Ser Steffon was a decade older than Tywin, but he faced the Hand with calm confidence.
"My lord, the survey of the Disputed Lands is complete. We can report to His Grace and begin distributing rewards and titles to the loyalists."