Lyn Corbray was dragged out without ceremony.
Daeron thought the matter was settled, but there was a quick follow-up.
"Lord Lynel is still in Myr," Varys reported. "His wife is running Heart's Home. Lady Corbray decided Lyn was a stain on the family name and a threat to her childless husband's inheritance. She had him sent straight to the Wall."
Daeron shrugged. "The Night's Watch isn't the worst place for him."
He didn't punish Lord Lynel. He just sent a sharp message telling the man to keep his wife in line and stop her from acting like a fishwife.
"Lord Lynel has been married for years with no sons," Varys said quietly. "His lady is worried the title will slip away from her blood."
Daeron wasn't interested in family drama. He moved on to the rest of the reports.
Varys had two pieces of news about the Night's Watch.
First, Jeor Mormont of Bear Island.
Lord Jeor was proud of his son Jorah's performance in the Battle of Myr. He had already written to the Watch saying he would join them and hand Bear Island over to Jorah early.
Then everything fell apart.
On the way back from King's Landing, Jorah met the daughter of a wealthy Myr merchant. Young, pretty, gentle, and very impressed by a strong northern hero.
Jorah had always been weak for beautiful women, especially ones softer than the tough northern girls he grew up with. He fell hard.
With help from the merchant, Jorah got supplies, slaves, and a foothold in the new lands Daeron had granted him. He had a warm climate, a rich father-in-law, and a soft woman in his bed.
He decided he wasn't going back to cold, poor Bear Island.
When the news reached Jeor, the man nearly had a stroke. He had already sworn he would go to the Wall. Being a man of his word, he kept the promise anyway. He gave Bear Island to his sister Maege instead.
Second piece of news: the Lord Commander was dead.
The 998th Lord Commander had slipped on the melting ice along the Wall while inspecting the "tears" of the great structure. He hit the back of his head and never got up.
"Qorgyle is gone?"
Daeron rubbed his forehead. He had met the man.
Varys nodded. "The long summer has thinned the snow on the Wall. The ice melts and runs down the face like tears. Qorgyle was old. One wrong step…"
"He was a good man," Daeron said. "Send the Watch more grain, salt, and thick furs. Tell them to pick a new commander quickly."
Jeor Mormont would probably be one of the candidates. With luck, he might become the 999th Lord Commander.
"I'll speak with the Hand and Lord Corlton," Varys said, already turning to leave.
"Wait."
Daeron opened his eyes. "Jorah Mormont abandoned his father, refused his birthright, and used slaves to settle his new lands. That's a direct violation of the laws of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Spare him the noose because slavery hasn't been fully abolished in Myr yet. But strip him of the lands I gave him and exile him from the continent for life."
A pretty face and a lack of backbone. Daeron had tried to give the man a real chance. He had even granted him decent new territory.
What a waste.
"I'll have the Hand draft the order at once, Your Grace."
Varys ducked his head and hurried out.
Just then the doors burst open.
"Uncle!"
Rhaenys rushed in, face tight with worry.
Daeron stood up fast. "What is it?"
"The little queen—" Rhaenys caught herself. "Great-Uncle Aemon says Aunt Shaena is in labor."
Daeron was already moving.
He took the stairs three at a time and hit the queen's chambers like a storm.
"Your Grace—"
Ser Gerold and Prince Lewyn were outside the door. They stepped forward at once.
"How long has it been?" Daeron demanded.
"Not long," Ser Gerold answered calmly. "Maester Aemon says everything looks fine."
"Can I go in?"
Before anyone could answer, a thin, angry cry came from inside the room, followed by two sharp slaps.
Both men froze.
"I'm going in," Daeron said, and pushed the door open.
The chamber was simple, clean, and quiet.
"Your Grace, what are you doing here?"
Maester Aemon had his back to the door. He turned, squinting, still holding something small and wet.
Daeron didn't answer. He looked past the old man.
Shaena lay on the bed, pale but smiling faintly. The sheets beneath her were stained. Several women moved quietly around her, cleaning up.
"That was fast," Daeron said, taking her cool hand.
Shaena just nodded, too tired to speak much.
Aemon finished wrapping the baby in a soft blanket and turned, beaming like a child.
"Come see. I've never seen a healthier boy. He's going to be a strong one."
Daeron took the bundle carefully.
The baby was… surprisingly good-looking.
Most newborns came out wrinkled and red. This one had clear skin and a calm little face. A layer of fine silver fuzz covered his head, rising and falling with each breath.
Daeron studied him for a long moment.
Aemon smiled at Shaena. "He was very good to his mother. Didn't make her suffer much. He'll be a sweet boy."
Daeron looked down at the tiny face pressed against his chest and felt something warm settle behind his ribs.
He wasn't overwhelmed with emotion. He just thought the little thing was cute.
And he was his.
"Looks like the gods sent you a good one," Aemon said happily.
Daeron nodded, still staring at his son.
"He's my heir," he said quietly.
Outside in the corridor, the ministers were already gathering.
Daeron carried the baby out so they could see him. Even Tywin stepped forward for a look.
"A strong child," the old lion said, and for once he sounded almost pleased. "He carries your blood well."
Tyrion stood on his toes, trying to get a better view and muttering under his breath.
Davos smiled. "Have you chosen a name yet, Your Grace?"
The question hung in the air.
Daeron frowned.
His father and Rhaegar had already used up most of the good Targaryen names. Between the two of them, there weren't many left that didn't feel borrowed or secondhand.
He looked down at the baby in his arms and sighed.
Naming a future king was harder than it looked.