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By the time Daeron reached the dragon pit, Shaena had already landed.
Inar was in her arms, tiny hands waving in the air as he let out bright, happy giggles.
"I've never seen a baby this bold or this quick to laugh," Shaena said, holding him close. There was a clear, proud little smile on her usually cool face.
Daeron just stared at her. "You're the one who's bold."
A newborn. Out flying on dragonback like it was nothing.
Shaena only smiled wider. "He loves being up there."
Daeron spent the walk back to the Red Keep lecturing her until she finally promised not to pull that stunt again. He escorted mother and son all the way to their chambers.
Halfway there, Shaena spoke up again. "Rhaenys has an egg. Inar has one now. It's time Daenerys got one too."
Their little sister was six.
Daeron thought about it. The family had more dragons than dragonriders at the moment. "Wait a little longer. She's still too small. If she can't get a dragon to answer her when she's ready, she can pick one from Tessarion's clutch."
Most Targaryen children met dragons between six and eight. The youngest who actually claimed one were usually twelve or thirteen. Anything younger was risky. Kids that age hadn't finished forming their own minds yet. Handing them power like that was asking for trouble.
In his old life, twelve was still elementary school. Giving an elementary-school kid a live bomb and telling him to play with it? Yeah, no.
Besides, Daenerys already had her own path. In the old stories she'd ended up with three dragons of her own. Those were the ones meant for her. She just needed to grow into them.
"Alright," Shaena said easily. "We'll do it that way."
She meant she'd still set one of Tessarion's new eggs aside for Daenerys later. Fresh blood for the next generation.
"Take it slow," Daeron told her as he helped her into the litter.
He watched the white wheelhouse roll away and let his mind drift.
Drogon was already getting big.
He should ask the Dragon Guards on Dragonstone how the black dragon was behaving. Whether he was getting aggressive with the others.
---
The next morning both problems on Daeron's plate had updates.
One: Lord Lucerys had brought the royal fleet home from patrol. Tywin was clearly itching to make a move.
Two: The Dragon Guards on Dragonstone had written back. Drogon had been disappearing for days at a time. Fishermen on the eastern coast had spotted two dragons fighting out there.
That explained Grey Shadow's injuries.
Lucerys himself brought another piece of news.
"Your Grace, while we were near the Summer Sea I crossed paths with Prince Rhaegar's fleet. After we passed, I saw a young black dragon flying east."
The Small Council went quiet.
"East?" Daeron asked, surprised.
He'd said it before—dragons were territorial. Most of them never left Dragonstone in their entire lives. The only ones that ever wandered far were wild ones like the Cannibal or dragons that had lost their riders during the Dance.
Silverwing had gone to the Red Lake after the Battle of the Gods Eye and then vanished. The Cannibal had simply disappeared one day.
Drogon was apparently the same kind of free spirit.
Daeron let out a short laugh. "That one's got personality."
He waved it off for the moment. "Don't worry. He'll come back when he's ready."
He knew it wasn't that simple. A dragon flying off alone was never small news. But right now there was nothing he could do about it except eat breakfast.
Drogon was heading east. Straight toward the Valyrian peninsula. The Smoking Sea.
In the old stories Drogon had flown that way too. Tyrion had seen him while he was being dragged around by Jorah.
Something was calling dragons to that cursed stretch of water.
Daeron was certain the Valyrian peninsula still held secrets.
The meeting moved on to the bigger issue: the eastern campaign.
Tywin opened it. "Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh have submitted. But if the Iron Throne wants to actually hold the three cities, we've got two serious problems."
"One: We follow the laws of the Seven Kingdoms. Slavery has to end in all three cities. Every slave becomes a free subject of the realm."
"Two: The Disputed Lands."
Lord Lucerys jumped in. "The Disputed Lands are huge. The three cities only control less than half of it, and most of what they do control is still in the hands of old Triarchy loyalists who hate us and won't bend the knee."
Tywin continued. "I suggest we use Tyrosh as the test case. Start the emancipation process there, then move to Lys. We can send the excess slaves from the cities into the Disputed Lands to work the new land we take."
"Myr stays the forward base. It keeps supplying the army until the fighting in the Disputed Lands is finished."
Lord Corlton nodded along. "Makes sense. No point rushing and breaking everything at once."
Daeron agreed. If they tried to free every slave in all three cities at the same time, the nobles would drag their feet and the war effort would suffer.
Tywin glanced at him. "After talking with His Grace, we've decided to put Lord Randyll Tarly in overall command of the allied forces. Ser Kevan and Prince Jaehaerys will serve as his deputies. The three of them will handle the campaign in the Disputed Lands."
Lord Lucerys cut in again, voice sharp. "And what about House Velaryon?"
The room went still.
"House Velaryon has the strongest fleet in the realm," Lucerys said. "We've been fighting for the Iron Throne this whole time. Now that the three cities have surrendered, are we just supposed to turn into a transport service?"
Tywin's eyes flicked toward him. Cold.
"Two things, Lord Lucerys," he said evenly. "First, on Lady Olenna's request, sea transport will be handled by the Redwyne fleet from the Arbor. Not the Velaryon fleet."
"Second—" Tywin sat up straighter, voice turning to ice. "There is no 'Velaryon fleet' in this chamber. There is only the royal fleet that the Iron Throne has placed under your command."
Lucerys slammed his hand on the table and stood up.
"More than half the ships in that fleet were built and crewed by House Velaryon. My family commands one of the strongest fleets in the Seven Kingdoms. We've bled for the king. And you?" He stared straight at Tywin. "You're just some back-room accountant who moves papers and talks."
The temperature in the room dropped to freezing.
Tywin rose slowly, eyes burning.
No one had ever spoken to him like that in this chamber.
Lucerys smirked. "What's wrong, Lord Tywin? Did I hit a nerve?"
Tywin's voice was dangerously quiet. "Say that again."
The two men stared at each other across the table like they were about to draw steel.
Lord Corlton stood up fast. "My lords, please—"
Tyrion was already moving, grabbing a wine pitcher. "My lord, have a drink. We can talk this out—"
Lucerys didn't even look at the cup. He covered it with his hand and sneered at Tyrion.
"A dwarf who can't even do an honest day's work belongs in a jester's motley, not sitting at this table with real men. You're an embarrassment to everyone here."
Tyrion's face went dark.
Lucerys wasn't just insulting him. He was insulting his father and his entire house.
Daeron finally spoke, voice calm but carrying an edge.
"Lord Lucerys. I'm the one who raised Tyrion to this seat. Are you saying I'm the one embarrassing everyone?"