Meanwhile, the Small Council was in an uproar.
The ministers were locked in a fierce debate over the Tourney at Harrenhal.
Lord Whent had officially declared the tourney a celebration of his daughter's nameday. But everyone knew there was more to it than that.
Led by Lord Chelsted, several council members questioned the true motives behind the event, suspecting a hidden agenda. Chelsted proposed putting a stop to the tourney altogether.
Lord Staunton took an even more radical stance, demanding a ban on all tourneys.
The commotion drew the attention of both the King and the Hand, who attended the council meeting with differing views.
It had been a long time since Aerys had appeared before his ministers, and his appearance nearly made their jaws drop.
The King wore his crown, but he was dressed in a simple woolen shirt with a purple cloak thrown over it.
His long, silver-gold hair, which had been unkempt and waist-length for years, was now trimmed to shoulder length. His fingernails were neatly cut, his complexion was rosy, and his once gaunt, starved frame looked robust and healthy.
"How has the King changed so much?"
Staunton, who hadn't seen the King in ages, almost didn't recognize him.
Varys, hands tucked into his sleeves, whispered, "If you spent every day herding sheep, milking them, and shearing wool from dawn till dusk, you'd be as strong as an ox too."
To tame the dragons, the King had truly given his all.
That messy silver-gold hair was only cut short because it had been singed by green, smoke-filled sparks during his previous attempts. He'd learned his lesson the hard way. Otherwise, once that hair caught fire, it was a nightmare to put out.
Aerys looked impatient. "Whent is plotting something. Is that what you're saying?"
So much nonsense, he thought. I still have to go play Dragonkeeper and feed the black hatchling.
It was his latest discovery: the hatchling was less wary of the Dragonkeepers than of him.
Staunton hurriedly spoke up. "Your Grace, Whent is not the mastermind. I suspect someone is funding him from the shadows, using the tourney as a pretext to gather the lords of the Seven Kingdoms at Harrenhal."
"Is this true?" Aerys paused, startled.
Chelsted added subtly, "Your Grace, several Great Councils to choose a new king have been held at Harrenhal in the past."
Staunton and Lucerys Velaryon nodded in unison.
Indeed.
They had reason to suspect that the man behind Whent was Crown Prince Rhaegar.
Rhaegar, committed to saving the realm from the King's declining rule, was surely using this gathering to stage a coup.
Aerys's purple eyes flashed wildly as his suspicion immediately locked onto his eldest son, Rhaegar.
Apart from Rhaegar, no one else had the capability.
It had to be said, the synergy between the King and his councilors was perfect in this moment of paranoia.
As the King hesitated, Varys stepped forward and dropped a bombshell. "Your Grace, I have reliable information. Prince Rhaegar is aiding Lord Whent in hosting this tourney to summon the lords of the realm and force your abdication."
Aerys was shocked, then flew into a rage.
But before he could roar, Tywin Lannister furrowed his brow and questioned, "Varys, what proof do you have of this?"
"My little birds are everywhere."
Varys looked confident. "The intelligence I've gathered indicates that half the lords of the Crownlands and most of the Riverlands have received secret missives from Dragonstone, urging them to support Prince Rhaegar."
There were also some lords from the Stormlands, the Vale, and the Reach. Though their numbers were few, not enough to form a major bloc yet.
Staunton immediately jumped on the bandwagon. "Correct! Prince Rhaegar's ambition is clear for all to see."
This time, the other two ministers kept their mouths shut.
Suggesting a conspiracy at Harrenhal was doing their duty.
But explicitly naming Prince Rhaegar as the mastermind right there? That was risky. If the King suddenly had a change of heart and decided the throne should pass to his eldest son...
Or, if the King killed Rhaegar and named Daeron heir...
In the future, whoever sat on the throne might remember how Rhaegar died and decide to take their heads as a way to ease their own conscience.
It wasn't worth it!
Staunton looked around, confused. I thought we were all in this together? Why aren't you backing me up?
Tywin was fearless, but he didn't want Rhaegar to fall too easily. He spoke ambiguously. "Your Grace, if the Master of Whisperers speaks true, I suggest a thorough investigation."
Chelsted chimed in, "Until the matter is clear, it would be best to halt the Tourney at Harrenhal."
After all, the King was not yet forty.
Before, he looked mad and frail, like he wouldn't last long. But seeing him today, recovered and healthy, he didn't look like a man about to die.
In that case, Prince Rhaegar couldn't be allowed to fall so easily, leaving Prince Daeron unchecked.
Only when the royal house was divided, with two factions fighting, could ministers like them thrive and seize more power.
Lucerys Velaryon kept his eyes on his nose and his nose on his heart, staying silent.
"Rhaegar... Rhaegar..."
Aerys's face was dark as he muttered the name over and over.
He was convinced Rhaegar was making moves to usurp his father's throne.
"Then I shall not attend this tourney!"
"Dismissed!"
With a roar, Aerys couldn't wait to head to the Dragonpit. Only the sight of the young dragons gave him a sense of security, a way to hide from the invisible gaze that was driving him mad.
---
The Tower of the Hand
Tywin summoned Staunton for a private meeting to discuss the details of the Tourney at Harrenhal.
Staunton held nothing back.
Speaking from the perspective of a loyalist to the King, he criticized Rhaegar from top to bottom, denouncing him as a man with no respect for king or father, predicting he would cause a catastrophe.
Tywin waved his hand dismissively. He had no interest in the man's rambling; he only wanted the source of the intelligence.
It all pointed back to one person: Varys, the Master of Whisperers.
"You may go."
Tywin didn't want to listen to the old fool any longer.
In a short time, he had confirmed a suspicion.
The Tourney at Harrenhal was a joint operation planned by Daeron and Rhaegar.
"Whose side is Whent really on?"
Tywin recalled what his eldest son, Jaime, had said.
Daeron had appeared at Harrenhal for no apparent reason, was treated with great respect by Lord Whent, and had privately met with House Blackwood and the "Blackfish," Brynden Tully.
All signs pointed to Whent having switched sides.
Yet, the tourney was proceeding, and Whent was cooperating with Rhaegar to spread the word and gather the lords.
Tywin tapped his finger on the desk, musing, "Daeron is playing along, trying to lure Rhaegar into revealing his ambition so he can divide the support of the lords."
He knew his student's situation well.
Daeron had dragons, the support of Aerys and the Small Council, and control over the City Watch.
But as a second son, his claim to legitimacy was always weaker.
The mindset of Westeros was rigid; the rights of the firstborn were deeply ingrained.
The Dance of the Dragons and the Blackfyre Rebellions—two wars that had engulfed the continent—served as a reminder to all nobles.
Orderly succession was the key to peace.
"Is he drawing out Rhaegar's usurping ambitions to attack his legitimacy?" Tywin murmured.
Given Aerys's madness, he might actually change the heir.
And with the growth rate of those three dragons, even if the realm was dragged into a long war, victory would eventually belong to Daeron.
It seemed a civil war within the royal family was inevitable.
"Which side should House Lannister take?"
Tywin thought of his student, Daeron, but felt a surge of resentment over the boy's refusal to marry Cersei.
Cersei had never given up on conquering her ideal prince. But progress was slow, their relationship always lukewarm and distant.
It was making both father and daughter neurotic.
Knock, knock, knock!
The door opened, and Tygett Lannister walked in.
Tywin's face hardened. "What is it?"
"Brother, there's something..."
Tygett, a large, powerful man, was stammering and hesitant.
Tywin noticed a letter in his hand and barked, "Indecisive! Where is your dignity? Bring it here!"
Tygett hurriedly handed it over.
Among this generation of Lannisters, Tywin was much older than his brothers. He was only close to his second brother, Kevan; with the other two, he was as strict as a father.
Tygett slunk away.
Tywin opened the letter. He read two paragraphs and instantly flew into a rage.
His eldest son, Jaime, had deserted the fleet. In the dead of night, he had boarded a smuggler's ship and secretly returned to Westeros.
By the timing, he was probably nearing King's Landing.
And his fourth brother, Gerion, was an absolute scoundrel.
He had deliberately let his nephew escape, taken the funds Tywin had just provided, kicked the Lannister men off the ship, hired a new crew of sailors, and set sail from Volantis toward the Smoking Sea.
"Damn him! He's gone mad!"
Tywin gritted his teeth.
The Smoking Sea was a cursed place formed after the Doom of Valyria. Legend had it that no one ever returned alive.
In the letter, Gerion mentioned he was going to the Smoking Sea to find the family's lost ancestral sword, Brightroar.
Tywin took a deep breath to calm his anger.
Well, if Jaime was coming back, he could attend the Tourney at Harrenhal. He could shine in the lists and bring glory to House Lannister.
As for Gerion...
Tywin couldn't help but curse, "Why didn't that boy just beat you to death back then!"
---
A Few Days Later
As the Tourney at Harrenhal drew nearer, half the Seven Kingdoms was in a frenzy.
Daeron watched it all but didn't intervene rashly.
He had more important things to do.
---
The Mines
Daeron stood holding an Obsidian Edge, with a Gold Pickaxe and 99 pieces of Cheese in his inventory. He pressed the button for Level 95.
[Obsidian Edge (Level 6 Sword)]:
Damage: 30-45
Speed: -1
Crit Power: +10
Description: "It's incredibly sharp."
It was the reward chest for clearing Level 90. Its damage was slightly higher than the Neptune's Glaive. The advantage was high attack power; the downside was the lack of defense and speed bonuses.
It was the best transitional weapon for the early game, better than nothing.
Ding!
Stepping onto Level 95, the cavern walls were a deep, glowing crimson. Magma seemed to flow faintly behind the rocks, and the ambient temperature was as hot as a volcano.
Daeron felt perfectly at ease. In fact, he felt he could perform even better here.
"Today, I reach Level 100!"
For the past six months, he had spent most of his time grinding levels 20 to 40, gathering the copper and iron needed for furnaces, quality sprinklers, and tappers.
His deepest run had stalled at Level 99.
Level 99 had too many rocks and even more monsters.
His iron pickaxe was too inefficient, so he had saved up gold bars to upgrade to a Gold Pickaxe.
As for the monsters, there was no helping it.
From Level 80 onwards, a monster called the "Shadow Person" appeared. They were divided into assassin types (Shadow Brutes) and mage types (Shadow Shamans).
The Shadow People had a significant background. Along with the sprites that triggered events, the Junimos that gave bundle rewards, and the Dwarves who never showed their faces, they were one of the special races of Stardew Valley.
They were supposed to be intelligent, but the Shadow People in the mines had lost their reason, becoming monsters that knew only slaughter.
Not only did they deal high damage, but they also coordinated attacks between assassins and mages.
Daeron had tried several times, but he always got stuck unable to find the ladder, forced to retreat by the hordes of monsters.
But now, with [Forest Magic], his senses were heightened.
He would definitely clear Level 100.
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CaveLeather
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