Read my new story >>Marvel *Villain Points* (Evil MC)
CaveLeather
Tywin and Lucerys Velaryon—the two most powerful men in the Seven Kingdoms—were both forced out on the same day.
"Now we're going to need a new Master of Ships and a new fleet commander," Tyrion said, trying to lighten the heavy silence in the room.
Daeron wasn't in the mood. "Meeting's over."
Tyrion blinked. "Already?"
Daeron stood. "Send for Lady Olenna. I've heard she's been playing matchmaker while I was gone. I have a job that suits her perfectly."
"Yes, Your Grace."
The ministers filed out, Tyrion leading them with a spring in his step that hadn't been there an hour ago.
Once the chamber was empty, Daeron rubbed his temples. The original plan had been simple: let Tywin take down Lucerys, reclaim control of the royal fleet, and let the Tyrells and Martells push back just enough to keep things balanced. Then he would step in at the right moment, punish the guilty, reward the useful, and tighten his grip on everything.
But Tyrion had done something—something bad enough to make Tywin lose his famous self-control—and the whole plan had gone sideways. Now Daeron had to play the villain himself and slap everyone who needed it.
"Plans fall apart the more complicated they get," he muttered. "I really am better at the direct approach."
"Your Grace, Lady Olenna is here."
"Send her in."
Olenna Tyrell walked in like she owned the place, glanced at the chair across from Daeron, and raised an eyebrow in silent question.
Daeron waved a hand. Sit if you want. I don't torment old women.
"Thank you." She settled in, adjusted her skirts, and opened fire without preamble. "The old lion really is heartless, isn't he? Willing to destroy his own son in open court."
"He's not the Hand anymore."
Olenna's eyes sharpened. She hadn't expected that. "Mace didn't mention it."
"Don't bring up my idiot son," she said, then leaned forward slightly. "Tell me, Your Grace… isn't it a little convenient that you returned right when Tyrion was in trouble he couldn't solve on his own?"
She was fishing. Testing whether the whole trial-by-combat drama had been staged.
Daeron met her gaze evenly. "If you have something to ask, ask it plainly."
"Nothing at all," Olenna said smoothly. "Just noting how perfectly timed everything was. So what did you want from me, Your Grace?"
Daeron didn't waste time. "Lucerys Velaryon is out. The realm needs a new Master of Ships."
Olenna waited.
Daeron continued. "Your grandson Willas is eighteen now. He's been serving under your son as a records officer. I assume he's learned something useful."
Olenna sat up straighter. "You want to give my grandson a seat on the Small Council?"
"I'm considering it."
She studied him for a long moment, looking for the trap. "Then we should talk terms."
Daeron picked up a quill. "Lucerys is gone, but House Velaryon still has value. I'm splitting their fleet. Monford—soon to be Lord Monford—will keep half of it as his own command. The other half will be bought outright by the crown and turned into a royal fleet based out of Dragonstone."
Olenna nodded slowly. It was a smart move. It kept the Velaryons from controlling the entire royal navy while still giving them enough power to be useful.
"But because of Lucerys's actions," Daeron said, "Monford can't be Master of Ships. I need someone new."
"Willas would be perfect," Olenna said at once.
Daeron set the quill down. "Your son Mace and your grandson would both sit on the Small Council. That's a lot of power for one house. Are you sure House Tyrell can handle the pressure?"
Olenna's smile was thin. "We won't disappoint you, Your Grace."
Daeron believed her. He started writing the appointment.
Olenna watched him. "You mentioned you had two candidates. Why choose Willas?"
"Because he's the most reliable," Daeron said without looking up. "And because I have another task I want to give you."
Olenna's expression sharpened. "What task?"
Daeron finished writing and looked at her. "I want you to arrange a marriage between Cersei Lannister and me."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Olenna's hands tightened on the arms of her chair. She took a slow breath, then another.
Finally she said, "I'll handle it."
Daeron slid the signed appointment across the table. "I knew you were a practical woman."
Olenna took the paper, stood, and left without another word. Her steps were quick for a woman her age.
Daeron watched her go, then picked up the quill again and wrote two more letters.
One went to the black cells, naming Monford Velaryon as Fleet Commander.
The other went to Myr, addressed to Ser Steffon Frey.
He was appointing William Pojiali as Deputy Fleet Commander.
William had already been betrothed to one of Steffon's granddaughters after his fake "prince" title was stripped away. The man had fought well in the Disputed Lands and at Myr. More importantly, Viserys was about to marry William's sister Diana.
That made the Pojiali family useful.
Daeron was planting his own people in the new royal fleet—people loyal to him, not to the old Velaryon power structure.
He leaned back in his chair.
Tywin was out but not destroyed.
Lucerys was out but not executed.
The Tyrells were being pulled in.
New blood was being fed into the navy.
The board was being rearranged exactly the way he wanted.
Prime Minister's Tower.
Tywin was packing his things with cold, precise movements.
Jaime and Tyrion stood in the doorway, watching him.
"Looks good on me, doesn't it?" Tyrion said quietly, tapping the Hand badge on his chest. "In a few hours I'll probably be sleeping in your old bed too."
"Both of you, get out," Tywin snapped without looking up.
He wasn't going to lose control again. Not after what happened in the throne room. Daeron had made his point by raising Tyrion instead of destroying the Lannisters entirely. Tywin could read the message: Stay useful and the family keeps its seat at the table.
He would swallow the humiliation. For now.
A familiar voice drifted in from the corridor.
"My, my. The new Hand is already moving into his father's rooms? How ambitious."
Olenna Tyrell stepped inside, green skirts rustling.
Tywin looked up, face like stone. "Come to gloat, my lady?"
"Not at all," Olenna said sweetly. "I'm simply the bearer of good news. From the king himself."
She smiled, and it wasn't kind.
"Tell your daughter Cersei to start preparing her wedding dress. Her dream is about to come true."