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Game of Thrones Prince of the Rhoyne
Game of Thrones: Knights Life
CaveLeather
Newlyweds were glowing, and the whole city felt lighter for it.
King's Landing enjoyed clear skies and a cool sea breeze in mid-June.
"Morning, brother."
Jaehaerys walked into the council chamber looking sharp and well-rested. The usual shy edge was gone.
Daeron smiled. "How's married life treating you?"
"Very well," Jaehaerys said with an easy grin.
"People say marriage is the grave of love," Tyrion remarked, pouring himself a cup of wine and bumping shoulders with the prince. "Looks like you're still a long way from the coffin."
Daeron glanced at his Hand. "If you want one, I can find you a wife too."
Tyrion nearly choked. "Pass. Most men only put one foot in the grave when they marry. With my height, I'd fall in headfirst."
Laughter rippled around the table. Even the most serious lords cracked a smile.
Tyrion was nothing like Tywin. Where the old lion had ruled with iron silence, the new Hand brought a different energy—sharp, irreverent, and oddly effective.
A knock sounded at the door.
Ser Barristan stepped in. "Your Grace, Prince Viserys is still asleep. Lady Diana says he wants another hour."
Daeron's smile vanished.
"That lazy bastard. I'll deal with him myself."
Jaehaerys stood up quickly. "I'll go wake him. Today's important."
Today was the day they finalized plans for the second eastern campaign—the push to take back the entire Disputed Lands.
Viserys being late was unacceptable.
Daeron waved a hand. "No need. Tell someone to dump a bucket of cold water on him."
Barristan's mouth twitched. "At once, Your Grace."
The knight left with clear enjoyment in his step.
Daeron checked the time on his panel. "We're not waiting. Let's begin."
He looked around the table. Every minister was present, along with Jaehaerys and Fredo Rogare as representatives of the Three Cities.
Tyrion stayed seated—smart move. Standing would have put him below eye level for most of the room.
He cleared his throat. "Three main points today."
"First: full emancipation of slaves across the Three Cities."
"Second: launch the second eastern campaign and reclaim the Disputed Lands."
"Third: prepare for the West Essos Federation."
The ministers listened closely.
Tyrion laid out the slave liberation plan—starting with Tyrosh and Lys, finishing with Myr.
Fredo nodded. "I'll inform Governor Valarr when I return."
Next came the military campaign.
Daeron took over. "I'll ride Caraxes. Randyll Tarly will lead the main army out of Myr and sweep down the Valyrian Road."
"Jaehaerys, you'll fly Valar and support Ser Kevan with the left wing—north toward the Flatlands and east into the Andals."
"Viserys will fly Alex and work with Stannis, Eddard Stark, and Bronze Yohn. They'll push south from Tyrosh toward the Summer Sea and Twin Lakes."
Three dragonriders. Three armies. A lightning strike across the Disputed Lands.
Jaehaerys answered at once. "Understood, Your Grace."
Tyrion moved to the final point. "The West Essos Federation. Volantis, Pentos, and the cities of Slaver's Bay have formally announced its creation. Braavos is quietly backing it. Almost every major power in western Essos has joined."
The room went quiet.
Willas Tyrell spoke first. "They're showing strength. A unified front against us."
Tyrion tapped the map. "If we get bogged down in the Disputed Lands, they'll bleed us dry with supplies and reinforcements. We can't afford a long war."
Daeron studied the map. The Disputed Lands were huge. Even with three dragonriders, spreading forces thin would be dangerous.
Tyrion continued. "We also have a trade problem. They're closing ranks economically. We can sell less, and they'll sell us less."
Fredo added, "The Three Cities will need grain from the Seven Kingdoms once we free the slaves. We can pay, but prices will be high."
Daeron made his decision. "Buy what we need from Pentos. Reach out to Prince Reggio."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "They might charge above market rate."
"Pay it."
Daeron's tone left no room for argument. If Pentos tried to squeeze them too hard, he'd deal with them another way—perhaps by force.
The meeting ended with clear orders.
Afterward, Daeron walked with Jaehaerys and Fredo down the corridor until Varys appeared at a corner.
Jaehaerys and Fredo took the hint and left.
Varys waited until they were alone. His usual smile was gone.
"I have one piece of good news and one piece of bad news, Your Grace. Which would you like first?"
"Good news."
Varys lowered his voice. "We've located the Valyrian steel sword Blackfyre."
Daeron's eyes sharpened. "Where?"
"It's in the hands of Myles Toyne—'Blackheart,' the captain-general of the Golden Company."
Varys explained quickly. After the Triarchy's defeat, the remnants of the Golden Company had fled to Pentos. Now that the West Essos Federation was forming and the new city of Elyria needed soldiers, the Golden Company had accepted a contract.
Myles Toyne had publicly revealed Blackfyre and declared himself a descendant of the Blackfyre line, claiming he would become Prince of Elyria.
Daeron allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The ancestral sword of the Blackfyres had finally resurfaced.
"And the bad news?"
Varys's expression darkened. "Volantis has used blood magic. There are confirmed reports that they've hatched young dragons… and they've begun screening for dragonriders through blood rituals."
Daeron's smile faded.
The storm in Essos was no longer just political.
It had teeth. And fire.