"Splendid, simply splendid."
Aerys's body trembled with excitement, as if he could already see his noble subjects holding him in the highest esteem.
Pycelle and Varys exchanged looks, both finding it difficult to speak.
How could things go so smoothly? Given the King's current mental state, it was more important to avoid trouble than to seek it out.
Tywin gave the King a moment for his self-indulgence before saying, "Your Grace, the Prince mentioned in his letter that his living quarters are humble. As a Prince of the realm, how can his fiefdom be without a castle?"
Aerys paused, thinking the man had a point.
His most beloved son could not be living in some rural farmhouse.
Tywin held his head high. "The Crown should provide funds to build a castle for the Prince that befits his status."
Aerys took this deeply to heart.
Unexpectedly, Tywin changed his tune: "Building a castle is time-consuming and labor-intensive. It would be better to summon the Prince back to the palace first, and put the proposal on the agenda whenever the treasury is full."
Shifting from building a castle to summoning him back to court.
"Hmm?"
Aerys frowned deeply.
His mental state might be poor, but he wasn't a fool.
After his eldest son Rhaegar's wedding, he had always advocated for his more loyal Second Son to become the new heir, replacing that ungrateful wolf.
And while the Second Son was in the Riverlands, he had explicitly refused to compete and revealed his intention to ask for a fiefdom.
He certainly hadn't agreed to that.
Yet at the Small Council, this proposal had received the unanimous approval of the ministers.
In his mind, others might have done it to avoid internal royal strife, but Tywin definitely did not.
This man of wolfish ambition must have other schemes. He surely saw that establishing a Second Son with a brighter future would hinder that ungrateful wolf's succession, ruining their collaborative plot.
Under pressure, Aerys had agreed anyway.
Then he granted his Second Son a fief on the south bank of the Blackwater Rush, only a river away from King's Landing, so he could rush to the city at any time in a crisis.
It would be best if the territory was so poor he couldn't make ends meet, forcing the boy back to King's Landing to be before him at all times.
Now Tywin was suddenly opposing the construction of a castle and saying he should be recalled to King's Landing. Such an unusual move was likely another conspiracy.
"No!"
At this thought, Aerys instantly became fierce and questioned loudly, "Tywin, what are you doing as Hand? Has the treasury been hollowed out by your Lannister kin, that you won't even provide the gold to build a castle for my son?"
The blatant insult was like a sharp slap to the face.
Even someone as calculating as Tywin turned pale with rage, suppressing the fire in his heart.
"Your Grace, Prince Rhaegar has moved to Dragonstone. As the second eldest male heir, shouldn't Prince Daeron remain in King's Landing?"
Tywin said in a low voice.
He was indeed provoked.
Because the proposal to recall Daeron was not something discussed beforehand between master and student, but his own personal decision.
When he took the boy as a student, he hadn't made any demands.
Asking for nothing is the greatest request of all.
Mad King was ungrateful; he had refused a marriage alliance between Rhaegar and Tywin's daughter, mocking the Lannisters as his servants, unfit to breed with their masters.
Rhaegar was excellent, Rhaegar was of high character, and Rhaegar was loved by the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms.
And Rhaegar chose Elia Martell.
Since both Mad King and his son slighted House Lannister, then he would support a new, obedient king.
Planning a fief for Daeron was to build momentum, to let the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms know there was another prince to choose from.
If Daeron hid in his fief, Tywin would get no return on his investment.
Only by recalling him from the fief could his utility be maximized.
Aerys didn't care about any of that; if you said east, he'd go west, absolutely refusing to let Tywin have his way.
He sneered mockingly, "Tywin, watch your place. It is not for you to dictate matters concerning my son. Now, leave your King."
Tywin's eyes were cold as a viper's. He gave the man on the iron throne a long look, then turned and swept out of the room.
His posture seemed to say: "Aerys, the day will come when you regret this."
"Ridiculous!"
Aerys dismissed it with contempt.
I am the King!!
...Sunset.
Daeron was on the rocks by the beach, holding a bamboo fishing rod and turning the reel with varying speeds.
Splash!
The line was pulled back, the hook snagged on a clump of wet, bright green seaweed.
"Dammit!"
Daeron's face darkened instantly. He threw down the bamboo rod and pointed at the sea: "You've got nerve. You'd better not let me catch a single fish."
After tossing and turning for half the day, he had caught a total of two clumps of seaweed and a piece of driftwood.
He was a Targaryen, true, but he hadn't hatched a dragon egg or flown on dragonback yet.
They really treated him like a total failure!
Collecting his thoughts, Daeron picked up his rod and headed back before it got dark.
The rod was a freebie, found in a blue box similar to a starter gift box when he arrived on the East Coast.
He had been full of confidence, thinking he could be as leisurely as in the game.
He didn't expect reality to teach him a lesson; he was in a hurry to get home by nightfall.
"King's Landing should be getting lively by now, right?"
Halfway back, Daeron looked toward King's Landing.
Separated only by the Blackwater Rush, he could easily see the red city protected by high walls.
"I'll find out tomorrow anyway."
Daeron didn't dwell on it; he didn't care how much impact a single letter could cause.
It would be best to make a big scene and stir up the stagnant water.
Only then could a prize like him, in everyone's eyes, take advantage of the situation... Nightfall, Tower of the Hand.
Tywin, dressed in his nightclothes but still maintaining his dignified air, held a quill and wrote a letter.
Soon, the letter was finished.
Knock, knock, knock!
There was a knock at the door. Tywin said deeply, "Enter."
A fully armed Ser Jon pushed open the door, his expression puzzled.
Tywin stood up and handed over the letter, saying calmly, "Tell the boy that I will apply to the treasury to build his castle for him. King's Landing needs him, and I will arrange an important position for him."
Ser Jon's brow furrowed tightly.
He delivered letters for the Prince out of the Prince's help and equal respect for him; it didn't mean he had become a political tool.
"Take it. We are all doing this for his own good."
Tywin's attitude was firm as he said, "You should know what kind of predicament the boy is in. Only I can provide him with help."
Ser Jon lowered his head and tucked the letter into his breast.
"Go."
Tywin couldn't see the complex expression hidden under the other man's helmet, nor did he care.
A mere Kingsguard, not even Barristan or the White Bull, was not worthy of his equal respect.
Ser Jon said nothing and left The Red Keep under the cover of night... The next day.
The third day of Spring, Wednesday, rain all day, 7:30 AM.
Daeron woke up early. After finishing the necessary farm work, he sat by the fireplace tasting fragrant roasted potatoes.
At 2:00 AM last night, the payment for the sold potatoes had arrived.
Potato selling prices:
Normal quality: 80 gold
Silver star quality: 100 gold
Gold star quality: 120 gold
Iridium star quality: 160 gold
His farming level was too low to easily grow gold or iridium quality crops, but seven normal quality potatoes still sold for a high price of 540 gold.
Adding the 10 Gold Dragons left from last time, Daeron went all-in with his 550 gold wealth on 11 potato seeds.
Including the Green Beans that could be harvested multiple times after maturing, the farm now had 12 crops.
Since there were fewer than 15 crops, the Scarecrow unlocked at farming level 2 was temporarily useless.
After planting the potatoes, Daeron added hay for the chickens and petted them before coming back for breakfast.
A reminder: animals do not go out to graze on rainy days; the farmer needs to manually add hay in the coop.
Rumble!
A bolt of lightning struck, and the heavy rain fell even harder.
Daeron checked the time and mused, "Ser Jon should be back. I should go meet him."
No sooner said than done; he put on his straw raincoat and headed out into the rain.