The rain was heavy.
Daeron, treading through the rain-soaked mud on the dirt path leading to the farm at the foot of the mountain, saw someone approaching.
Ser Jon still wore his silver armor and white cloak, leading two stubborn warhorses. In the rain, he seemed to be fumbling around like a headless fly, unable to find the path up the mountain.
"Ser Jon."
Daeron called out to him.
Ser Jon stiffened, then hastily looked up, his face washed by the rain. He wiped away the water obscuring his vision, saying, "Prince, I'm here."
His voice trembled slightly, trying his best to hide the biting cold in the heavy rain.
Daeron stood on higher ground, looking at the disheveled white knight.
He sensed the other party's strong emotions.
He had only delivered a letter, which might have forced an inner choice, but there was no reason for the other party to appear before him in such a state.
Something must have happened.
Daeron thought for a moment and asked, "Ser, did someone send you to deliver a message to me?"
"It was Lord Tywin."
Ser Jon was panting, the rain hitting his face faster than he could wipe it away.
Clearly, he had been in the rain for a long time.
Daeron immediately stepped forward, helped take the reins, and said, "Come with me, Ser. I'll take you to the farm to shelter from the rain."
Ser Jon was already exhausted and followed dazedly.
The path he couldn't find before now reverted to an ordinary trail.
Daeron returned to Dragon Language Farm, tied the horses to a tree, and helped the weak Ser Jon into the cabin.
The other party's body was very hot, his face as pale as paper, as if he had been out in the rain all night.
"Slowly, Ser."
Daeron stripped off his outer armor, placed him in front of the roaring fireplace, and handed him a towel.
Heaven had eyes; he hadn't expected to encounter such a good thing with less than a 50% chance.
He asked Ser Jon who had sent him a letter.
According to his original plan, that letter would either first be in the hands of his teacher, Tywin, or his Father Aerys.
And the person who received the letter first would definitely respond to him first.
Ser Jon said, "Lord Tywin."
For one of his own, Daeron brought him back to the farm.
Ser Jon shivered from the cold, wearing only an unbuttoned undershirt, and pulled out a letter from inside: "This is the letter Lord Tywin asked me to deliver to you."
Rip!
Daeron grabbed the letter without thinking, tore it in half, and threw it into the fireplace as fuel.
"Don't!"
Ser Jon immediately became anxious.
Daeron pressed him down, saying in a deep voice, "Ser, you are a white knight draped in honor, not an errand boy for me and my teacher."
"Prince…" Ser Jon was stunned, his mind went blank, his brain crashed.
Daeron said nothing, turned around, took one of the two silver-star quality potatoes from the treasure chest by the door, and lightly buried it in the ashes of the fireplace.
He didn't care about a letter at all.
Even with a strand of hair, he could guess that Tywin was drawing various grand schemes to summon him back to King's Landing.
It was not difficult to understand; how could he teach him without expecting anything in return, and even painstakingly strive to secure a fief for him?
It was nothing more than trying every possible means to push him to the forefront and pit him against Rhaegar, who was far away on Dragonstone.
Once successful, the Targaryen Dragon Court would also be hollowed out by the Lannister family, just like the Baratheon Deer Court in the original work.
Daeron was well aware of everything.
The potato was quickly roasted, its black skin cracking, revealing a golden color with a gentle tap.
"Grumble~~"
Ser Jon smelled the rich aroma and couldn't help but swallow.
He hadn't eaten for almost a day and a night, and had been walking in the heavy rain all night. Now he was hungry and tired, desperately needing to fill his stomach.
"Eat."
Daeron picked it up with his hand and handed it to the eagerly awaiting white knight.
The other party deserved this courtesy.
Ser Jon was extremely hungry and took the baked potato: "Thank you… hiss…"
Mid-sentence, his hand was burned, and he dropped the baked potato on the ground.
"Sorry, Ser." Daeron was amused by his clumsiness.
Ser Jon grimaced from the burn. Seeing the Prince casually pick up the baked potato and peel off its black skin, he suddenly remembered the Targaryen's innate talent from their bloodline.
Not afraid of high temperatures!
Prince Daeron seemed even more outstanding in this regard.
"It's still very hot, eat slowly."
Daeron offered the peeled baked potato, sat cross-legged on the floor, and chatted casually: "When you're done eating, tell me about the situation in King's Landing."
"Yes, Prince."
Ser Jon devoured it, and the silver-star quality crop quickly took effect, warming his body and dispelling the chill from the rain.
The two conversed, clarifying the situation.
Daeron nodded, organizing the information.
As expected, after the letter was made public, Father Aerys was greatly pleased, while his good teacher Tywin couldn't sit still.
Tywin helped Daeron acquire a fief to send a signal to the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms.
The stage was set; how could he allow Daeron to escape his control and remain holed up in his fief?
Aerys, in his great joy, ordered the royal treasury to fund the construction of a castle for Daeron, and perhaps would even fund the development of the Princes Domain in the future.
This was absolutely something Tywin did not want to see.
Daeron could grow, and the Princes Domain could develop, provided it was with the assistance of the Lannister family.
If a strong prince who didn't rely on the Lannisters was cultivated, wouldn't he become another Rhaegar?
"My dear teacher, the next step will be to secretly suppress me, find ways to keep me in King's Landing, and keep me under his constant supervision."
Daeron said it without hesitation.
He was confident his analysis was correct.
Because Tywin was such a self-centered, inconsiderate, and extremely controlling person.
This could be seen from his parenting style towards his children in the original work.
Ser Jon regained his composure and worriedly asked, "Lord Hand's challenge, will it require His Majesty's help?"
One who can become a Kingsguard would not be a fool (Robert's era excluded); as the saying goes, whose bread you eat, whose song you sing.
The contempt in Lord Hand's eyes when he looked at him last night was still fresh in his memory, and recalling the King's mad rudeness and Prince Rhaegar's cold disregard.
He suddenly realized that the sword in his hand should choose a new person to guard, thereby defending the honor of the white cloak behind him.
Prince Daeron, young and wise, humble and polite, and favored by the King, was precisely the person worth protecting with his life.
"Don't worry, Ser."
Daeron smiled knowingly: "I had already thought of a countermeasure when I wrote that letter."
When soldiers come, use generals to block them; when water comes, use earth to cover it?
A big NO, absolutely NO!
When facing difficulties, cowards choose to escape, brave men meet them head-on, and wise men know how to use difficulties to their advantage.
Returning to King's Landing was not bad; he was just worried that no one would arrange a position for him.
"I will do my best to protect you, Prince."
Ser Jon's expression was firm. He propped himself up and knelt on one knee before the fireplace.
The kingdom was sick and needed someone to excise the chronic disease.
He was willing to be that sharp blade.
Daeron's expression sobered, and he said, "I will not let you take unnecessary risks either, Ser."
With that, in the other party's expectant gaze, he drew a longsword from the pile of armor stacked by the door.
The longsword was drawn, and its blade rested on the shoulder of the knight who had sworn fealty.
Daeron, following the lord's procedure for accepting a knight's fealty, solemnly declared: "Jon Darry, clad in white, I swear before the Seven Gods in Heaven, you will always have a place by my hearth."
Ser Jon's eyes were bright, and he had no regrets about his decision.
The baked potato and the hearth witnessed this scene.