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Chapter 75: Shadows of War and Kings.
The castle of Stokeworth was quiet — too quiet for a place sheltering two great armies of the North and the Riverlands.
Ser Arthur Dayne stood like a silent shadow behind King Daeron Targaryen, his eyes ever watchful, his hand never far from his sword. The solar of Castle Stokeworth was warm from the midday sun, but the mood within the room was colder, tense with strategy and war.
Despite the tapestries of green and gold that decorated the walls, there was no real warmth in this room.
King Daeron sat at the center of the gathering, calm and poised, a stark contrast to the youthfulness of his appearance. Beside him sat Lord Eddard Stark, a man Ser Arthur respected deeply. Robb Stark, young but already proven on the battlefield, was at his father's side. Queen Rhaella Targaryen, Daeron's grandmother, radiated quiet dignity, while Prince Viserys sat nearby, his expression contemplative. Princess Daenerys moved gracefully through the chamber, acting as a humble cupbearer for her nephew, despite her own noble status.
At the head of it all sat Daeron, dressed not in silks or jewels but in the simple black and red leather of House Targaryen. His Stark blood was visible in his grey eyes — sharp, cold, and quiet as a hunter in the woods.
Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, was delivering his latest reports. "The news is confirmed. Renly Baratheon has entered King's Landing unopposed. The city gates opened for him without a single drawn sword."
The mood in the room soured immediately.
Lord Stark's frown deepened. Robb's hand clenched into a fist.
Viserys cursed under his breath.
Arthur noticed Rhaella's face tighten — not in fear, but irritation.
Renly Baratheon — a usurper, whose claim rested on ambition and the favor of the Reach — now sat in the capital of Westeros.
Only Daeron remained unaffected.
"Good," Daeron said simply, voice calm as still water.
Arthur's respect for his king deepened further.
Not many men could set aside their pride so easily.
Daeron continued, "The city will not starve anymore. The smallfolk will not continue to suffer needlessly while kings play their games. Let Renly wear his stolen crown for now — it will not save him."
Arthur allowed the faintest smile at that.
Ser Arthur felt a surge of admiration. It was a reminder that Daeron was not like other kings. His concern was not only for power, but for the common folk caught in the storm of war.
Daeron's eyes shifted to Ser Brynden. "What of Cersei Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, and the Lannister children?"
Ser Brynden shook his head. "No word yet, Your Grace. The last confirmed report we received told of Joffrey's death in the riot and Queen Cersei blaming Tyrion for the boy's death. Tyrion was imprisoned. Since then, no word."
Lord Stark frowned deeply. "And Stannis? Any word from Dragonstone?"
Again, Ser Brynden shook his head. "Nothing."
Arthur noticed the brief glance between Daeron and Rhaella.
Daeron's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "There is no need to worry about Stannis any longer. Monford Velaryon has seized Dragonstone in the name of House Targaryen. Stannis and his family are now prisoners."
Even Brynden — ever the hardened commander— looked momentarily surprised.
Robb Stark whistled low under his breath.
Lord Stark gave a single approving nod.
Arthur, though unsurprised, felt pride stir in his chest.
The game of thrones was not only fought on the battlefield — it was won in the shadows, in secrets, and in loyalty earned.
Daeron continued, his voice firm. "House Velaryon, and the other houses of the Narrow Sea — Bar Emmon, Celtigar, Massey, and Sunglass — have bent the knee to House Targaryen. The Narrow Sea belongs to us once more."
Arthur allowed himself a moment to recall the old glory of House Targaryen — the unity of the Crownlands when dragons ruled from the Iron Throne.
Suddenly, a sharp knock echoed against the wooden door.
A servant entered quickly, head bowed.
"A letter, Your Grace," the man said, holding it out to Daeron.
Arthur watched carefully as Daeron broke the seal.
A shadow passed over the young king's face as he read.
His grey eyes hardened — sharp as Northern ice — and Arthur knew without a word that something had changed.
Daeron folded the letter.
Without waiting for questions, he rose from his chair.
"Forgive me," Daeron said quietly, "I must see to this matter at once."
Arthur stepped forward, prepared to follow — as was his duty.
But Daeron raised a hand, gesturing for Arthur to stay behind.
It was rare for Daeron to refuse his presence — rarer still for Arthur to ignore a command.
He inclined his head in silent acknowledgment.
The room fell silent as Daeron left the solar, his cloak trailing behind him like the wings of the dragon he commanded.
Arthur Dayne could not help but feel the weight of the moment settle upon them all.
There were battles yet to come.
Not only with Renly Baratheon or the remnants of the other forces.
But darker games.
The kind fought with shadows, secrets, and blood.
Arthur's hand brushed the hilt of Dawn.
Whatever path lay ahead for Daeron Targaryen — the True King of the Seven kingdoms and the Dragon of Westeros — Arthur Dayne would walk it beside him.
Sword drawn.
Vows unbroken.