Daeron watched, stunned.
It can breathe fire already?
Even Drogon didn't breathe fire to protect his mother until he was in Qarth, which was at least a couple of weeks after he hatched.
How old was Caraxes?
Skree-ga!
Caraxes's demeanor changed drastically. It tore into the fatty meat of the roasted fish, eating wildly and aggressively.
Daeron was indescribably delighted. "Are you exceptionally gifted, or just born knowing how to breathe fire? Or maybe both?"
He felt it was the latter.
Those rare materials and the blood sacrifice weren't just for show.
Perhaps his three dragons had even higher potential than Drogon and his brothers.
"I really need to take good care of you. I can't let you grow up wild."
Daeron didn't play favorites. He took out two more sardines.
Skree-ga!
Skree-ga...
Tessarion and Toothless instantly perked up. Before the fish were even fully cooked, they pounced on them hungrily.
Toothless, wild and unruly, felt slighted by Caraxes earlier, so he sneakily stole some of Tessarion's food in retaliation.
Skree-ga!
Tessarion puffed up immediately, baring its fangs to attack.
The two hatchlings, less than two days old, started scrapping, kicking up dust in front of the cabin.
"Good. Very spirited."
Daeron watched with relish.
Dragons should be like this.
The fiercer the dragon, the fiercer it would be in battle.
---
Evening.
Daeron was tidying up the farm and planning his next financial moves.
The Melons he planted initially had ripened, yielding 48 fruits.
Gold Star x3, Silver Star x12, Regular x33.
With no one collecting eggs from the coop for a few days, he had also accumulated 24 Large Eggs.
Selling everything would bring in a substantial sum.
"Prince! Prince, I'm here!"
Count Owen arrived, panting heavily.
Daeron said, "My Lord, you're just in time."
"It's wonderful to be of service to you," Count Owen said, sweet-talking as always, rubbing his hands together with a smile. "I heard you hatched three dragons. It's absolutely astonishing."
"I knew it. You truly possess the unique blood of the dragon."
As he spoke, his eyes darted around, searching for the hatchlings.
Those were dragons!
He hadn't seen them yet.
"You will have the chance to see real dragons."
Daeron was certain. No one remained unchanged after seeing a dragon.
Under Count Owen's curious gaze, Daeron returned to the cabin and brought out thirty-three regular Melons.
"Prince, this is...?"
seeing so many special crops at once, Count Owen's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Even more amazingly, they were all of the same variety.
"Is this the power of dragon blood?"
Count Owen brainwashed himself.
Daeron divided the Melons into four portions. He pushed the smallest portion, containing three melons, toward the Count. "Eat these. This is your reward."
Then, he divided the remaining thirty melons into three equal portions of ten.
"The first portion: Take them back to the Reach and auction them fairly to the lords there."
This was to build momentum and attract the attention of the Reach nobility.
"The second portion: Sell them individually to lords in the Reach and the Riverlands. You set the price."
The Riverlands was also a gathering place for royal loyalists.
Daeron said calmly, "The last portion: You will coordinate with the first Small Council member who comes to find you. After recruiting Dragonkeepers from the Crownlands, use these to reward those loyal and reliable men."
"Small Council member?"
Count Owen's brain hadn't caught up yet. He asked in confusion, "Which of the three ministers?"
Chelsted, Velaryon, Staunton...
All three were Crownlands nobles. Combined with the Prince's mention of recruiting Dragonkeepers, the implication wasn't hard to grasp.
The prerequisite for a Dragonkeeper was dragon blood, followed by a clean background from the Crownlands.
Since dragonseeds were scarce, Crownlands nobles would be the main force.
Daeron said matter-of-factly, "Whoever comes first, gets the job."
With dragons, his status was completely different now.
He didn't need to seek them out; the ministers would come to him.
"I understand."
Count Owen stood in awe. But his back stayed straight for less than three seconds before he asked guilty, "But... isn't this too many special crops?"
Releasing thirty at once, distributed among the Crownlands, Riverlands, and Reach nobles...
House Merryweather might not be thrilled.
Daeron pondered for a moment, then turned back to the cabin. "I'll give you two letters. One for Lord Leyton of the Hightower, and one for my uncle Tytos at Raventree Hall."
The connections he had built up were finally coming in handy.
Soon, Count Owen left with the letters in his pocket.
With the Prince backing him, he was much bolder.
The Prince had dragons!
Unless the lords of the Seven Kingdoms were stupid, they would have to give him some face before they figured out just how dangerous the dragons were.
"Reveal when necessary, hide when necessary."
Daeron watched Count Owen leave.
He decided that until the hatchlings passed their vulnerable infancy, he would not let them leave the farm.
Once they possessed deterrent power, he would awe the lords of the realm.
"Plenty of time!"
There was about a year until the hurdle of the Tourney at Harrenhal.
His farming operation was taking shape.
The resources converted from it would be enough to recruit Dragonkeepers heavily and accelerate the hatchlings' growth.
Before Rhaegar had his breakdown, there was enough time.
"You'd better not lose your mind!"
Daeron thought carefully. He didn't want to resort to drastic measures.
Peace was the primary production line for development.
---
After three quiet days.
Daeron received a summons and returned to King's Landing with Toothless.
Seeing the dragon that belonged to him, Aerys's eyes lit up with unbearable excitement.
"Toothless, eat!"
The King had somehow procured a goat and shoved it in front of the black hatchling, eagerly anticipating the scene of dragonfire incineration.
Toothless: Skree-ga?
The little guy looked at the goat, then at himself, his green vertical pupils revealing a very human-like skepticism.
I'm supposed to eat a whole goat?
Aerys wanted to step forward but didn't dare, so he just kept urging, "Come on, eat it."
Behind him, Varys looked constipated.
Out of professional ethics, he whispered, "Will His Grace be in danger?"
Maester Harvey, serving as Acting Grand Maester, wiped sweat from his forehead and said nervously, "Sh... should be fine."
According to the brief history of House Targaryen, dragons had a relatively long infancy. Usually, it took between one and two and a half months before they could use dragonfire proficiently.
This hatchling was less than a week old.
"Eat it!"
Aerys had zero patience and couldn't control his volume. "Eat! Dragons eat sheep!"
He remembered.
As long as he could command the newborn hatchling to breathe fire and complete its first feeding, he would have established a preliminary bond with the dragon.
Skree-ga!
Toothless's emerald pupils contracted. Mimicking Caraxes, he lowered his spine and puffed out his chest.
Aerys's eyes lit up, and he pushed the goat closer.
The next second.
Skree-ga!!
Toothless's eyes flashed fiercely. He spewed a cloud of pungent black smoke, laced with sparks of ghostly green fire, straight into Aerys's face.
"Argh!" Aerys screamed in pain, clutching his face.
Varys's face twitched. He turned left, then right, spinning in two circles before finally yelling, "Guards! His Grace has been injured by the hatchling!"
The Maesters rushed into action, taking out the prepared salves.
Meanwhile.
Daeron appeared at the Tower of the Hand.