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Game of Thrones: The Sword King
Game of Thrones: From Deserter to Power
Game of Thrones: King of Harrenhal— Garth Greenhand Stat Panel
Two days later.
Brynden Tully, covered in the dust of the road, led two exhausted horses back into Riverrun.
Without a moment's rest, he searched the castle for his brother, Hoster Tully.
Bang!
He didn't even knock, barging straight into the Lord's solar.
Hoster was startled and snapped, annoyed, "Brynden, barging into my study? Where are your noble manners?"
Brynden's face was weathered from the journey. His voice was hoarse as he said, "Hoster, save your breath. You missed the Tourney at Harrenhal. You missed the dawn of a new era."
Seven Hells.
Gods know how much he had suffered riding alone from Harrenhal back to Riverrun.
But the new era had arrived.
House Tully couldn't afford to hesitate for a second, or the "Blackfish" would become a sinner of the family.
"What?"
Hoster looked confused.
Brynden didn't waste time with nonsense. He broke down everything that had happened at the Tourney at Harrenhal, explaining it in excruciating detail.
Then, he concluded, "Rhaegar Targaryen has fallen. Now, it is the era of the Dragon Prince."
Hoster's expression turned grave as he analyzed the signs of chaos his brother described.
The people's choice, Crown Prince Rhaegar vs. the Dragon Prince Daeron, soaring on his dragon.
And the "False Spring"—the collapse of the four-house alliance supporting Rhaegar.
"Chaos."
Hoster felt a headache coming on. He muttered, "Everything is in chaos."
How could Rhaegar suddenly be so foolish?
Brynden didn't mince words. "The events at the Tourney are spreading like wildfire. On my way back, I heard more than one person call Daeron Targaryen 'The Young Dragon' and refer to him and his followers as 'The Blacks' to distinguish them from Crown Prince Rhaegar."
What is a "Young Dragon"?
He didn't know the full implication yet.
But the last person called the Young Dragon was Daeron I Targaryen.
What are "The Blacks"?
In the famous Targaryen civil war, the "Dance of the Dragons," the Blacks and the Greens slaughtered each other for power.
Daeron Targaryen had already risen.
And his momentum was unstoppable.
"A brat."
Hoster's mind was a mess. He said in disbelief, "They call a brat 'The Young Dragon' and honor him as 'The Blacks'?"
Has the world gone mad?
Since when could a twelve-year-old boy shake the position of Crown Prince Rhaegar?
His thinking was still stuck in the past.
Brynden had to open his eyes. He said deeply, "Have you seen the dragon?"
"On the first day of the tourney, that kid rode that ferocious Red Dragon across the God's Eye. Everyone saw it. Everyone knows he is extraordinary."
His eyes were sharp; he saw the hidden currents of the tourney.
Rhaegar funded House Whent, and Daeron was happy to let it happen.
He used the Tourney at Harrenhal to spread the fact of his dragonriding and the power of dragons to the Seven Kingdoms.
Connecting with vassals and calling a Great Council was Rhaegar's best chance to turn defeat into victory.
But he missed it!
For a woman, he threw away his timing.
"Then why did you come back so fast?"
Hoster was stunned. Thinking of Daeron's prestige, he shouldn't have failed to recruit his brother.
The name of the "Blackfish" Brynden Tully was a legend in its own right.
Brynden was speechless. He explained, "If I didn't ride fast, how would you see the situation clearly?"
Hoster rubbed his balding forehead and asked, "Then what do you think our next step should be?"
Between the two princes, he hesitated.
Brynden had already thought about this on the road.
"Call off the betrothal between Catelyn and Brandon Stark. Stop colluding with those three houses."
"Send Catelyn and Lysa to King's Landing. Don't worry about whether he cares or looks down on it; resolutely show House Tully's attitude."
Hoster was shocked. He objected, "Isn't that destroying our own defenses?"
Brynden knew their standing. He reminded him, "Don't forget how House Tully became the Lords Paramount of the Trident."
Without Aegon the Conqueror, without House Targaryen...
House Tully, like House Tyrell, was just a vassal house that would have never risen to power on its own.
A new era was coming. House Tully had to pick a side and show its loyalty to the Iron Throne.
"No, I do not agree to break the betrothal."
Hoster resolutely disagreed. He compromised, saying, "Cat's wedding date is approaching. Why not send Lysa to King's Landing and shove her at Daeron Targaryen?"
The survival rule of nobles: never put all your eggs in one basket.
Having a way to advance and retreat was the best strategy.
"Entangling yourself with those three houses on one side, while fawning over the Iron Throne on the other... what do you call that?"
Brynden didn't say the word "chameleon," but offered another idea. "If you can't bear to part with the girls, then send neither. Just publicly declare for Daeron. That will show your attitude just the same."
In the end, it still meant breaking the betrothal.
Hoster was extremely reluctant. He refused sternly, "Brynden, I do not agree."
Brynden froze, looking at his brother with a scrutinizing gaze.
He used to think the difference between him and his brother was that one was slow and the other impatient, one old-fashioned and the other radical, hence the conflict.
Now it seemed Hoster wasn't just slow and old-fashioned; he was pedantic and short-sighted.
Out of responsibility to the family, Brynden tried one last time. "The new era is like a rapid current. If House Tully does not swim upstream, it will be smashed into the mud by the waves."
"When that happens, how will you lead the family out?"
Hoster was also angered. Suppressing his temper, he said in a low voice, "No one can look down on House Tully. I will follow your suggestion and send Lysa to King's Landing."
"But you must learn respect. Respect for me as your liege lord and your brother."
"You have no other choice. Suppress your restless heart and do not say 'No' to me again."
"No!!"
Brynden, expressionless, spat out the word.
Hoster was furious.
However, Brynden took a step back, ripped off the belt stamped with the silver trout sigil, and slammed it onto the desk. His tone was unbridled. "I am Brynden. 'The Blackfish' Brynden Tully."
"I always have the right to say 'No'."
He was deeply disappointed, seeing through his brother's dullness and the family's stagnation.
Brynden decided to leave. He said, "Hoster, I cannot watch you lead the family to ruin. You guard Riverrun; I will walk my own path."
"Call it not putting all eggs in one basket, or diversifying investments, whatever you want."
"But I will not sit and wait for death."
With that, he turned and left.
Hoster shot up from his chair, demanding, "You are leaving the family again? Taking your ridiculous Blackfish sigil to wander the world!?"
"Wander?"
Brynden glanced back, disappointment on his face. "At my age, where can I wander? I am merely blazing a longer trail for the family."
The brothers parted on bad terms.
---
Ten days later.
Spring, Day 24. Wednesday. Weather: Sunny. 6:30 AM.
Early in the morning, Daeron woke up at the farm. He harvested the newly matured Cauliflower and put it all into the Shipping Bin.
There were 5 days left until the end of Spring. He bought 224 Parsnip Seeds.
Parsnips matured in 4 days, allowing for a harvest before Spring ended.
Limited by the special terrain of the Meadowlands Farm, the tillable area in front of the cabin accommodated exactly a 7x4 grid—a total of 28 Quality Sprinklers.
Each Quality Sprinkler could water the 8 crops in its 3x3 surrounding area.
10:00 AM. Daeron walked out of the farm.
"Prince, you're out."
Davos was guarding the farm entrance and immediately greeted him.
The two walked together toward Bounty Hall, located on the west side of the Bluegrass Hills.
On the way, Davos said, "Prince, per your request, we have selected ten core members from the Dragon Guards. They are waiting for you at Bounty Hall."
Daeron nodded slightly.
After the Tourney at Harrenhal, many things had changed.
His reputation had soared, spreading throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
But there was a fatal flaw.
He wasn't Rhaegar, who had been famous for a long time and had ample opportunity to understand the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms and build connections and friendships.
His sphere of influence was limited to the Crownlands and the Riverlands (Houses Blackwood and Whent).
Before he could win over the Great Houses, he would be very passive.
Therefore, he needed to mass-produce an army!
Bounty Hall.
At the foot of the mountains west of the Bluegrass Hills, a beautiful castle built of white gold-veined marble stood tall. A three-headed Red Dragon banner fluttered atop its seven spires.
This was Daeron's castle.
"It's beautiful."
Daeron looked up, a rare smile appearing on his face.
Davos laughed. "Take a look inside, and you'll find it even more beautiful."
The architectural inspiration for Bounty Hall came from Highgarden in the Reach.
Double walls encircled the land at the foot of the mountain. The towering castle stood majestic. The courtyard was divided into front and rear sections, along with a Dragon Pit (landing ground). The entire yard was planted with grapevines, roses, and briars.
However, Daeron placed more importance on the embryonic form of the city outside the castle.
Davos pointed and introduced, "Prince, look. Based on the city planning map you drew, we settled the families of the Dragon Guards and the orphans in the residential area near the castle. We helped them clear land, build inns and smithies, and distributed handicraft work."
The commoners had land to farm, shops like inns could generate tax revenue, and handicrafts provided subsidies for the orphans' households.
The Prince's territory was being perfected step by step.
Daeron nodded. "The important thing is the families of the Dragon Guards. They moved here and need to be stabilized as soon as possible."
"Of course," Davos promised, patting his chest.
---
The Rear Courtyard.
Daeron, dressed in black, stood on a large rock.
Barristan and Ser Jon stood below, faithfully guarding their Prince.
In the courtyard, Alliser, Jacaerys, and Howland looked up at him, followed by a row of muscular Dragon Guards in heavy armor.
A total of thirteen people.
Daeron swept his gaze over them and spoke. "You are my followers, my subordinates."
"I will grant you an opportunity that will change your lives."
He would give these people ample special crops, force-feeding them until they mastered Vitality.
Especially Alliser and the other two; they would achieve great things in the future.
Jacaerys, who had joined later, said excitedly, "Prince, becoming a Dragon Guard means serving you."
"And you?"
Daeron glanced at the others.
The ten core Dragon Guards looked at each other, realizing they had hit the jackpot, barely able to contain their excitement.
Suddenly, a noise came from behind the rockery.
Caraxes poked his dragon head out. His snake-like body slithered slowly, red scales glistening in the sunlight, as he crawled to his rider's side using both wings.
Daeron looked calm as he said, "Now, I give you a chance to renew your oath of loyalty to me."
"You will fight for me, no matter who the enemy is or what obstacles lie ahead."
As he spoke, Caraxes stood beside his rider. His molten-gold vertical pupils assessed the group waiting to swear their oaths, and he opened his mouth to let out a warning roar.
Skreee—!
Alliser and the others trembled, the excitement on their faces mixed with a trace of fear.
They intuitively felt the terror of the dragon.
Daeron observed their expressions and said faintly, "But if you choose treachery—if you swear falsely now and betray me later—you will die screaming!"
The carrot and the stick approach never failed.
These people were the first batch of Vitality Knights force-fed with special crops, but they wouldn't be the last.
He didn't want to waste special crops raising a pack of ungrateful wolves.
Thud! Thud!
Led by Jacaerys, the thirteen men knelt on one knee in unison, bowing their heads and exposing their necks.
Under the gaze of Daeron and the dragon, they swore allegiance with one voice.
"Good."
Daeron remained unmoved, waving his hand to signal Davos to distribute their respective shares.
Davos was lucky; he had accidentally mastered Vitality during the Hawaiian luau.
In contrast, Alliser, who had followed him longer, still showed no signs of progress.
He had to re-swear his oath.
Caraxes stared at them for a long time. confirming there were no treacherous villains harboring ill intent, he reined in his violent temper and turned to fly into the sky.
Skreee!
Skreee————
In the azure sky, a blue dragon and a black dragon soared through the clouds, occasionally breathing fire at each other, fighting over a special fish.
Skreee!
After returning to King's Landing, Daeron had taken all three dragons away.
He didn't leave a single one for his father.
"You don't want to name me heir, so I don't need to accommodate you."
Daeron was fed up with his father Aerys's selfishness.
He hated stupidity!
Tywin's proposal to change the heir at Harrenhal had been passed to his ears.
Not by Varys, who was good at gathering intelligence, nor by Chelsted, who was best at putting on a show.
But by Lucerys Velaryon, of House Velaryon.
Lucerys had the pride of a fellow Valyrian noble. He couldn't stand the King's capriciousness and the infighting of his colleagues, so he chose to go all-in on Daeron.
He told him everything.
And he warned Daeron not to let Aerys touch the dragons again, and not to return to King's Landing.
As long as Daeron controlled the armed forces of King's Landing and continued to raise the three dragons...
He was the heir to the Iron Throne.
Daeron thought to himself, "Lucerys is right. Father is mad, Rhaegar is foolish. I'll just wait for the inevitable chaos, then march into King's Landing and 'clear the court'."
Except for himself, he couldn't count on anyone.
Daeron stretched, his mood a mix of good and bad.
Without him, this family would fall apart sooner or later.
Just then, Davos rushed over. "Prince, Lord Staunton has arrived on orders. He also brought a squad of Riverlands knights."
"Where did Riverlands knights come from?"
Daeron frowned.
Davos confirmed, "I saw Ser Brynden. He is leading the Riverlands knights, but he and Lord Staunton seem to just be traveling the same road."
"Brynden Tully... just passing through."
Daeron pondered for a moment and guessed the reason.
"Let's go meet them."
Castle Gate.
Staunton paced back and forth anxiously, constantly looking at the closed gates.
Boom—
The heavy gates slowly opened, and the anticipated figure appeared.
Daeron smiled. "Lord Staunton, what brings you here?"
"Prince, you finally came out."
Staunton started complaining immediately, pulling out a letter. "This is a letter from His Grace. Read it quickly."
Daeron's smile vanished as he took the letter.
The content was simple, the wording intense.
His father ordered him to return to King's Landing immediately and bring the three dragons, or else————a bunch of nonsense.
Staunton leaned in, urging, "Prince, His Grace said it. Once you return to King's Landing, he will consider naming you heir."
He thought he was being helpful.
Neither the King nor the Small Council liked Rhaegar. The best candidate for heir was Daeron.
As long as he obeyed the King, they could ride his coattails.
"Heir?"
Daeron folded the letter and suddenly laughed.
Staunton sensed no danger at all, continuing on his own, "That's right. As long as you go back, you will definitely be the heir!"
Bang!
As soon as the words left his mouth, a heavy fist smashed into his face.
Daeron's expression turned cold. He knocked the man to the ground and punched that fawning old face with all his might.
To hell with the heirship! To hell with the Mad King!
I have dragons and I have prestige.
From now on, like a fish entering the sea, like a bird taking to the sky, I am no longer bound by anything!
"Prince!"
Davos and the others were shocked and rushed over to pull him off.
If they didn't stop him, Lord Staunton was going to be beaten to death.
Daeron was pulled away, but he still delivered two vicious kicks, not forgetting to seize the moral high ground. "If you dare stir up trouble and deceive my father again, I'll kill you, you old wretch."
Thinking he was somebody, daring to come deliver orders.
Look at Chelsted—he didn't dare come.