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Game of Thrones White Dragon Rising
Game of Thrones The Sun Dragon Descends
Jaehaerys and Viserys burst into the throne room at full sprint, one right behind the other.
Daeron raised a hand. "We have a guest. Mind your manners."
Jaehaerys skidded to a stop and yanked his little brother back before he could crash into the Yi Ti healer.
Daeron gave Ser Jon a quick look. The Kingsguard gently steered the two boys to the side so they could listen quietly.
Daeron turned back to the healer, voice warm. "Besides King's Landing and my own fief, what's your honest take on the rest of the Crownlands?"
The old man didn't disappoint. "Honored prince, as a traveling healer I've seen things I never saw before. Every day people move from the city out to Dairy Town. The place is growing fast—new farms, manure being stockpiled for the fields. Farther up the Blackwater there's already the beginnings of a proper market town drawing in war refugees. They call it Strawberry Market."
He smiled. "With the Kingsroad and River Road kept clear, ordinary folk from the Crownlands, Riverlands, and Stormlands are traveling more freely. Trade is picking up. Everything feels… alive."
Daeron gave a small nod. Some exaggeration, but he's not wrong.
His new policies had opened the roads between the three regions and the effect was already showing. Riverlands lords now brought their families to King's Landing for pleasure, spending coin on Silk Street and elsewhere—something that almost never happened under his grandfather or father.
"Very good," Daeron said. "You'll be rewarded for your honesty."
The healer bowed deeply and left.
After a short discussion with the Small Council, everyone was dismissed.
11:30 a.m.
Jaime arrived at the summons.
Ser Jon stood guard at the door; the two Kingsguard gave each other a quick nod.
Jaime stepped inside and saw Daeron sitting on the steps of the Iron Throne, calmly wiping down a sword.
As a top-tier knight, Jaime's eyes locked on the blade immediately.
It was a big hand-and-a-half sword, bone-white with a faint pink sheen, giving off an unnatural luster. He recognized it at once—it had belonged to a fallen comrade.
"Come closer, Ser," Daeron said, setting the cloth aside.
"What can I do for you, Prince?"
Jaime had served in the Kingsguard for two years now, learning from Barristan, Ser Jon, and Ser Gerold. He was finally starting to understand what the white cloak really meant.
Daeron turned the special weapon over in his hands. "My little brothers came to me with news about our father. It has me worried."
Jaehaerys had accidentally overheard Aerys listening to the pyromancer Rossart's poisonous advice.
Daeron didn't fear his father or the mad alchemist.
But the two of them together? That combination made him uneasy.
Wildfire wasn't proper magic—it was dangerous alchemical trash.
He needed someone blunt and loyal to keep an eye on both of them.
Jaime blinked, then understood. "I can ask Ser Gerold for permanent duty guarding the king."
"Not guarding," Daeron said plainly. "Watching. Rossart is a scheming little snake. Do not let him mass-produce wildfire, and keep it out of the Red Keep."
"Prince, why not simply—?" Jaime started, the implication clear: easier to remove the problem than watch it.
Daeron shook his head. "Rossart still has his uses. And I'm curious whether the two of them can actually wake a petrified dragon egg."
"I understand," Jaime said after a beat. His loyalty to Daeron had already eclipsed whatever he felt for the king.
Father really has lost the room, Daeron thought with satisfaction. Even the Kingsguard were shifting. The king's power was hollow.
He tossed the weapon across. "Catch."
Jaime snatched the Bone Sword out of the air, eyes wide with surprise and longing.
Daeron leaned back. "It used to belong to the Blackfish. I gave it to him early in the war. He didn't get to keep it long."
Bone Sword (Level 6): Damage 26–42, Speed –2, Defense +1, Weight +2.
Description: A massive, razor-sharp blade formed from bone.
"It's yours now," Daeron said. "But only you may wield it. When your time in the Kingsguard ends, it returns to the next man who wears the white cloak."
Jaime dropped to one knee, voice thick. "I will carry it with honor and defend the royal family until my last breath."
"Rise."
Jaime stood, practically glowing.
Barristan stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder with a rare grin. "Looks like Ser Gerold can finally breathe easy. You've got your own special blade now, boy."
Jaime scratched the back of his head, a little embarrassed, but clearly thrilled.
He had borrowed "Vigilance," Gerold's family sword, many times while training his life force, but never quite managed to form a Life Seed. It had been awkward for everyone.
"I feel like I'm right on the edge of forming my Life Seed," Ser Jon said suddenly.
Jaime's eyes lit up and he immediately started peppering the older knight with questions.
Daeron watched them quietly, still thinking about the Yi Ti healer's words.
The conditions for fully absorbing the Riverlands and Stormlands were already in place. All they needed now was time for the realms to blend naturally.
If only there were a way to speed it up…
His gaze drifted toward the Stepstones.
He needed a war—one that would turn internal tensions outward and bind the three regions tighter together.
He had dragons. He wasn't afraid of war.
He just needed a legitimate reason to call his bannermen to restore peace.
Sleepy men get pillows dropped in their laps.
The very next day, an urgent raven arrived right after Daeron reached the Red Keep.
"Yesterday evening, a band of pirates struck Tarth," Maester Aemon read in his quiet voice inside the council chamber. "Three dead, hundreds of cattle and sheep stolen, along with coin and goods…"
The Small Council's mood turned grim at once.
Daeron leaned forward. "Any idea who they were?"
"Lord Selwyn Tarth believes they were professional reavers out of Tyrosh," Aemon answered, brow furrowed.
Daeron's pulse quickened. This is perfect.
Tywin shrugged. "Tyroshi pirates raiding Tarth isn't exactly news."
Lucerys Velaryon, Master of Ships, slammed a fist on the table. "This is a direct challenge to the Iron Throne. Estermont Island was hit as well—both lords report heavy losses and casualties."
Mace Tyrell glanced around nervously. "The Triarchy pirates have been a plague for years. Tyrosh in particular. But if we move against them… it could get messy."
The councillors talked over one another, no clear plan emerging.
Daeron weighed the odds. Could we actually hit them?
He was still turning it over when the door opened again. Maester Harwyn slipped in with a fresh message.
"Prince, a messenger has arrived from Prince Rhaeton of Pentos. He says the matter is urgent."