"You got in here how?" Rhaegar demanded, sword still raised.
Ser Arthur should have been on guard outside at this hour.
Oberyn gave a mocking laugh. "I'm the Red Viper. You really think Arthur Dayne or those little Lysene spies your hosts planted could stop me?"
"You killed the watchers?"
Rhaegar's eyes flicked to the bloody dagger. His frown deepened.
Sudden footsteps outside. Arthur's voice: "Prince, I found a body."
"Ser Arthur, stay out there," Rhaegar called.
Those watchers weren't his—they belonged to the Prince of Lys, sent to keep tabs on him the moment he set foot in the city.
Oberyn sneered. "Haven't you noticed how many more eyes are on this manse lately? They're practically swallowing you whole."
"They wouldn't dare," Rhaegar said arrogantly.
Oberyn snorted. "Only because you're still a Targaryen—the lawful heir to the Iron Throne."
He had joined the Golden Company and fought in the Stepstones. When he learned Rhaegar had brought his mistress to Lys, he slipped into the city to watch and wait.
That's when he discovered the Prince of Lys had Rhaegar under soft house arrest, surrounded by spies.
Oberyn's voice dropped. "Try walking out of Lys. See how far you get."
Rhaegar went quiet and lowered his sword.
He didn't want to leave.
Daeron was the Prince That Was Promised.
Rhaegar was just a failed prophet who had believed the wrong story.
"You planning to hide like a turtle in its shell?" Oberyn stepped closer, grabbed Rhaegar by the collar, and snarled, "You think staying in Lys makes everything go away? You can just live in peace?"
"What about my sister Elia Martell?"
Rhaegar flinched. "Elia…"
"If you weren't my sister's husband, I'd have poisoned your food already."
Oberyn shoved him back hard. "Elia is alone in King's Landing raising your daughter while you chase some Northern whore. You're a piece of shit."
Rhaegar stayed silent a long moment. "Lyanna is not a whore. I meant to marry her."
"And what about Elia?"
Oberyn laughed bitterly, eyes tracing Rhaegar's throat and heart like he was measuring the kill.
"You're no match for me, Oberyn," Rhaegar said flatly.
He might be emotionally dead, but he wasn't physically helpless. He had formed his Life Seed years ago—his talent matched Barristan and Arthur Dayne.
Oberyn was skilled, but he had taken the gem sequence path. His ceiling was fixed.
Oberyn calmed unnaturally fast and smiled. "Arrogant as ever, Prince Rhaegar."
He remembered why he was here: to get justice for his sister.
He slammed the poisoned dagger into the desk, pinning the crumpled letter. "I've heard about Daeron Targaryen's victories. I don't care if he scared the fight out of you."
"At least for Elia's sake, stop being a coward."
Then he laid out two options.
"You can bring Elia here. Raise your daughter together. Hide your Northern woman so Elia never has to see her. I don't give a damn if you ever become king."
"Or you send Elia and the girl back to Dorne. We know how to protect our own blood."
He wasn't expecting Rhaegar to suddenly grow a spine. He just wanted his sister and niece safe in Sunspear.
Rhaegar thought of the good years with Elia. He didn't want to lose that.
"I'll make it right," he said.
"Too late for that," Oberyn muttered.
Rhaegar laid out his plan. "I'm staying in Lys. They respect dragonlord blood here. I can revive the old Valyrian custom of multiple wives. I'll bring Elia and the children. We can read, search for more dragon eggs, raise our family in peace."
He had no interest in returning to Westeros and its Andal laws. The continent didn't need him anymore.
Oberyn stared, stunned.
His eyes fell on the crumpled letter stamped with the three-headed dragon seal. He yanked the dagger free and opened it.
Rhaegar didn't stop him.
The letter formally renounced Rhaegar's claim to the Iron Throne. He would remain in Lys, live quietly, and become a distant branch of House Targaryen.
"You really think hiding in Lys will keep things peaceful?" Oberyn shook the letter, lips curling in contempt.
That same night, the five Archons of Lys gathered in secret.
Five of them—men and women, young and old—represented the city's nobles, merchants, and slave traders.
Trystane Orlos was the Trade Prince of Lys: red-haired, fair-skinned, every inch the wealthy gentleman with an undertone of ruthless greed.
He spoke first. "The silver prince Rhaegar is in our city. My people confirm he lost his bid for the Iron Throne to his brother Daeron and has exiled himself here."
"So I've heard," another merchant archon agreed.
Natalya, the only woman among them and Lys's biggest slaver, leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "House Targaryen is the last true dragonlord line. You all know what that means now. The world is changing."
"Dragons have returned to the Seven Kingdoms. The dragonlords are rising again."
"We have living dragon blood right here in Lys. Are we really going to waste the chance?"
The archons erupted in excited chatter, all of them suddenly fixated on Rhaegar.
Valarr Syzmoq, the old Valyrian-blooded noble, spoke with quiet authority. "The silver prince is still a dragonlord. He is not a breeding stud. We will treat him with respect and earn his trust."
The others fell silent. Valarr's family was one of the oldest and richest Valyrian lines left in Lys. His word carried weight.
He continued, "We keep the silver prince here, let him grow comfortable, then slowly draw him into our circle."
Natalya hid her sneer. Valyrian nobles were the most treacherous of all. She doubted Valarr could deliver half of what he promised.
Lys was never truly united. The five archons allied and schemed against each other in equal measure.
Trystane shifted the topic. "The Stepstones are a complete mess. Myr has signed with the Golden Company. The Windblown, the Second Sons—every sellsword band is swarming the islands. The lower Narrow Sea is chaos."
Myr stayed neutral but played both sides. Lys and Tyrosh, closest to the Stepstones and nursing centuries of blood feuds, were tearing each other apart. Only the need to keep pirates and slavers out prevented open war.
"If we keep fighting like this, none of us win," Valarr said.
Trystane nodded. "My trade fleets have been bottled up for half a year. Every ship that sails gets stripped clean."
"My brothels haven't seen fresh stock in months," Natalya complained.
The archons all felt the same pressure. The war had dragged on too long. Their term was ending soon if they couldn't deliver results.
Valarr's eyes narrowed. "The Stepstones need one strong, respected man to break the deadlock and restore peace."
The others looked at him, waiting.
"Prince Daeron Targaryen," Valarr said calmly. "He has three dragons. We can persuade him to do what Aegon the Conqueror once did—drive out the invaders and bring order, just like he ended the threat from Volantis."
"You're dreaming," Natalya snapped. "The Iron Throne has always kept its eyes on the Disputed Lands. Why would they help us?"
Valarr gave her a cold glance. "We're not asking him to conquer the Stepstones for us. Just to end the war."
The fighting had gone on long enough. Lys had taken plenty of loot but had no time to digest it. Peace was what mattered now.
Trystane thought for a moment. "It's worth trying. Maybe the right offer could tempt him."
Alliances were cheap in Lys. When you needed a powerful friend, you picked the strongest one available.
Meanwhile, back in King's Landing.
Aerys had barely left his chambers for days. He spent every waking hour obsessing over the dragon egg.
"Damn it, how do you hatch a rock?" he snarled.
The pale egg sat in a brazier of glowing coals. No matter how hot he made the fire, the stone shell refused to crack. He kept raising the temperature until he couldn't even touch the egg.
He snatched up a dagger, sliced his palm, and let the blood drip onto the shell—an old Valyrian trick he'd found in a forgotten scroll. True dragon blood to wake the egg.
Drip… drip…
The pale surface turned red with his blood. Still nothing. The coals hissed and popped like they were laughing at him.
Aerys's eyes were bloodshot. He sucked at the cut and roared, "Rossart, you blind fool! Pour more fire magic into the egg!"
The pyromancer Rossart shuffled forward, face wrapped in thick scarves, moving in tiny steps. He waved his hands; twin flames bloomed in his palms. He bent and wrapped the egg in sorcerous fire.
Aerys watched, fascinated as always, waiting for any change.
Nothing.
"Your wildfire trick is useless," Aerys snapped.
Rossart bowed low and spoke in his strange, high, parrot-like voice—he had replaced his own tongue with a parrot's using alchemy.
"Your Grace, dragon eggs are fountains of flame. My fire is only a spark. The magic is simply… insufficient."
Aerys didn't care about magical theory. "How long until it hatches?"
"Perhaps we could try other methods," Rossart suggested carefully.
"Speak!"
Rossart's eyes darted. "Your Grace… wildfire is also a form of fire magic—"
Aerys scowled, already suspicious the man was trying to trick him.
Outside the door, two pairs of eyes pressed to the crack.
Jaehaerys crouched on top, pinning little Viserys beneath him, both of them spying and eavesdropping on their father.
A short distance away, Ser Gerold Hightower watched with weary patience while Lewyn Martell pretended to admire the hallway tapestries.
Let the boys look. They were only children.
"That guy looks shady as hell," Jaehaerys whispered, already labeling Rossart a schemer.
"Uh-huh," Viserys agreed, nodding even though he didn't understand a word.
The two princes had been wandering the Red Keep out of boredom when they remembered their father kept a petrified dragon egg in his chambers. They had crept over just in time to see Aerys going mad trying to hatch it.
"Come on, let's go," Jaehaerys hissed. "We have to tell second brother."
Viserys scrambled after him.
In the throne room, Daeron sat on the Iron Throne receiving the Yi Ti healer Prince Rhaeton had sent.
The old healer had actually been in the Crownlands for weeks, quietly gathering local herbs and offering his services as a physician. With Queen Rhaella's birth only days away, Daeron had called him back to the Red Keep.
"Prince, thank you for your kindness. I am happy to serve here," the Yi Ti healer said in his gentle way.
Daeron couldn't speak Yi Ti, so Davos translated. The rest of the Small Council—Tywin, Mace, and the others—listened in silence.
The healer had the weathered face of a man who had traveled half the known world, but his manner was kind and straightforward.
Daeron asked through Davos, "You've been in the Crownlands for over a month now. How do you find King's Landing compared to Pentos?"
The old man answered honestly. "Honored prince, King's Landing is prosperous, but the smell… the streets are filthy. I notice it every day."
Daeron raised an eyebrow but didn't get angry. He turned to the council with a smile. "Even a foreigner says our city stinks. The renovation plan needs to move faster."
Tywin gave a dismissive snort. "What would a Yi Ti barber know about the Seven Kingdoms?"
Mace nodded vigorously. He had already built dozens of public toilets, cleaned the sewers, and dug new wells at his own expense. The smallfolk were already calling him "Lord Clearwater."
The Yi Ti healer, quick on his feet, added smoothly, "But every day I see improvement. The streets grow cleaner. The people's lives are getting better little by little. That kind of progress is something Pentos has never known."
He paused, then smiled. "And I saw the hills near your fief planted thick with tea bushes. The locals call it Greenleaf Ridge and say it is a gift from the prince's wise rule. They speak of a new tea trade that will soon cross the Narrow Sea."
Daeron smiled. The fief needed cash crops. Special crops from the farm couldn't be grown outside it, and the special animals required blue grass to thrive. So he had ordered thousands of ordinary tea seedlings planted on a ridge near the Kingswood.
The bushes produced regular harvests every month. Tea itself was brand new to Westeros—no one had ever seen it before—so even the plain leaves sold like hotcakes across the Narrow Sea. The rare special-star batches were saved for the royal table or sold at premium prices in Pentos, already bringing in thousands of gold dragons.
"Second brother! Second brother!"
Sudden shouting echoed from the hall entrance. Jaehaerys and Viserys came barreling in, faces flushed with excitement.