Daeron finally rode back into King's Landing after two long months away.
"Uncle," Rhaenys called out with a bright smile, waiting at the Dragonpit gates as Caraxes touched down.
"Rhaenys. How've you been holding up?" Daeron grinned, spotting Daenerys and young Aegon behind her. "Brought gifts from across the Narrow Sea for all of you."
"Best brother ever!" Daenerys shouted, bouncing from shy wallflower to full-on flatterer in seconds. Aegon just gave a shy, awkward smile, clearly unsure how to act around his king-uncle. Visenya stayed cool and polite, offering a quiet thanks.
"Uncle, let's head back to the Red Keep," Rhaenys said, taking her younger siblings by the hand. "The little queen's waiting for you."
"Use the proper title, Rhaenys," Daeron corrected gently. Shaena was far too patient with the girl. Rhaenys just shrugged and winked.
"Hey, you blind? We're standing right here," Viserys barked from behind them, loud and childish as ever. Rhaenys shot him one cold look, then turned and walked away without a word.
"Viserys," Jaehaerys said, clapping his little brother on the shoulder with a tired smile. "If you want people to treat you like an uncle, maybe start acting like one."
The victories at Myr and Tyrosh had everyone in high spirits. The whole family felt lighter.
Midday, 10:30.
Daeron checked on Shaena, got her settled for a nap, then stepped out to find Varys already waiting.
"News, Your Grace," Varys said quietly. "Victarion's raven arrived this morning. And a letter from Lys."
Victarion had pushed hard to get word out about the Smoking Sea. Once the waters calmed, he'd sailed right up to the edge and taken a hard look.
"What did he find?" Daeron asked.
Varys's face was grim. "Something that doesn't make sense."
The haze that had always choked the Smoking Sea was thinning.
Daeron nearly fell out of his chair. "You're saying the Valyrian peninsula could actually be coming back?"
Varys nodded once.
For centuries the Smoking Sea had been a death trap—thick fog that never lifted, boiling patches from underwater volcanoes, reefs that could rip a hull open, and worse things no one wanted to name. The fog had been the final wall. If it was breaking up, the old heartland of Valyria was about to reappear.
Daeron took a slow breath, trying to steady the mix of excitement and dread in his chest.
Valyria reemerging would be huge for House Targaryen. Dragonstone was too small and too poor to support more than a dozen dragons. During the Dance the family had hit twenty-one at most, and even then most had been crammed into the Dragonpit or scattered. The Valyrian peninsula had been the real cradle—fourteen volcanoes, the Lands of the Long Summer. Nothing in the world could compare.
"Keep every eye on it," Daeron said. "No mistakes. The peninsula matters too much."
Varys bowed. "Already sent my little birds."
He paused. "There's more. The letter from Lys concerns Prince Rhaegar."
Rhaegar was back. Alive. And he'd brought two dragon eggs out of the Smoking Sea with him.
"Lucky bastard," Daeron muttered. After everything with the Valyrian peninsula, even that news felt almost normal.
Varys chose his next words carefully. "The archons welcomed him with open arms. They held a grand coronation and named him Prince of Lys. Full honors."
Rhaegar had rolled the dice and won. Pure Targaryen blood still carried weight when everything else failed.
"Guess high-stakes gambling really is an art," Daeron said dryly.
Varys watched him closely, trying to read every flicker.
Daeron stayed calm. He'd already planned for every version of this outcome—Rhaegar dead, Rhaegar empty-handed, Rhaegar with eggs. The Smoking Sea's sudden change just meant he'd adjust the details.
"Fredo Rogare wrote," Daeron continued. "Lys wants to talk peace. They're offering terms."
Varys understood immediately. The king was moving on the lower Narrow Sea, and that included Rhaegar.
"If Lys bends the knee and pays tribute, the fighting stops," Daeron said.
He'd already decided. He wanted the Stepstones and the three Free Cities under the Iron Throne. If Lys submitted, Rhaegar became his vassal. That was clean.
"Stupid brother. You still can't get out from under my hand."
Daeron wasn't planning on killing Rhaegar or stealing everything outright. Look at Myr. Tristan had made the takeover smooth and kept the city running afterward. If Lys bent the knee, he could afford to be generous. Loyalty could wait. As long as he held power, the Triarchy was no real threat.
Rhaegar as Prince of Lys meant he held real authority there, but he was still a Targaryen. His children were already in King's Landing under Daeron's watch. Peaceful conquest was the smart play.
If Rhaegar actually hatched those eggs, the dragons would still fall under royal control. No exceptions.
"The Valyrian peninsula is waking up," Daeron said. "House Targaryen needs a foothold on the eastern continent. The Stepstones and the Triarchy cities are the key."
He saw Rhaegar as the man who could run Lys for the family. Not out of sentiment—out of cold usefulness. Caraxes was already a full-grown monster with every advantage Daeron could give him. Tessarion and Toothless were top-tier young adults. Jaehaerys and Viserys had Valar and Alex. Even if Rhaegar hatched eggs, his dragons would be years behind.
"Lord Varys," Daeron said suddenly.
Varys blinked. "Yes, Your Grace?"
"The dragon from the Smoking Sea. I want your little birds watching every corner of the eastern continent. Find it. Dead or alive."
Varys frowned. The volcanic eruption should have killed anything caught inside.
"Doesn't matter," Daeron said. "Watch anyway."
If the thing was dead, that was one less problem. If it survived and flew out, they needed to know where it went.
Varys bowed. "Consider it done."
"One more thing," Daeron added. "Send for the Hand. I need to speak with him."
That same day, a rumor spread through the Red Keep.
The king was planning a victory feast to reward the men who had taken Myr and Tyrosh. More than that—he intended to name both Jaehaerys and Viserys princes and grant them the conquered cities. Myr to one. Tyrosh to the other.
Lady Olenna found him later and didn't waste time.
"Your Grace, you're truly giving two Free Cities to your brothers? After everything it took to take them?"
Daeron met her eyes. "Once they swore to me, they stopped being Free Cities. They became part of the realm."
Olenna took a long sip of wine, looking genuinely stunned. "Seven hells. The world really has changed. Targaryens are all mad."
Two entire cities, handed out like nameday gifts.
Daeron glanced at her. He hadn't even mentioned Rhaegar yet. If Lys submitted, that would make three.
"They're not going there to live like lords," he said. "They're going to free hundreds of thousands of slaves, open up the Disputed Lands, and hold the line against whatever's left of the Triarchy."
Olenna clicked her tongue. "Even so, if you gave one of those cities to House Tyrell, I'd send every man in my family to the front lines to hold it for you."
Daeron shook his head, amused. "You didn't come here just to fish for rumors, did you?"
"Of course not," Olenna said, leaning in. Her voice dropped. "This is about the Iron Throne and House Martell."