Daeron didn't need anyone else to do his killing for him. He was perfectly happy handling that himself.
Evening, 6:30.
He sat in the lavish house the governors had given him, making do with a bottle of Iridium Star milk and a plain salad for dinner.
Tyrion had invited himself over and was poking at the salad with a fork like it had personally offended him. "You're really going to eat just that? You'll wreck your stomach."
Daeron shrugged. "It's food. That's good enough."
Tyrion gave up and pulled out a bottle of red wine instead, treating it like the main course. He knew better than to complain too loudly. The king's meals came from special crops most people couldn't afford. Even a simple salad was worth more than what the Lannisters usually saw on their own tables.
Daeron closed his eyes and let his mind drift over the Lysene governors and how differently they were acting compared to Rhaegar.
Rhaenys had gone to see her father. Eddard had gone to check on Lyanna. Even Marana Rogare had slipped away to reunite with her brother Fredo. The whole delegation was scattered tonight, each chasing their own threads.
Tyrion kept his voice low. "The governors agreed to the terms, but I don't think they're going to follow through without a fight."
Daeron already knew that. Myr had gone smoothly only because Tristan had been on the inside and Graven's faction had been dealt with. Lys had dropped to its knees fast, but that didn't mean the governors were suddenly loyal. Some people were going to need killing before things settled.
He opened his eyes and looked at Tyrion. "If I left you here in Lys, could you keep them in line?"
Tyrion froze, suddenly very interested in his wine glass. He wanted a seat on the Small Council in King's Landing, not a posting as some kind of Hand in a conquered city where he'd probably get poisoned inside a week.
Daeron didn't wait for an answer. "Never mind. You're not ready."
Tyrion looked like he wanted to argue but stayed quiet.
Daeron was already running through names in his head. He needed a Lord Steward for each of the three cities. Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys. The framework was simple. Each prince would have a Steward who answered directly to the Iron Throne. It would keep the new holdings under control and stop the family from tearing itself apart later.
Myr was the easiest. Jaehaerys already had Tristan helping him. The city was inland, so the Steward didn't need to be a military genius, just someone who could keep supplies moving and the army fed. Eddard Stark, Bronze Yohn, or even Steffon Frey could work.
Tyrosh was different. Tywin had already bloodied it once. The city was stable but the local nobles were terrified. Viserys wasn't strong enough to run it alone. The Steward there needed to be ruthless enough to keep the army in line and handle day-to-day rule while Viserys learned.
Lys was the hardest. No war damage, but Rhaegar was still a wild card and the governors still held real power. The Iron Throne's grip was weak. Daeron was going to have to clean house before he could plant anyone useful. Tyrion was out. The little man talked a good game, but he was too young and too soft for a city this poisonous. He'd be dead or bought inside a month.
Davos, Stannis, or Alliser Thorne were the better options.
A knock at the door cut his thoughts short. Jaehaerys's voice came through. "Your Grace, Governor Rogare is here to see you."
Daeron told him to come in. He was curious what Fredo wanted. The man should have been spending the evening with his sister, not running messages.
Fredo stepped inside and bowed. "Forgive the intrusion, Your Grace."
Daeron glanced past him and saw Jaehaerys standing in the hall with a girl in a green dress. Marana Rogare. Honey-blonde hair, violet eyes, fair skin, and a soft, bookish look with curves that filled out the dress nicely. She and Jaehaerys were talking, actually smiling at each other.
Daeron felt his mouth twitch. His quiet, serious little brother was chatting like he actually enjoyed it. That was new. Usually Jaehaerys treated girls like they were made of glass and boring glass at that. Apparently he had a type. Valyrian blood seemed to do the trick.
Good. One less headache.
Daeron looked back at Fredo. "What does Rhaegar want?"
Fredo straightened. "He asked for a private meeting tomorrow. He sent me to pass it along."
Daeron nodded. "Sit. Tell me what you know."
Fredo took the offered chair. His eyes flicked toward the hall where his sister was still talking with Jaehaerys. He understood exactly what was happening and didn't comment. Smart man.
"Rhaegar has been quieter since he came back from the Smoking Sea," Fredo said. "He only really talks to Lyanna. I don't know what he wants to discuss, but it probably involves Lys or whatever he found out there."
Daeron filed that away. The Smoking Sea still pulled at him, but he had three cities to lock down first.
He changed the subject. "How is House Rogare doing these days?"
Fredo gave a small, honest smile. "We've been struggling since the Spring of Lys. Right now it's just me, my two sisters, and a few distant cousins. Becoming governor helped, but we're still rebuilding."
Daeron leaned back. "A house that falls has to fight ten times harder to climb back up."
Fredo nodded, the weight of it clear on his face.
Daeron didn't dance around it. "Lys is submitting to the Iron Throne. House Rogare has old ties to the Targaryens. I don't want those ties to fade."
Fredo stayed quiet, waiting.
Daeron was direct. "Come to King's Landing. I'll give you a seat on the Small Council. You can help run the realm and the new holdings in the east."
Fredo blinked, clearly caught off guard by how blunt it was.
Daeron kept going. "You don't have to answer tonight. The door stays open. But I want you to think about it."
Fredo stood and bowed, one hand over his heart. "Your Grace, everything I have today I owe to Prince Rhaegar's support. Now that Lys belongs to the Iron Throne, I am your vassal. If you ever need me, I will stand with you. Against anyone."
It was a careful answer. He acknowledged Rhaegar without refusing the offer, tied himself to the Iron Throne, and promised to act if Lys ever tried to pull away.
Daeron liked it.
He smiled. "Good. I didn't misjudge you. I heard House Rogare doesn't have a strong trade fleet yet. I'll have twenty ships from the Myr prizes sent to you. Use them to open up your own routes."
Fredo dropped to one knee, genuinely shaken. Twenty ships wasn't a small gift. It was the difference between a struggling house and one that could actually grow.
"I will not forget this, Your Grace," he said, voice rough. "House Rogare will remember who its friends are."
Daeron's smile stayed small and satisfied. "Targaryens don't forget their friends either."