While Daeron was visiting the nobles of the Stormlands, changes were also taking place in King's Landing.
Aerys, acting out of character, appointed Tywin as commander of the Royalist Army and ordered him to march into the Riverlands.
Tywin summoned the remaining Lannister troops and the forces of the Crownlands, marching them in a grand procession toward Harrenhal to rendezvous with the lords of the Riverlands.
An interesting incident occurred during this time.
Tywin attempted to mobilize the coalition forces of The Reach, but was met with repeated evasions from Duke Mace, even though the coalition was stationed halfway to Harrenhal.
"The war hasn't even finished, and yet there's so much infighting!"
Daeron remarked with disdain.
At the same time, the fleet from the Greenblood arrived in King's Landing, bringing with them ten thousand Dornish spearmen.
Led by Rhaegar and assisted by Prince Lewyn.
After reorganizing the troops, Rhaegar proposed marching into the Riverlands to quell the rebellion, but was sternly refused by Aerys.
According to Aerys's wishes, the ten thousand Dornish spearmen were to be handed over to Tywin, with Tywin commanding the expedition.
In the end, the matter was left unresolved.
At this moment, King's Landing was a gathering point for the coalition of The Reach and the Dornish army, while Daeron was integrating the stormlords, creating an eye of the storm in terms of power.
One wrong move, and one would be swept into the storm.
Meanwhile, Eddard Stark had reorganized the Northern troops, crossed Neck, and entered the Riverlands.
Denys Arryn led his troops out of the Mountains of the Moon, joined forces with Eddard Stark, and headed toward Riverrun.
"Eddard, how many troops have you brought?"
Denys was a pure warrior and couldn't estimate the exact number of the Northern army, only feeling that it was fewer than the coalition of the Vale.
Eddard appeared distracted, saying in a deep voice: "Thirteen thousand five hundred warriors in total; this is all the strength the North can muster."
"That's fine. The coalition of the Vale has eighteen thousand men. Counting the Northmen and Lord Hoster, we can have thirty to forty thousand."
Denys was cheerful, full of anticipation for the coming battle.
Eddard kept a straight face, his heart and mind filled with worry.
His sister Lyanna had eloped with Crown Prince Rhaegar, causing his father and elder brother to die in vain, and the House Stark had suffered a great tragedy.
He didn't know if he should blame Lyanna; she was one of the only two relatives he had left.
Benjen had clamored to go south with the army, but he had left him behind at Winterfell.
He knew that he might very well die in this campaign.
If he died, Benjen would be the only male heir left of the House Stark, and would have to shoulder the responsibility of governing the North.
"Perhaps when I die, the House Stark won't even be qualified to govern the North anymore."
Eddard gave a wry smile.
He didn't want to think that far ahead; he only wanted to know if Lyanna was safe.
Rhaegar was the dream of the daughters of the Seven Kingdoms, but he was a married man, and he couldn't guarantee Lyanna's position in his heart.
"What a wise and martial Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen you are—abducting my sister, causing the death of my father and brother, and forcing my foster father Jon Arryn and my brother Robert into rebellion."
Eddard's eyes burned with rage; he wished he could tear Rhaegar limb from limb.
He wanted to run up to Rhaegar and loudly ask him if he understood what honor and duty were.
How could he commit such a grave error and implicate the entire continent of Westeros in disaster?
"Stop thinking about it. Once we rendezvous with Lord Hoster, we'll go to Stoney Sept to find Robert."
Denys had an easygoing nature and laughed: "Once we find Robert, we'll—"
"Wait!"
Before he could finish, Eddard interrupted him, anxiously asking: "What did you say? Robert is in Stoney Sept?"
"Yeah, that's where Robert is recovering from his wounds."
Denys said it as if it were obvious.
Eddard's expression turned grim, and he said in a deep voice: "You and I have traveled a long way, and the army has come thousands of miles to the Riverlands. If even you received news that Robert is hiding in Stoney Sept, there's no guarantee the Royalist Army hasn't gotten the news as well."
Robert was in danger!
Eddard dared not think further and immediately urged the army to accelerate, rushing toward Riverrun at the fastest possible speed.
Harrenhal.
Tywin arrived at Harrenhal and successfully rendezvoused with the Royalist Army, amassing a force of nearly thirty thousand.
"My Lord, the latest news!"
Count Haran hurried over.
It turned out that someone had discovered traces of Robert in Stoney Sept and reported it to the Royalist Army.
"Robert Baratheon!"
Tywin's eyes were as gloomy as water, and he said in a deep voice: "Assemble the troops. Stoney Sept is harboring rebels; the army will attack."
He hated Robert deeply, and the thought of revenge burned fiercely.
This time, he had finally seized the opportunity.
The turmoil of the external war did not interfere with the Stormlands.
Daeron's political activities of visiting the nobles of the Stormlands one by one were finally nearing an end.
Mediated by Lord Caron and four other noble families, Daeron hosted a banquet at Storm's End, inviting the stormlords to participate.
Except for a few lords who had been beheaded or exiled to the Wall, and whose houses were currently electing new lords, most of the stormlords honored the invitation.
That day, over a dozen carriages laden with food entered Storm's End, decorated even more grandly than the harvest banquet at Winterfell.
The banquet would last for three days.
Night fell.
The Storm Hall was grandly decorated, with over a dozen dining tables placed in a crisscross pattern, filled with all kinds of delicacies.
The stormlords gathered, roughly divided into three factions.
One faction was Lord Caron and others, who had profited from the war and were completely loyal to Daeron personally.
One faction consisted of nobles who had been forgiven, such as those from Haystack Hall, Eveningfall, Harvest Hall, and Greenstone; after Daeron's visits, they sensibly chose to support him.
The last faction was more miserable.
Nobles from the Rainwood region, such as Stonehelm, Mistwood, Rain House, and Crow's Nest, had all suffered varying degrees of punishment, with at least half of their fiefs stripped.
Some lords had even been exiled to the Wall, with temporary lords participating in the banquet.
Of course, the most miserable were the Connington family of Griffin's Roost.
Jon Connington was a die-hard loyalist of Rhaegar. After being burned to death by Daeron's Tessarion, the Connington family's stance was unclear, and they had joined the Baratheon camp after the rebellion.
After pacifying the Stormlands, Daeron struck hard, using the Connington family as a warning to others.
Except for a few collateral branches exiled across the Narrow Sea, Griffin's Roost was now ownerless and needed a new lord to be enfeoffed.
"Gentlemen, the era of the Baratheon family has passed."
Among the crowd, Selwyn Tarth of Eveningfall stood up and raised his glass to toast: "Prince Daeron defeated us, but he did not harm our lives or the lives of our kin. We should be grateful and commit ourselves to restoring the prosperity of the Stormlands."
Count Selwyn was over forty and had only a three-year-old daughter—Brienne of Tarth.
"To the Prince!!"
Count Balon Caron of Nightsong echoed, his aura as a great lord radiating, causing the other stormlords to change color and join in the toast.
The Stormlands were quite special; apart from their liege lord, the Baratheon family, there were no overly powerful great lords (second-in-command level).
The strongest few families were probably the Caron family of Nightsong in Dornish Marches, the Swann family of Stonehelm, and the Dondarrion family of Blackwater.
The Caron family had fierce combat power, but their finances were tight.
The supplies gifted by Daeron solved Count Balon's urgent needs, and he was highly praised by the other party, willing to stand up and unite the stormlords. Half of the nobles present were Daeron's supporters, and the banquet was held smoothly.
In the first half of the night, the nobles from the Rainwood region, led by the Swann family, were still a bit restrained and could not quite integrate into the songs of the victors.
In the second half of the night, the several counts cast aside their prejudices and began to dance in the hall.
"Well danced!"
Daeron laughed heartily and tossed out a money pouch filled with gold dragons, adding to the fun: "Whoever dances the best, I will reward them with one hundred gold dragons."
One hundred gold dragons was not a lot, but for some nobles after the war, it was not a small amount either.
Especially since there were not only lords present, but also many noble family members, knights, singers, and prostitutes.
"Prince, everyone is willing to set aside their prejudices and honor you as the Prince of Storm's End."
Barristan stood behind him, conveying the message for the nephew of the lord of Harvest Hall.
Daeron smiled and refused: "It is not that one must become the Prince of Storm's End to govern the Stormlands, but rather that by governing the Stormlands well, they will honor me as Prince."
Otherwise, it would be putting the cart before the horse.
Barristan nodded, understanding that the Prince's ambitions were great, and not just limited to being a Prince of Storm's End.
For now, the entire Stormlands were already in the Prince's pocket; having this title or not was irrelevant.
It could also avoid the King's suspicion.
"Barristan, you go dance too!"
Daeron pushed him out.
He found that the nobles of the Stormlands were very different from the nobles of The Reach.
The Reach was wealthy, and the pursuit of spiritual things was higher; the nobles there were all hypocritical, pretending to be more polite and humble than the next.
After a banquet, it was all mutual flattery.
The Stormlands had volatile weather, which cultivated the tenacious nature of the nobles, and they behaved more wildly.
Regardless of whether they had met on the battlefield with swords drawn, they all gathered together to revel, putting all their energy into fine wine and beauties.
No wonder Robert in the original work could celebrate victory three times a day during the "Battle of Summer Hall" and still be able to link arms and drink with the three noble families, including Lord Caron.
Da! Da da da!
Suddenly, the lights in the hall dimmed, the singers slowed the music, and the nobles automatically made way.
A blonde beauty appeared in the center of the hall, dancing a dance with a unique style to the music.
Daeron looked closely and saw it was Lady Shira of Haystack Hall.
At this moment, Lady Shira's temperament had changed greatly from when they first met; her blonde hair was pinned up, and she wore a low-cut black evening gown that exposed her shoulders, appearing both mature and charming, fully displaying the aura of a mature woman.
Her figure was graceful, and her dance was exceptionally enchanting.
At first glance, it looked a bit like the dance Ashara had performed at the banquet in Harrenhal, and even her external image was somewhat similar, only more mature, with a kind of sorrow that seemed to want to speak before tears fell.
"Being a widow is not easy!"
Daeron sighed softly.
The dance was beautiful, enchanting the onlookers, and received unanimous affirmation from the nobles present when it ended.
Lady Shira wiped the sweat from her forehead and proposed to go change her dress.
Passing by the couch where Daeron was, she moved the thin gauze curtain, adjusted her skirt, and sat down gently.
Daeron's eyelids twitched.
Looking around, the stormlords were reveling again, and the music was gradually becoming wilder and freer.
"Is it beautiful?"
Lady Shira took the initiative to speak, her voice having a mature magnetism.
Daeron nodded: "Very beautiful."
"Mhm."
Lady Shira stopped talking, looking at him intently, touching the soft goose-feather cushion, seemingly testing the material of the cushion.
After waiting for a while, neither side spoke.
Lady Shira stood up and headed toward the guest rooms upstairs.
Daeron had an unreadable expression, turning to look at Barristan.
He felt that Lady Shira had extended an invitation.
"Very beautiful, isn't she?"
Barristan's mouth curled up, revealing a teasing smile.
Daeron confirmed his guess and immediately shook his head: "No."
"It doesn't matter; that's how it is among nobles."
To avoid the Prince having any psychological burden, Barristan leaned his upper body forward and whispered: "Although Prince Rhaegar married late, he wasn't single his whole life."
Daeron shook his head again: "No."
"This is harmless to you; if you don't believe me, you can look around."
Barristan gave a hint.
Daeron was startled, and while pretending to drink, he quietly observed the surrounding environment.
Only then did he discover that several noble ladies were not dancing but were chatting at a nearby table, their eyes looking toward this side intentionally or unintentionally.
Barristan gave him a look that meant figure it out yourself.
Daeron was amused.
This was the stormlords wanting to see his attitude, choosing a beautiful widow to test him.
Before he could ask whose idea this was.
Barristan encouraged him: "Go, Prince. Have a wonderful night, and when the sun rises tomorrow, you will be a true man."
Anyway, there was no need to take responsibility, no need to worry about marriage.
"Fine."
Daeron considered it for a moment, picked up the Dark Sister from the side of the table, and chased after her upstairs.
Food and sex are human nature; there was nothing to be shy about.
Compared to naive girls like Cersei and Ashara, he also preferred the mature Lady Shira, who was like a honey peach.
Upstairs, the room lights were dim.
Lady Shira was still wearing that black low-cut evening gown, leaning her head against the wall.
"My Lady—"
Daeron gently reached out his hand.
Lady Shira turned her head, looked directly into his eyes, and said softly: "Call me Shira. Tonight, I have no extra identity."
"Shira, you are truly beautiful."
Daeron praised her sincerely, naturally placing his hand on the beautiful woman's soft waist.
Lady Shira was not short, with fair skin and a slender figure, paired with an exquisite evening gown, she had more temperament than any noble young lady.
"Don't speak, it wastes good time."
She seemed more proactive, directly wrapping her arms around Daeron's neck, standing on her tiptoes, and touching him gently.
Daeron's body stiffened, and under her guidance, he slowly entered the rhythm.
First taste of the joys of fish and water.
"Oh!"
A noble young lady bit down hard on a sandwich, and white peach jam popped out, splashing onto the face of the person opposite her.
"Hahaha, idiot."
That person only received ruthless mockery, and was then dragged into the crowd to dance.
Tonight, they would revel all night.
They wouldn't stop until dawn.
"Heh, truly wild."
Barristan picked up a glass of red wine, tasting it carefully while reminiscing about the glorious years.
As a member of the Kingsguard, his duty made him hold fast to honor.
The next day.
The sky was bright, and the sunlight shone through the white gauze curtains onto the bed in the room.
Daeron opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was not the checkered ceiling, but the soft blonde hair spread out in his arms.
For a moment, he thought it was Cersei in his arms.
It shocked him wide awake.
"Are you awake?"
Lady Shira had long since woken up, lying on her side in his arms, propping her head up with one hand, and resting the other hand on his waist.
Daeron saw not shyness or embarrassment in those beautiful eyes, but intense interest and a trace of affection.
This woman, her level seemed very high.
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