King's Landing.
The storm had passed, leaving the city streets scrubbed clean. Rainwater had washed the cracked cobblestones, carrying away the usual stench. The whole place smelled fresh for once.
Smallfolk stepped out of their homes, patching roofs and picking up whatever the wind had scattered. Gold Cloaks marched in teams with the new constables, checking every street for damage and making sure no one tried to loot in the chaos.
With better law and order, the City Watch had stopped being some lord's bully boys. They were starting to feel like real lawmen.
The smallfolk noticed. They saw the change and quietly gave Daeron credit. No other king's son would spend heaps of gold dragons just to make their lives a little less miserable.
Even the cynical commoners of King's Landing were warming up to the royal family again. In the alehouses and alleyways you'd hear the same whisper:
"If Daeron weren't just the Regent Prince—if he were Hand or King—it would be even better."
Red Keep, Throne Room.
Lord Hendry Bracken of Stone Hedge had come with a small delegation. He entered alone and knelt, asking the Iron Throne for justice.
It was the same old story: the Blackwoods.
The king was passed out drunk in his chambers. The Regent Prince was still overseas. So the man sitting the Iron Throne today was the Hand—Tywin Lannister.
Tywin watched with a cold, judging stare.
He didn't speak. Instead he had summoned another member of the royal family, exactly as Daeron had ordered before he left: if any dispute needed the Iron Throne's ruling, Princess Shaena would handle it.
Shaena sat behind a simple wooden table in a long beige silk gown, hands folded neatly in her lap. On her right stood Davos and Lord Owen. On her left stood Barristan.
Lord Hendry kept his head down, not daring to look directly at the young princess as he poured out his grievances.
"The Blackwoods have gone too far," he said. "They moved the boundary stones twenty-five miles into our pasture under cover of night. Our cattle and sheep are starving—"
Another endless Bracken-Blackwood feud.
Tywin listened with open boredom. These two houses had been at each other's throats for centuries. No matter how many times the crown stepped in, they always found a new reason to fight.
"My lord—" Hendry caught himself and corrected quickly. "Princess, I was personally named Lord of Stone Hedge by Prince Daeron after the war. Our lands were redrawn by royal decree. The Blackwoods already took more than their share, yet they still raid our pastures. When I rode over to protest, Lord Tytos sent his cousins and nephews to beat me."
Shaena frowned slightly. "Did you speak with Lord Tytos Blackwood first?"
"Of course," Hendry answered, turning his head so everyone could see the ugly bruise on his cheek. "They drove me off like a dog."
Shaena tilted her head and asked softly, "He was actually beaten?"
"Typical Blackwood behavior," Barristan said quietly. "I've heard the same stories for years. This rings true."
Shaena gave a small nod, then turned to Davos. "Daeron once served as Lord Tytos's squire. Would he deliberately defy Daeron's settlement and harass the Brackens?"
Davos glanced at Barristan before answering. "He would, Princess. The Blackwood-Bracken blood feud goes back centuries. During the rebellion the two houses fought on opposite sides. Now that the Brackens are on the losing end, the Blackwoods won't miss a chance to grind them down."
Lord Owen added, "Exactly. The Blackwoods are the victors here. The Brackens surrendered. Young Lord Hendry hasn't even formed his Life Seed yet. His house is weak. Of course they're being bullied."
Shaena made a soft "mm" sound.
Then she went quiet.
Lord Hendry waited, looking nervous. He glanced from the princess to the Hand on the Iron Throne and tried again. "Princess, House Bracken turned against the rebels and followed Prince Daeron in the final campaign. We have obeyed every decree he issued. All we ask is that the Iron Throne grant us simple justice and return the pasture the Blackwoods stole."
Shaena's violet eyes stayed calm. She was thinking about how Daeron would handle this. She didn't enjoy court work, but she had been placed here and she would not shrink from it.
"If the Blackwoods truly moved the boundary stones and had Lord Hendry beaten," she said slowly, "then they are in the wrong. They should be reprimanded. I will send an envoy to the Riverlands to investigate the full situation."
Hendry's face lit up at the first half, then fell when he heard the second.
"Is that… acceptable?" Shaena asked her advisors in a low voice.
Davos and Barristan both nodded. It was fair and by the book.
Shaena turned to Lord Owen. "Lord Owen, please go to the Riverlands as the crown's envoy. Look into both houses. If Lord Hendry's account is true, speak for the Iron Throne and enforce justice. If there is any mistake, go to Harrenhal and consult Lord Walter Whent—he is Warden of the River Road and has authority to oversee Riverlands lords."
Lord Owen hesitated for half a second—clearly not thrilled about the trip—but he smiled his usual good-natured smile. "As you wish, Princess."
Shaena studied Hendry a moment longer, then told Davos, "Ser Davos, please select two squires who have mastered life force and twenty regular knights from the Constabulary Knights—along with all their attendants—to escort Lord Owen safely through the Riverlands."
"Yes, Princess."
"Thank you, Princess," Lord Owen said, beaming. Royal protection was far better than his own household guards.
Shaena nodded. "Lord Hendry, does this judgment satisfy you?"
Hendry looked like he had swallowed a dead fly, but he forced a smile. "It is fair, Princess."
"Good."
Shaena stood. She didn't spare a glance at Tywin on the Iron Throne. With Davos and Lord Owen following, she left the hall as calmly as she had entered.
Once the judge was gone, the observers remained.
Around the corner, Maester Aemon stood in his black robe, old eyes a little blurry without his spectacles, but his ears sharp as ever. He had heard every word.
"Very well done, wouldn't you say?" Varys murmured, hands tucked in his sleeves.
Maester Aemon smiled with genuine warmth. "Better than well done. She showed true royal poise."
He had worried Daeron was asking too much of his quiet sister. Clearly he had underestimated her. Shaena might be shy, but she was not weak. She still had some growing to do, yet she could already stand on her own.
"A princess indeed," Varys said lightly.
"I must return to my chambers," Maester Aemon said. "These old bones complain loudly if they miss breakfast."
He turned to leave. The two little princes—Jaehaerys and Viserys—popped out from their hiding spot and each took one of their great-uncle's arms, helping the elderly maester along.
"Thank you, my dears," Maester Aemon said, smiling even brighter.
Varys watched them go and muttered, "Now that's unfair treatment."
He had known the boys were eavesdropping the whole time, jealous of their big sister playing regent. He chose not to embarrass them.
At last, this generation of Targaryens was beginning to shine.
---
On the Iron Throne, Tywin's bored expression faded the moment Shaena left. He stared after the young princess, fingers tightening on the armrest.
Her handling of the case had been flawless.
Any competent lord in the Seven Kingdoms could have done the same. The difference was that most people with the ability lacked the authority—and most with the authority lacked the ability.
Shaena had listened to her advisors, refused to take one side without evidence, and prepared a backup plan in case the facts were wrong. She showed judgment without arrogance.
Tywin felt a tightness in his chest and a flicker of resentment.
How in the seven hells had his old friend Aerys produced two children like Daeron and Shaena?
He thought of his own daughter, Cersei—lovely, clever, but still… not quite the same. Cersei's blood and beauty were excellent, of course.
Perhaps he should find her a great lord for a husband instead of pushing her toward the royal family.
But the boy owed House Lannister.
Tywin pushed the doubt aside. He had invested too much in Daeron to walk away now. A dragon-blooded grandson was worth any price. He would not sleep easily without one.
His eyes narrowed.
"Lannisters do not yield so easily," he told himself. "We shall see."
---
Midday.
Daeron guided Caraxes over Dragonstone, collected Toothless, and flew the rest of the way to King's Landing without trouble.
As they passed the Mud Gate he saw the royal fleet safely anchored in the harbor, untouched by the storm.
Lord Lucerys and Tyrion were hard at work on the docks—Lucerys directing sailors unloading crates of loot, Tyrion scurrying after him with his little ledger.
Daeron still couldn't quite believe the numbers. Conquering the entire Vale had brought less than 100,000 gold dragons and one season's grain. Sacking Tyrosh plus Grey Gallows had yielded nearly 5,000,000 gold dragons and more cargo than they could count.
War really was the sweetest business.
The moment he landed in the Red Keep, people came running.
His father Aerys wanted to know if he had conquered the Stepstones.
Maester Aemon wanted him to meet his new little sister.
"She's a beautiful girl," the old maester said, smiling. "Your mother named her Daenerys Targaryen."
Maester Aemon looked more alive than he had in years. He talked about living long enough to teach the new children their letters and history.
Daeron didn't even stop to visit the baby yet. He took the delighted maester straight to the Dragonpit and sent Ser Jon to fetch Shaena and the two younger brothers.
They were going to welcome a new member of the family—one that had waited long enough to be born.
---
Dragonpit.
A thick nest of dry hay had been prepared. Daeron gently placed the midnight-black egg in the center.
Yes. Drogon's egg.
During the storm it had finally stirred for the first time.
Daeron patted the smooth black shell. "Come on, little one. We're all waiting."
He turned so no one could see, then placed one Solar Essence, three cinder shards, and a single dragon tooth beside the egg.
He hoped they would help the hatchling break free and give it a strong start.
"Sister, will it work?" Jaehaerys whispered, tugging Shaena's sleeve, eyes wide with envy.
Shaena held a finger to her lips. "Shh."
Maester Aemon, Barristan, and the other trusted few watched in silence. The old maester had put on his spectacles and stared without blinking, heart pounding with excitement.
A living dragon egg. A hatchling about to enter the world.
For a Targaryen, nothing could matter more.
Daeron tossed a torch onto the hay. Flames roared up around the egg, bathing it in heat.
He was certain it would work.
Sunlight poured through the open roof and fell across the black shell. Invisible to the eye, the Solar Essence slowly melted, the cinder shards fed pure fire magic into the flames, and the purple dragon tooth glowed faintly.
Crack… crack…
The shell split. Fine lines raced across the surface. The egg rocked gently.
Daeron held his breath.
Pop!
The egg burst open. A small black head poked out, still wearing a lopsided piece of shell like a crooked helmet.
A newborn dragon—scales black as midnight, eyes bright crimson.
"It's here!" Daeron stepped forward and knelt.
The little black dragon showed no fear. It looked around curiously, then locked its gaze on Daeron. Something familiar passed between them.
"Are you all right, little one?" Daeron asked softly, reaching out.
The hatchling tilted its head, studying him. Its crimson eyes reflected Daeron's silver hair and violet gaze exactly.
Then it scrambled free of the shell, shook off the sticky fluids, spread small black-and-red wings, and showed off its sturdy little body.
"Hiss-graa!!"
It lifted its head high and let out a cry—still young, but already loud and proud.
It had arrived.