Daeron ended the council meeting and stepped out of the hall, heading off to feed the new hatchling.
The friction between royal power and the nobility didn't surprise him, and he wasn't bothered by it. Every major change hurts someone.
Life force and dragons had completely upended the old order. The Seven Kingdoms' lords still wanted to play by the old rules, but the only thing waiting for them was Essos growing stronger, crossing the Narrow Sea, and stripping Westeros bare—just like the First Men took the Children's lands, and the Andals took the First Men's.
House Targaryen's dragons were Westeros's shield. As long as the lords weren't complete fools, they would fall in line eventually.
If they refused… well, he would have to be firm.
Daeron stroked Drogon's neck, completely calm. Killing enough people usually made the rest listen.
He was halfway down the corridor when a golden-haired figure stepped around the corner and blocked his path.
Cersei wore a striking green floral gown. The deep V-neck pushed her breasts up and together, pale and full, trembling slightly with every step. She stopped barely a foot away, a light, expensive perfume drifting toward him.
"Where are you going, Prince?"
She smiled brightly and leaned in.
"Hiss-graa!"
Drogon sneezed hard at the perfume.
Cersei startled and took half a step back. She hadn't even noticed the tiny black dragon until now. In the entire Red Keep she might have been the only person who saw a newborn dragon and didn't care.
Daeron steadied the hatchling. "Cersei, aren't you supposed to be with Lady Olenna and the others today?"
"What's so interesting about an old woman?"
Cersei shook her head with a laugh, then stepped even closer, voice turning sweet. "I heard you'd returned victorious, so I put on a new dress and waited for you right here."
Daeron took a tactical half-step back and changed the subject. "Anything interesting happen in King's Landing while I was gone?"
"Oh, plenty."
Cersei saw through the deflection and looked pleased. She loved this little game.
She told him everything—useful or not.
Tywin had spent a fortune buying up special gems, hoarded them, then sold them at huge markups to Reach lords and made a killing. With that gold he recruited second sons and bastards from every Westerlands house, fed them special crops and gems, and forged a new knightly order—the Lionsheart Knights—fifty full gem-sequence knights led by Ser Kevan.
Cersei lifted her chin proudly. "Fifty men. All full gem knights. Uncle Kevan commands them. The Lionsheart Knights will be the finest—"
She caught herself. "—the finest knightly order in all of Westeros."
Daeron was genuinely impressed by the scale. Even for House Lannister that was an enormous investment.
Cersei pressed her advantage. "Father promised me ten Lionsheart Knights as my dowry when I marry."
Daeron gave a small smile. "Your future husband will be a lucky man."
He meant it.
Heavy footsteps and the clank of armor echoed down the corridor. A tall, broad-shouldered knight with shaggy hair covering half his scarred face approached. He gave Daeron a respectful nod, then turned to Cersei.
"We found the little shit."
His voice was a gravelly rasp.
The sigil on his breastplate was unmistakable—three dogs of House Clegane.
"Tyrion!" Cersei's eyes flashed with pure venom. She looked ready to roll up her sleeves and start swinging.
Daeron asked innocently, "What did Tyrion do this time?"
"He's a bastard. His very presence in King's Landing stains the Lannister name."
Cersei spat the words, then realized she was speaking in front of Daeron and quickly covered her mouth. Her hatred for her brother only burned hotter.
"Prince, come find me later," she said, flashing him a dazzling, flirtatious smile. As she brushed past, she let her soft arm press deliberately against his chest.
Then she stormed off to find Tyrion.
Daeron touched the spot where her arm had been and thought, That was one hell of a blatant grope.
Sandor Clegane gave Daeron another small nod. "Thank you," he rasped, then turned and followed Cersei.
"Thank you?" Daeron watched the Hound's broad back disappear and thought of the dead Mountain. Gregor Clegane's death had been the best thing to ever happen to House Clegane.
He shook his head and continued toward the Dragonpit to feed Drogon.
If even House Lannister understood the importance of supernatural strength and had created the Lionsheart Knights, he needed to build something even better.
For now he would start small—eight knights.
---
Later that afternoon in the Red Keep's gardens, Lady Olenna Tyrell sat in a shaded pavilion surrounded by rose-patterned cushions. She leaned back in a wicker chair, slowly sipping a cup of hot tea.
Not bad, she thought. Bitter, but it brought back memories.
Tywin Lannister strode up the path and entered the pavilion.
"Lady Olenna. You seem to be enjoying yourself—sipping tea and admiring the flowers."
"Where else would this old bag of bones go?" Olenna's tongue was as sharp as ever. "This is King's Landing—House Targaryen's backyard. I can't very well call my own council of lords behind the king's back."
Tywin sat down. "King's Landing can be many things—rat's nest, shit heap—but it will never be a comfortable home."
"Please, sit." Olenna gestured.
Tywin noticed the only proper chair was at the edge of the pavilion. He gave a small signal; one of his guards moved the chair directly in front of him.
"Are you still planning to serve the boy?" Olenna asked casually, sipping her tea.
Tywin answered plainly, "The Crownlands absorbing the Riverlands and Stormlands is inevitable. Since we cannot stop it, we may as well join it."
"That doesn't sound like the Tywin Lannister I've heard about."
Tywin wasn't one to rise to bait. "What does House Tyrell suggest?"
"Don't you feel how precarious our position has become?"
Olenna waved her attendants away and spoke openly.
Tywin's expression stayed neutral, but a faint line appeared between his brows.
Olenna continued, "He hasn't even taken the Iron Throne yet and we're already bleeding. Once he sits it, he'll grind us into the dirt."
She was genuinely angry.
Daeron's actions had shattered every rule she had lived by for decades.
House Tyrell had been raised by Aegon the Conqueror, just like the other great houses. They had fought loyally for the crown and received almost nothing in return. She had tried to marry one of her daughters into the family for status and influence. When that failed she asked for land. When that was traded for a council seat, Mace ended up as Master of Works—literally shoveling shit and digging sewers in this filthy city, paying for it out of his own pocket.
And then Daeron carved the Dornish Marches out of the Reach and set Randyll Tarly over them like a watchdog.
Olenna felt her blood pressure rise just thinking about it.
"What kind of honorable liege lord treats loyal vassals this way?" she asked.
Tywin replied calmly, "I once taught the boy that lasting relations between lords are built on mutual interest."
"Except he clearly doesn't see House Targaryen as just another noble house."
Olenna had struck the heart of it. In her world—and in the world of most lords—politics was bargaining, often ugly bargaining. Everyone had swallowed their share of shit at one time or another.
Aegon V had tried to favor the smallfolk and force the lords to give up privileges; the lords hated him for it and cheered when he died.
Now Daeron saw House Targaryen as above all other houses. He wanted the entire kingdom turned into the Targaryen family's private garden.
"It's madness," Olenna said. "If we don't make him pay a small price now, he'll never learn that the crown still needs the nobility. He'll only press harder."
Tywin gave the faintest nod. The old woman had thought it through.
He had felt his own position slipping, which was why he had spent a fortune creating the Lionsheart Knights. Only real power could guarantee House Lannister's place in this new world.
"You don't want to hear my plan?" Olenna asked, studying him.
"I don't need clever little schemes," Tywin said.
That was the difference between them. She looked flexible but was rigid at heart. He looked rigid but knew when to bend.
"Then I'll tell you anyway." Olenna set her teacup down with a sharp click. "You're cleaning up King's Landing and opening the roads so you can merge the three regions and strengthen the crown. But the Regent title alone isn't enough. He's about to strip Rhaegar of Dragonstone, isn't he?"
Tywin listened without interrupting.
Olenna leaned forward. "No king wants to look weak. Daeron wants to swallow two kingdoms and still be named heir. He can't do either without the nobility's consent. This is our chance to teach him how to bargain."
Bargain meant giving the lords their share.
Tywin understood exactly what she was offering: a united front of nobles to pressure the crown.
"Not a bad idea," he said. "But House Lannister will not be part of it."
Olenna blinked. "Even the lion is afraid?"
She assumed he was simply clinging to the Handship and didn't want to risk the game.
Tywin offered no long explanation. "You don't know the Targaryens the way I do. I served as Hand for more than ten years. I know exactly what kind of people they are."
Daeron might look reasonable on the surface, but underneath he was ruthless. Some men yielded to softness, others to hardness. Daeron yielded to neither.
Trying the old "pressure the king with the lords" trick would be a serious mistake.
This was the age of dragons, and Daeron was the kind of man who would flip the table and burn everything if pushed too far.
"House Lannister will not take that risk," Tywin said.
He was already Hand of the King and lord of the richest house in the realm. All he wanted now was a sane king and a dragon-blooded grandson. He could achieve both without playing Olenna's dangerous game.
"You're certain?" Olenna asked, frowning.
Tywin stood. "A widower and an old woman don't have much left to discuss. I have actual work waiting or the afternoon reports will bury me."
"Even without Lannister, I won't drop the idea," Olenna warned.
Tywin paused at the edge of the pavilion, curious. "All this for a little spite?"
"No. For survival." Olenna's voice was flat. "If I can't secure real benefits this time, I'll simply withdraw to Highgarden, close the gates, and mind my own garden."
Tywin looked surprised. He hadn't expected her to be willing to abandon the council seat entirely.
House Tyrell could afford to step back. They were loyalists and heroes of the war; the crown couldn't punish them without alienating every lord in the realm.
Tywin considered her for a moment. "Good luck."
"I've always had good luck," Olenna replied, reverting to her usual mocking tone. She didn't even bother ordering a servant to escort him out.
Tywin walked away without another word.
Behind him, the Queen of Thorns picked up her teacup again, eyes hard. She had made her decision.