Dragonstone.
The sky was clear and the sun burned hot. Daeron stood on the soft grass, letting the sea wind brush his face as he stared up at the Dragonmont.
"Your Grace, are you really going to force Prince Viserys to tame a wild dragon?"
Tyrion took long strides, struggling to keep up with the king's pace.
The world had gone mad.
After the "Dragon King War," the king had fixed his eyes on the lonely fourth prince and was now forcing him to bond with a dragon.
Daeron glanced back, looking down at Tyrion's serious face. "Viserys grew up in King's Landing. He's got more advantage than Jaehaerys. He's just a coward who won't push himself."
"I hope the prince doesn't disappoint you… or get hurt."
Tyrion had nothing else to say but a quiet prayer.
Daeron stayed calm. "Relax. As long as he doesn't die on the spot, I can bring him back."
He wouldn't force his brothers to do the impossible.
Compared to the "Beggar King" in the old stories who grew up wandering the east after losing everything, Viserys had lived in a greenhouse his whole life.
Their mother doted on him. His older siblings protected him. No other royal brat in the realm was as free and spoiled.
But that had to change.
Daeron had taken both brothers to the dragon pit and Dragonstone years ago, letting them watch the dragons, learn their habits, and practice speaking to them.
Jaehaerys had gone to Oldtown midway and fallen behind.
Viserys had stayed in King's Landing. He was a regular at the dragon pit and Dragonstone. He'd even begged Shaena to let him ride with her.
Before, Daeron had kept him from trying to tame one because he was too young and too trusting. He would've gotten himself killed or tricked.
Now that he was older, he should be the most eager.
Instead, Jaehaerys had quietly tamed a dragon and thrown himself into war.
Viserys was still playing in the Stone Drum Tower, clinging to their father and asking for old Valyria stories.
"Unbelievable," Daeron muttered, clenching his fists. He wanted to punch the boy.
Having a dragon and not even trying? Hopeless.
Tyrion watched the king's face and saw the frustration. He glanced down at his own short body.
Honestly, if he'd grown up in King's Landing with access to dragons, he would've fought tooth and nail for the chance.
"Too bad I'm not a Targaryen," Tyrion thought. "And I'm not exactly a whole Lannister either. Just a dwarf."
At least his suggestion at the Tyrosh meeting had earned him a spot as royal advisor. Years of logistics work and fixing Casterly Rock's sewers had paid off.
"Your Grace, Lord Varys says the Dornish ship will reach King's Landing in ten days."
Tyrion reported dutifully.
Daeron slowed his steps, thinking about the Small Council's decision.
House Martell couldn't be touched yet. Not while Tyrosh was still being sorted. The warning had been strong, but the actual punishment was light.
He'd used the moment to demand Rhaenys and young Visenya be sent to King's Landing. They would not stay in Lys or Dorne.
Rhaenys was Rhaegar's acknowledged heir.
Visenya was young, easy to shape, and looked every inch a Targaryen. She could be raised properly.
These two nieces were Rhaegar's legal weak points.
Daeron didn't care about politics. He just wanted the family blood back where it belonged.
Young Aegon could stay wherever. A tiny boy causing trouble in the east was fine.
"If Rhaegar settles in Lys, he'll probably keep Aegon with him. Rhaenys will be the heir, and those half-siblings will have plenty to fight about later."
Daeron hadn't planned it, but things had a way of lining up.
"Your Grace will be a good uncle," Tyrion said quietly, watching the faint smile on the king's face.
"Back to King's Landing."
Before leaving, Daeron ordered the Dragon Guards to double Viserys's training and break his lazy habits.
Back in King's Landing, there was a mountain of work waiting.
Governing the Stepstones and Tyrosh, rewarding the victors, paying the families of the dead… the Small Council would be working without sleep.
Tywin hadn't closed his eyes in three days.
He hadn't even gone back to the Tower of the Hand for clean clothes. He just stayed in the council chamber, repeating the cycle of meetings, paperwork, and stamping.
Knock knock knock.
Tygett stood outside with a dark look, still holding the knocking pose.
"Come in!"
Tywin didn't even look up. "What is it? Make it quick."
He had no time to waste.
Tygett glanced around, pulled out a crumpled letter, and spoke awkwardly. "My lord… it's from Gerion."
Tywin's head snapped up, pale green eyes sharp.
Gerion had always been restless. He'd left Tywin's shadow years ago, desperate to prove himself.
Eight years at sea. Last seen six years ago in Volantis hiring new sailors before heading into the Smoking Sea.
After that, Gerion and the Laughing Lion had vanished. No word since.
Tywin had sent men searching all the way to Volantis. Nothing.
"He's back?"
Tywin's face stayed blank, but his voice was tight.
Tygett looked pale, sweat beading on his forehead. The letter had clearly shaken him.
"Something's wrong."
Tywin snatched the letter and read it fast.
The further he read, the colder his expression became.
He slammed his hand on the desk and stood up. "Tell the king. Emergency Small Council meeting. Now!"
The whole Red Keep felt the sudden tension.
---
"Your Grace, this is Gerion's rescue letter. He was trapped in the Smoking Sea, barely escaped, then got captured by what he thinks were Valyrian slavers. He risked everything to send this."
Tywin's face was like thunder. He spoke through clenched teeth.
Daeron read the letter carefully, expression grim.
He wasn't worried about Gerion himself. He was worried about what Gerion had written.
[Something that looked like a dragon appeared deep in the Smoking Sea. We didn't dare get close.]
[The Laughing Lion had six dragon eggs. They're gone—]
Daeron's brow tightened. The letter was full of danger.
Tywin spoke first. "Your Grace, there are dragons in the Smoking Sea. The Valyrians ambushed Gerion. This is a declaration of war."
"Hold on, Lord Tywin."
Daeron kept his face calm and sorted through the facts in his head.
Dragons in the Smoking Sea… six dragon eggs on the Laughing Lion… Valyrians interfering…
"Are there really dragons in the Smoking Sea?"
Daeron wasn't sure.
It was possible. Very possible.
Ever since Caraxes, Tessarion, and Toothless hatched, other dragon eggs had become much easier to hatch. No more petrified eggs or twisted monsters.
The Smoking Sea sat on the ruins of old Valyria. A surviving dragon hatching there made sense.
In the old stories, Euron Greyjoy had walked out of the Smoking Sea alive with a dragon horn and Valyrian steel armor. He claimed he'd found a dragon egg but threw it into the sea.
Euron was a liar. You had to take everything he said with a grain of salt.
Daeron figured the egg part was true. Throwing it away? Probably not.
Most likely he couldn't hatch it, so he sold it for gold and hired the Faceless Men to kill his brother Balon.
That explained how "Crow's Eye" Euron came home and started fighting his niece and nephew for the Seastone Chair.
"This is nonsense," Lucerys said, standing up. "There are no dragons in the Smoking Sea!"
Tywin's eyes flashed. "You think Gerion would lie with his life on the line?"
"Ever since the Doom, the Smoking Sea has been a cursed ruin," Lucerys argued. "Who knows if this letter is even real? It could be an enemy trick. Or Gerion exaggerating to get help."
"You dare—!"
Tywin shot to his feet, roaring like a lion.
The two men glared at each other, sparks flying.
Daeron raised a hand. "Enough. Better safe than sorry. We're treating this as true. The Iron Throne will launch a rescue for Gerion Lannister immediately."
He knew Gerion. Ambitious but not stupid. The man respected and feared Tywin. He would never lie to his brother.
Tywin gave a cold snort and refused to look at Lucerys again.
Daeron turned to the Velaryon lord. "Lord Lucerys, you've sailed the Smoking Sea five times on trade runs. Any rumors of dragons?"
"None. Not a single whisper. Not even a sighting."
Lucerys was certain. That was why he doubted the letter.
"Then this is going to be complicated."
Daeron lowered his head, thinking.
The Smoking Sea wasn't the Stepstones. You couldn't just sail in whenever you wanted.
The last Targaryen who tried it rode Balerion the Black Dread and came back with a fatal illness. Even the dragon had been badly wounded.
After that, Jaehaerys the Conciliator had forbidden any family member from going near the place. The rule still stood.
"There might be a dragon there, but I'm not risking myself for it."
Daeron knew his own value. The family already had dragons. One wild one wasn't worth dying over.
"If word gets out, it'll cause chaos."
Daeron decided to play it safe. "Gerion's captured. He won't stay quiet forever. Someone will head into the Smoking Sea looking for dragons soon."
Let them be the bait.
"If we can scare the wild dragon out of the sea, it becomes much easier to handle."
Daeron wanted that dragon badly. He was curious.
Maester Aemon's old eyes narrowed with worry. "The east is full of false dragonlords hungry for Targaryen blood. Tyrosh just ended one Dragon King war. If this leaks, more will pop up like weeds."
Daeron rubbed his temples.
"Gerion really stepped in it this time. Found a dragon and six eggs?"
The man had the worst luck… or the best.
"A wild dragon is one thing. But if those eggs scatter, they'll be almost impossible to track."
Daeron decided to ask Melisandre and the shadowbinder if there was any way to locate dragon eggs.
Midnight.
The farmhouse.
Daeron lay in the big bed, waiting to meet the apple in his dreams.
Slowly, sleep pulled him under.
When he opened his eyes, he wasn't on Dragon-Tongue Farm or Ginger Island. He stood on strange, lush green grass.
"Where am I?"
Daeron was immune to almost everything. Even knowing this was a dream, he looked around carefully.
He turned left and froze.
A volcano.
More accurately, a whole range of volcanoes stretching into the mist.
He stood on the grass and could only see the nearest one. The rest disappeared into clouds.
A single word rose in his mind.
The Lands of Long Summer.
This was Valyria before the Doom. The land that had supported the Fourteen Flames and the Forty Dragonlord families.
"Gaaah~~"
A sharp caw cut through his thoughts.
Daeron turned and saw a three-eyed crow perched on a rock.
The third eye on its forehead rotated, locking onto him. A wave of mental pressure hit.
Immune.
The lizard-claw trinket in his new equipment slot flared and blocked the attack completely.
At the same time, a chaotic mix of shouts and whispers filled his ears.
Most people would've gone mad hearing it.
Daeron stayed calm and listened hard.
The message was clear: "Don't go to the Smoking Sea! Don't go to the Smoking Sea! Don't go to the Smoking Sea!"
"Gaaah!"
The crow let out one last piercing cry and flew away.
Daeron's vision blurred. He felt dizzy and closed his eyes.
---
Morning, 6:00.
Daeron opened his eyes to the familiar farmhouse ceiling.
"The three-eyed crow came to warn me again? Don't go to the Smoking Sea?"
Daeron replayed the dream carefully. He hadn't missed anything.
Why couldn't he go?
Was there something terrible waiting there?
Daeron believed in listening to warnings. He decided to stay far away from the Smoking Sea.
He rubbed his forehead. "Bloodraven's personality still hasn't been completely overwritten by the three-eyed crow?"
And the crow's vision was wide enough to see all the way to Essos. The rising magic tide must have given it a boost.
Daeron sighed. "A dragon suddenly appearing in the Smoking Sea means something big happened. Going there now would be walking straight into trouble."
He was done with the Smoking Sea.