"I am going to the North to bring back Aemon Targaryen."
At the Small Council, Daeron made his announcement.
Tywin's brow furrowed as he asked, "Maester Aemon is ancient. What can you possibly achieve by bringing him back?"
Daeron stated frankly, "I want him to serve as Grand Maester and work for the House Targaryen."
This was a notification, not a consultation.
Given the current situation, Rhaegar and Lyanna were bound to elope, which would trigger the War of the Usurper.
Daeron was not afraid of war.
The key to the rebel army defeating the loyalists lay in Rhaegar being killed in a one-on-one duel with Robert, causing the army to collapse like a mountain.
As long as someone could step into that position, the Targaryen dynasty would not fall.
Besides, he had three dragons.
Once war broke out, it meant the rules of the continent would be disrupted, facing a complete reshuffle.
Daeron wanted to fight this war, and he wanted to win it.
By leveraging the victory of the war, he would legitimately become the crown prince.
To do that, he needed someone to endorse him.
Maester Aemon, with his incredibly high seniority, was a perfect candidate.
Incidentally, Daeron also wanted to find the lost ancestral sword, "dark sister."
The Small Council remained silent for a long while.
Qarlton and Varys had various expressions, but lacking sufficient weight, they had no room to speak.
Tywin pondered for a moment before relenting, "Very well. Maester Aemon has dedicated half his life to the Nights Watch; it is time he returned to King's Landing to enjoy his final years."
What threat could an old man in his eighties possibly pose?
Let him be.
.
Three days later.
Mud Gate, the harbor.
The "the wanton prince" led two large ships, sailing toward The Gullet.
Tywin stood atop the city walls, watching the three vessels.
"Screee—!"
A long, sharp screech echoed through the sky as a gust of hunting wind swept overhead, forcing people to lower their heads.
Under its Dragonrider's mount, Caraxes's serpentine body swayed gently as it caught up with the departing fleet to provide escort.
Tywin turned back and looked toward the towering cliffs along the coast.
Tessarion and Toothless crawled to the edge of the cliff and both dove off, spreading their massive wings to follow their elder brother and father.
"One man, three dragons. Quite the spectacle."
A glint flashed in Tywin's eyes, further strengthening his resolve for a marriage alliance with the royal family.
Even if Daeron was not an option, Jaehaerys and Viserys would do.
As long as the Targaryens had dragons, there would always be an opportunity to exploit.
Meanwhile, in the The Eyrie, a private conversation was taking place between uncle and nephew.
Albert urged once more, "Uncle, there is no harm in our family forming a marriage alliance with the royal family."
Before him, Lord Jon Arryn sat behind the lord's table, slowly savoring a mellow red wine.
Lord Arryn was well on in years, with a proper and kind appearance and a slightly plump build, looking every bit like a gentle elder.
But in his presence, Albert was like a child.
"I understand what you mean, Albert."
Lord Arryn set down his wine cup, gently wiped the wine stains from the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief, and spoke in a teaching tone: "You speak of a royal marriage, but the two princes are very young. It will be ten years at the earliest before they are grown."
"Can House Arryn afford to wait ten years?"
Albert argued, "The Mad King makes the Seven Kingdoms uneasy, but Prince Daeron is young and capable, and a Dragonrider. Supporting him can't be wrong."
"But he will not marry a daughter of House Arryn."
Lord Arryn's words struck the heart of the matter.
Inwardly, he added that House Arryn had no daughters of age anyway.
Among the Great Houses of the realms, House Arryn of the The Eyrie was the most unique, famous for its sparse lineage.
Historically, whenever major events occurred, they were often in the awkward position of having only widows and orphans.
Lord Arryn was over sixty and had failed to leave behind any children, having to support his nephew Albert as his heir.
Albert was over forty and had no children either.
Even if they were to marry into the House Targaryen, they could only scrape together a girl from a cadet branch of House Arryn.
Albert was left speechless.
There was one subtle point his uncle hadn't mentioned: marriage alliances were built on the foundation of two families being of equal strength.
The House Targaryen showed signs of a resurgence.
If House Arryn rushed into an alliance, it would be difficult to truly fulfill it ten years later.
Lord Arryn continued, "Do not be discouraged. Although we cannot marry into the royal family, I have fostered Robert and Eddard. They are men of honor and will be House Arryn's best allies in the future."
"Yes, Uncle."
Albert gave a forced smile.
Few knew that among the Four Great Houses, the Eagle and the Wolf were the true leaders of the alliance.
His uncle, Jon Arryn, was the head of that alliance.
Asking him to abandon the The Alliance of the Four Regions to turn and marry into the royal family was no different from cutting off his own arms.
Lord Arryn, being experienced and prudent, took out paper and pen and said, "Rumors of the Black Faction and the Crown Prince's Party are spreading outside, making the Seven Kingdoms restless."
"I am writing to Lord Rickard, telling him to have his children marry as soon as possible to solidify the foundation of the four kingdoms alliance."
"If the events of the Dance of the Dragons and the Blackfyre Rebellion truly repeat themselves, we can find a place of safety amidst the chaos."
Albert: "Uncle's wisdom is profound."
A short while later, a raven flew out of the The Eyrie, heading toward Winterfell in the North.
But Lord Arryn had still miscalculated.
Dragonstone.
In a single day, Rhaegar received a letter delivered by raven and an anonymous gift.
The sender of the letter was Lyanna Stark.
The gift was a valyrian steel dagger.
A hint of doubt flashed in Rhaegar's eyes. He placed the valyrian steel dagger over the fire to heat it; as the steel blade turned red, tiny characters began to emerge.
Written in High Valyrian, it spoke of the Song of Ice and Fire.
"My father's dagger?"
Rhaegar recognized it.
When he was young, his grandfather Jaehaerys II had taken him into a room and personally told him the secret of this dagger.
But why would it appear on Dragonstone? Who had stolen it from his father's side?
Rhaegar couldn't figure it out for the moment and focused his attention on the dagger.
It recorded the Song of Ice and Fire left by the Conqueror, warning descendants to be wary of danger and to unite all possible forces against the unknown darkness and cold.
Rhaegar gradually became entranced, murmuring, "The dragon has three heads. The prince that was promised, of ice and fire, will be born of my line."
His wife Elia had borne him a daughter.
After the Tourney at Harrenhal, she had stayed in King's Landing for a short while and had not returned to Dragonstone.
Rhaegar's hope of continuing to have children was shattered.
However, he saw hope in Lyanna.
She was brave, beautiful, and wild, like a Direwolf running through the snow.
Rhaegar couldn't help but fantasize.
Targaryen is fire, and Stark is ice.
The prince born of ice and fire in the prophecy would be conceived by him and Lyanna together.
No sooner said than done; Targaryens were all people of action.
Rhaegar kept the valyrian steel dagger on his person and summoned Ser Arthur, Oswell, and the others, heading toward the Riverlands.
The second day at sea.
Daeron rode Caraxes through the middle of the Narrow Sea and entered the Bay of Crabs.
"Gulltown is just ahead."
Before reaching White Harbor in the great North, Gulltown was practically the last open port.
Daeron observed for a while, his mind elsewhere.
In the Game of Thrones, all stories originated from that valyrian steel dagger.
——
That valyrian steel dagger had been diverted by him to Rhaegar.
His father had no use for such a thing.
Rhaegar, obsessed with prophecies, could use it.
Better to guide it than to block it!
Daeron couldn't stop the False Spring, so he would let it speed up its progress.
The Four Great Houses were joined at the hip, standing together against outsiders.
When the war broke out, he would surely uproot them all.
Just as he was thinking, savage laughter suddenly came from below, followed by the sounds of fighting.
Daeron looked closely.
A merchant ship flying a yellow burning tower banner was being intercepted by a group of pirates; the sailors were resisting with all their might but were being slaughtered without any power to fight back.
"Hahaha, kill all these noble lackeys!"
A young swordsman dressed as a knight laughed wildly, his mouth splitting almost to his ears, making his face look even more hideous.
His swordsmanship was extremely ruthless; wherever he passed, the nearby sailors would be decapitated.
Whenever someone tried to counterattack, they found that no matter what angle they swung their sword from, he would easily dodge it.
A faint emerald light flashed in the Smiling Knight's eyes as he injected specially enhanced Life Force into his feet, slithering across the deck like a venomous snake, cruelly hacking down the terrified sailors.
He wanted revenge!
The Kingsguard had killed all his companions and forced him to flee in disgrace, leaving him with no choice but to join the Triarchy.
Since he wasn't dead, he would make the Seven Kingdoms restless.
He would make the name of the Smiling Knight spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms, becoming a terrifying existence that would make children stop crying.
"Hahaha!"
The Smiling Knight laughed arrogantly.
Suddenly, a blazing red streak cut through the sky, and a lingering shadow loomed over the ship.
Before he could react, a sentence in an incomprehensible High Valyrian came from above.
"Dragonfire!!"
Caraxes's molten-gold vertical pupils flashed with ferocity as its serpentine body circled above the ship, continuously breathing out Dragonfire.
"What's happening?"
The Smiling Knight was shocked; out of the corner of his eye, he saw the raging flames, and his pirate subordinates were being burned to death, screaming.
The instinct for survival was triggered, and special Life Force was injected into his legs as he prepared to leap forward into the sea.
Boom—a streak of cobalt-blue Dragonfire swept across, igniting both the man and his armor; he fell into the water screaming and went silent after two and a half seconds.
Tessarion circled the ship once with an agile posture.
"Hmm, all cleaned up."
Daeron looked down from above, confirming that no pirates had survived.
Just a bunch of pirates; killing them all was the end of it.
He didn't notice at all that the Dragonfire's AOE damage had insta-killed a mini-boss.
Daeron rescued the remaining sailors and waited for the wanton prince to catch up to send them back to Gulltown.
That day, he was grandly entertained by Count Grafton of Gulltown.
In the Grafton estate.
Lord Gerold Grafton was in his twenties, not very tall, but sturdily built, with a conspicuous golden mop of hair.
He warmly took Daeron's hand, thanking him repeatedly: "Thank you for riding your dragon to burn the Smiling Knight to death. Gulltown will forever remember your kindness."
Daeron was startled, thinking that there were actually remnants of the Brotherhood Without Banners among that group of pirates.
Lord Grafton sent the treasures scavenged from the pirate ship onto the wanton prince and, hearing that the prince was going to the North, provided a large amount of wealth to fund the journey.
From his style of doing things, he perfectly demonstrated what it meant to be multi-talented and multi-wealthy.
Daeron had a very pleasant conversation with him.
It wasn't just for the sake of the money, but because during the War of the Usurper, Lord Grafton had kept the gates of Gulltown closed, resisting the rebellion of his liege lord Jon Arryn and Robert.
A genuine loyalist to the crown.
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