"So you're saying the Crown Prince inquired about ballads from the Disputed Lands? Which ones?" Viserys already had a suspicion in his heart. Daeron… could he be trying to emulate Baratheon?
King Aegon had gradually begun handing over power to his eldest son, focusing instead on a peaceful domestic life with Queen Samantha. From that perspective, as long as Prince Daeron didn't go overboard, King Aegon likely wouldn't interfere.
Old Rigo recalled the ballads Prince Daeron had asked for. His memory hadn't yet grown so old that it failed him—especially not when it came to a request from a prince. He remembered them clearly.
The more Viserys listened, the more silent he became. The ballads included, but were not limited to, tales of chaotic battles between the Three Daughters and Volantis over the Disputed Lands—songs that described not only the military capabilities of the city-states involved but also the local geography and people of the region. After the land had truly become a lawless zone, the songs chronicled the exploits of mercenary companies, warlords, raiders, and dictators who ran rampant there.
What does Daeron want with this kind of material?
Don't tell me he actually plans to intervene in the Disputed Lands…
Viserys' face finally darkened.
---
At the same time.
In Dragon's Nest, inside the Twin Towers, in the chamber of Rhaegor and Danyra.
The couple held their long-lost child very dearly. Ever since Danyra became pregnant again, Rhaegor had moved his office from his original, narrow hall to a room next to their bedchamber—originally used by servants—just so he could tend to his wife and child at any moment. Even though Draezell had reassured him many times that this birth would be safe, he still felt uneasy.
After all, last time had been far too dangerous. If his father hadn't intervened in time, it might not have been just the unborn child who perished, but Danyra herself as well.
"Jae, Dan, Orion—this is the information on the Disputed Lands," Rhaegor said as he placed several thick tomes in front of his younger brothers.
"Brother, did you summon us just for these?" Jacaerys sensed something was off. Between them, there was never a need for code or secrecy—within Dragon's Nest, they had no secrets.
"Of course not," Rhaegor replied as he opened his own volume.
"Jae, the intel is from Hegon. Prince Daeron has started collecting information about the Disputed Lands," said Dan, who was more informed on these matters. "Uncle suspects the Crown Prince is preparing to make a move."
"Is he mad?" Orion, who had been silent, furrowed his brow. "Doesn't he realize how dangerous it is to meddle in Essosi disputes? Even with dragons, it's no easy feat."
Rhaegor raised a hand, signaling his brothers to lower their voices so as not to disturb Danyra's rest. He also urged them not to get too agitated—Daeron wasn't a fool. He wouldn't make such a bold move without at least some preparation.
Still, the fact that he was gathering information proved that Daeron indeed had the intention.
"The Disputed Lands are certainly a juicy piece of meat," Rhaegor analyzed for his brothers. "In the past, the struggle over the region involved Volantis, Lys, Myr, Tyrosh—sometimes even Pentos and Braavos. But Pentos has now been nearly subdued by Braavos, and Braavos itself is more interested in securing a safe and stable trade route than acquiring southern lands."
He lowered his voice and continued:
"The land is flat and vast. Though devastated by past wars, it still holds immense wealth and resources. Now, Lys has become a vassal of the realm, Myr is almost crippled, and Tyrosh is ours. The only external threat regarding the Disputed Lands is the long-declining Volantis."
He looked around at his brothers. "Do you think Volantis is that frightening?"
The brothers exchanged knowing smiles.
"All right, enough," Rhaegor said, stopping their mockery. "The Disputed Lands are in utter chaos—hundreds of warlords, mercenary bands, petty lords, and mayors are all entrenched and battling each other. What I need from you is simple: learn about them. Understand the factions and their dynamics."
"And then?" Jacaerys asked, his interest piqued.
"Wait and watch."
"Oh…" Jacaerys' interest immediately deflated.
"The realm has enjoyed peace and prosperity for too long," Rhaegor said with a sigh.
"People hate war, but they also crave it. Everyone knows that. But war must never break out within the kingdom itself."
Rhaegor had ruled the frontier principality for many years—he understood this truth well. Over thirty years of peace and prosperity in Westeros had brought not just bountiful harvests and wealth, but nearly two whole generations of people.
And with that came a swelling population.
More people meant a greater need for land, which wasn't a serious issue in itself—there was still plenty of arable land left in Westeros.
But what of the rapidly growing noble population?
They craved titles, land, and fortune. Yet their fathers could not provide them with any of that.
Everything a family had belonged to the eldest son.
The second and younger sons, if they didn't become their elder brother's right hand, had only one path: to wander the world with sword and horse.
But peace had lasted too long.
Two full generations had been born and raised under summer skies and peace. They hadn't seen war, hadn't seen blood. Their martial skills had only been tested in the tourney fields.
The realm needed an outlet for all this pent-up energy among the younger sons.
The war for the Stepstones had served as one such outlet.
But the Stepstones were too small. The stag hadn't eaten its fill—truth be told, the gains were less than the costs. Instead, the newly invested Lord Royce had paid a heavy price and sunk into deep debt.
It was not worth it.
"What can House Vaelarys do, brother?" Dan asked calmly after exchanging glances with his brothers.
"Be ready for anything," Rhaegor said, spreading his hands. "There will be the shadow of a silver dragon in the Disputed Lands, but it must not appear too early. Hegon has already sent our snakes to bury nails in the Disputed Lands. We've sent ravens from our guilds and workshops in Lys as well. What we need to do now is know everything."
His gaze turned toward the distant horizon.
"Let's hope our dear nephew is wise enough."
At that moment, Danerys's voice came from the bedchamber, followed by little Daenerys's anxious cry.
"Rhaegor, Rhaegor, come quickly, come!"
"Papa, hurry!"
Rhaegor nodded to his brothers, signaling them to follow his instructions, and rushed into the bedchamber.
Only after seeing Danerys unharmed did he breathe a sigh of relief.
Daenerys ran to him at once. "Papa, Mama woke up suddenly just now, it was really scary—she looked like she saw something strange."
Rhaegor immediately tensed, raising his hand to summon Suren, the Faceless Man stationed nearby.
"No need to trouble Suren," Danerys said shakily, placing a hand on her chest. "It was just a dream... a strange one."
Rhaegor's eyes narrowed slightly. A thought stirred in his mind—before his last expedition, the three-eyed crow, symbol of the old gods' seers, had told him the price would be repaid in fifteen years.
He'd thought that meant a child born of his own blood. But it wasn't.
There was only one other possibility—that the repayment was born right on time, and was now growing.
But what did that have to do with his wife?
"What did you dream of, Danerys?"
"I dreamt of our son," she said slowly. "I couldn't see his face clearly—he stood in the shadows, wearing his father's crown. Behind him... was a silver dragon, so massive it blotted out the sky."
---
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