The two ministers had practically raced each other to get here.
"Lord Lucerys, do you have urgent business?" Qarlton Chelsted asked, probing for information.
Lucerys Velaryon was no slouch either. He walked briskly, his expression calm. "Indeed. His Grace was accidentally injured; I must report this to the Prince."
"What a coincidence, so must I!" Qarlton smiled, though his legs pumped a little harder to keep pace.
Just moments ago, both men had received a piece of heavy news.
Lord Owen had stepped forward to recruit a "Dragonguard" from across the Crownlands. Furthermore, he announced that those who were selected would be rewarded with "special crops."
The Dragonguard! Special crops!
Both of these things pointed directly to Prince Daeron.
Lord Owen was a man of the Reach. In the Crownlands, he wasn't exactly a fish in water—he was a fish gasping on dry land. He would inevitably need the help of a local power broker.
It has to be me!
It has to be me!
Qarlton and Lucerys exchanged a glance, the smell of gunpowder virtually hanging in the air between them.
Daeron looked amused as they approached. "My Lords, are we having a race walking competition?"
"Prince, you jest," Qarlton said, straightening his collar and feigning the appearance of a proper gentleman.
Daeron smiled but said nothing, turning his gaze to the solemn-faced Lucerys.
As a fellow nobleman of Valyrian descent, Lucerys had inherited Driftmark at a young age. He had endured the hardships of life at sea, making his temperament far more stoic.
"Prince, I heard you intend to recruit a Dragonguard. House Velaryon has followed House Targaryen to this day, and we wish to contribute our humble strength to the cause."
"Oh? I thought you two were just out for a stroll," Daeron said with a touch of regret, acting as if he didn't understand their true intentions.
If they wanted to jump on the bandwagon, they had to show their stake first.
Qarlton hurriedly spoke up. "The Treasury is responsible for the gold dragons required to recruit the Dragonguard. As Master of Coin, I will assist with all my might."
He stole a glance at his competitor and whispered, "Though House Chelsted is small, we are also at your service."
Barristan Selmy stood silently nearby: ...
These two were truly shameless. They dared to say anything right in front of a Kingsguard.
Daeron dropped the act. "My Lords, I am flattered."
Qarlton extended a hand. "Prince, perhaps we should discuss the details in the Council Chamber?"
Lucerys nodded in agreement.
"Please." Daeron was happy to cooperate.
---
Before noon.
Ministers Qarlton and Lucerys walked out of the Red Keep, brimming with excitement. They had gotten what they wanted: an invitation to assist in the recruitment of the Dragonguard.
Inside the Council Chamber.
Daeron sat with his legs crossed, looking out the window at the ruins of the Dragonpit while idly sketching architectural plans.
Only Ser Barristan and Varys remained with him.
Ser Jon Connington had been assigned to protect Lord Owen—bringing out too many special crops at once would surely attract unwanted attention. Barristan had dumped his duties onto the Lord Commander, the "White Bull," and volunteered to serve as Daeron's personal shield.
Varys was part of the "small meeting."
As the saying goes: hold big meetings for small issues, and small meetings for big issues.
The Hand of the King held a transcendent position and didn't need to suck up to anyone. The Master of Laws, Lord Symond Staunton, was excluded by the trio simply because he was brainless.
Daeron asked casually, "Lord Varys, are there many people of Valyrian descent on Driftmark and Claw Isle?"
"In terms of sheer numbers, they exceed Dragonstone," Varys replied in his soft, silky voice.
Daeron nodded, saying nothing more.
Varys's eyes darted around before he offered a reminder. "Prince, His Grace was burned by a hatchling. perhaps you should pay him a visit?"
"No need. I have no desire to be a punching bag," Daeron said without lifting his head.
Maester Harvey had already quietly informed him. His father, Aerys, wasn't seriously hurt; his hair had just been singed by a spark from "Toothless." The screaming had mostly been from fear.
The King had embarrassed himself and was likely in a fit of rage.
Seeing this, Varys wisely shut his mouth.
He had only asked to gauge how much Daeron knew about the situation. It seemed the acting Grand Maester and Barristan were firmly in the Prince's camp.
Just moments ago, two ministers of the Small Council had been fawning over him.
One Prince is draped in honor but pushed to the fringes. The other Prince has dragons and is slowly stealing his father's power, Varys muttered in his heart.
Daeron ignored him, focusing on his plan to cap the Dragonguard at eight hundred men.
Firstly, the treasury was tight and couldn't support too many. Secondly, there were simply too few people who met the requirements; scraping together even eight hundred would be difficult.
Good thing I have VIPs to help, Daeron thought, feeling reassured by the involvement of Qarlton and Lucerys.
Even though his father's Small Council was infamous for being full of sycophants and flatterers, even sycophants had their uses.
They were attacking Rhaegar with everything they had, so naturally, they didn't want Rhaegar to ascend the throne and purge them. Meanwhile, his father was mad, and after encountering the dragons, he cared even less about state affairs.
Qarlton and Lucerys coming directly to his door was a clear attempt to curry favor.
Daeron refused no one.
Qarlton's character was passable. In the original history, when his father wanted to burn King's Landing with wildfire, Qarlton had spoken up to stop it and was burned alive for his trouble. That he could serve as Master of Coin and briefly as Hand showed his ability was at least adequate.
If Daeron wanted to develop the Dragonguard and his own princely holdings, he needed the Master of Coin to open some doors. Otherwise, if the man stalled with bureaucratic excuses every few days, Daeron would learn just how annoying a petty ghost could be.
As for Lucerys Velaryon, there weren't many records of him.
But based on current observations, as the Lord of Driftmark, he was a skilled sailor familiar with naval warfare and trade.
More importantly, Driftmark was a hub for Valyrian descendants.
House Targaryen's bloodline was thin, and the "dragon seeds" on Dragonstone were withering. Driftmark had a significant population of Valyrian descent, including some dragonseeds. It was an excellent recruiting ground for the Dragonguard.
It's safer to use Valyrians, Daeron mused inwardly.
In the ancient dynasties of his previous life, many monarchs used people from their hometowns for a reason—trust. To the rest of Westeros, the Targaryens were still an alien bloodline.
Dragonpit... Dragonguard...
Daeron's mind whirred, calculating that he would wait for the hatchlings to grow a bit more before finalizing the organization. For now, he would just build hype outside the Crownlands.
---
In the blink of an eye, a month passed.
King's Landing, the ruins of the Dragonpit.
On the wreckage of the massive collapsed dome, the rubble had been cleared away. Masons were re-planning the foundations and drainage channels.
Skree-onk!
Hiss... Ga...
Three dragon shadows—one red, one blue, one black—circled in the sky, occasionally weaving through the thin clouds, appearing and disappearing.
Daeron looked up, sipping a bottle of fresh milk.
Summer on the farm had passed, welcoming the 13th day of a crisp new Autumn.
He had upgraded to a Big Coop and purchased two white chickens, two brown chickens, and two ducks.
Big Coop Upgrade: 10,000 Gold.
Chickens: 800 Gold each.
Ducks: 1,200 Gold each.
Total: 15,600 Gold.
In the newly built Barn, he purchased three white cows and one brown cow.
Cows: 1,500 Gold each.
Total: 6,000 Gold.
Grand Total: 21,600 Gold.
The money earned from the second harvest of summer melons and the first harvest of autumn pumpkins had all been reinvested into animal husbandry. High investment, high return.
The daily output of animal products was now stabilizing between 2,000 and 3,000 Gold.
With the income from farming and livestock providing a safety net, Daeron poured all his energy into fishing.
He leveled his Fishing Skill straight to Level 10.
And every single fish he caught was fed into the mouths of the three young dragons.
They were growing at an explosive rate!
SKREEE—!
A piercing shriek came from the sky. A scarlet dragon shadow loomed overhead, flashing past in an instant.
Daeron looked up.
Caraxes spewed a stream of crimson dragonfire in mid-air, spreading a pair of broad, fleshy wings and smashing headfirst through a cloud of fire as if challenging the sky itself.
Immediately, Tessarion and Toothless followed up, teaming up to pounce on the snake-like body of the red dragon.
Caraxes dodged with agility, weaving through the clouds, holding his own against two opponents without losing ground.
"You can't really call them hatchlings anymore."
Daeron's eyes shone.
In just one month, Tessarion and Toothless had exploded from the size of house cats to the size of large dogs. Their fangs and claws could easily tear through the hide of a wild beast.
And Caraxes looked like someone had pumped him full of air; he was now larger than a warhorse.
If not for his slender, serpentine build, he would already be rideable.