The sun was setting in the west.
Something hung at the camp entrance, looking like a Teru Teru Bozu doll.
Any soldier who saw it would keep a respectful distance, lowering their heads and hurrying past.
"Teacher, you can leave the upcoming battlefield to me."
There were no outsiders in the main tent. Daeron and Tywin spoke clearly face-to-face.
Tywin's expression was grim, his self-esteem severely wounded. He argued defiantly, "The Reach coalition is facing off against Stormlands rebels. You're just a twelve-year-old boy; do you really dare to say you can defeat Robert?"
"He is but a defeated foe."
Daeron's face was calm, possessed of an unparalleled self-confidence.
He wasn't just another lord of the Seven Kingdoms who only knew how to fight messy wars.
He was Daeron Targaryen, wielder of Dark Sister and rider of the dragon Caraxes. Among those throughout history, he could be ranked at the very top.
He believed in himself—completely and without reservation.
Tywin's face grew even gloomier, but the fact of his defeat and the humiliation of cutting his beard and cloak were already etched into his life's record.
"I will leave the southern battlefield to you. I am returning to King's Landing to request a deployment to the Riverlands."
He made his decision after weighing the pros and cons.
Daeron was straightforward: "Campaigning against the Riverlands rebels is fine, but there must be no repeat of what happened at Tumbleton."
"Do you care that much about those sheep?"
Tywin remained stubborn as ever.
Daeron didn't hold back either, threatening with a smile, "The Seven Kingdoms belong to the House Targaryen. If anyone commits atrocities on this land again, do not blame me for being merciless."
His smile was bright, revealing a row of white teeth.
In Tywin's eyes, those were the fangs of a grown dragonet, declaring sovereignty right to his face.
Tywin swirled his wine cup, compromising with silent stillness.
"I toast to you."
Daeron stood up, picked up the wine jug, and filled his teacher's cup.
The world's landscape had changed.
There is a saying: 'A gentleman occupies the position and practices the Way.'
For Daeron, the reverse of this phrase was the key.
That is to say, when a person practices the Way but does not yet occupy the position, they need some unconventional means to complete the formalities.
At such a time, the original power-holder is merely an occupant of an empty seat, while the new power-holder possesses actual power but lacks the formal title.
Among the three male heirs of the House Targaryen...
His father, Aerys, occupied the position but did not practice the Way; he was that occupant of an empty seat.
His eldest brother, Rhaegar, was the heir to the Iron Throne; he had the position but abandoned the Way. As soon as a major change occurred, he would automatically lose his place.
Daeron was the opposite of both: he was the one who practiced the Way without occupying the position.
As long as he waited patiently, his legitimacy would slowly emerge.
King's Landing.
News of the victory at Fawnton reached King's Landing. Dragon Prince Daeron had flown his dragon to reinforce Fawnton, and with five thousand men, he had crushed Robert's army of ten thousand.
Such an inspiring victory immediately washed away the negative impact of the rout at Tumbleton.
Daeron's feat of flying thousands of miles to provide dragon-backed relief was adapted into various versions by minstrels and musicians, spreading through every street and alley.
The Red Keep, Throne Room.
"Hahaha, beautifully fought!"
Aerys laughed loudly, his mind unusually lucid, ecstatic over his Second Son's heroic achievements.
This was not like conquering the Iron Islands; the merit of taking that barren land could not compare.
This time, Daeron had crushed Robert's rebels—a legitimate insurrectionist force. It directly bolstered the royal family's prestige and gave the lords of the Seven Kingdoms loyal to the crown a shot of adrenaline.
He summoned the noble lords specifically to show off this matter.
"Your Majesty, Prince Daeron broke the siege of Fawnton and defeated the rebels led by Robert himself. I believe the victory of the suppression is in the near future."
Earl Colton displayed his nature as a sycophant, speaking sweet words to please the king.
Aerys laughed even louder, nodding repeatedly. "That's right. I once suppressed the last Blackfyre Rebellion, and this boy suppressed the House Baratheon rebellion. Both are worthy of the true dragon blood."
Qarlton's expression stiffened.
He thought to himself that the King was truly shameless to say anything.
Wasn't the last Blackfyre Rebellion suppressed during the reign of the late King Jaehaerys II?
Aerys didn't care about any of that and continued his grandstanding: "Once the rebellion is suppressed, I will kill every last one of the traitors in the four regions, cut off their heads, and hang them on the city walls for all to see."
However, there is always someone who lacks discernment.
Lord Staunton, who had returned from recovering from his injuries, stood up and said, "Your Majesty, Prince Daeron's relief of Fawnton was meritorious, but the main force of Robert's army is not yet broken. The outcome of the southern battlefield is still uncertain."
Aerys's laughter stopped abruptly, and he glared at him.
"Your Majesty, Lord Tywin is the marshal of the Royalists' army. It would be better to let Prince Daeron stay by Lord Tywin's side to learn and continue the attack on Stormlands."
Lord Staunton voiced his opinion.
Aerys started, muttering in his heart, "That fellow Tywin?"
He had heard that Tywin was ambushed by Robert. Not only did he lose Tumbleton, but he was also chased by a junior until he had to cut his beard and cloak, looking utterly pathetic.
"Hehehe."
At the thought of this, Aerys couldn't help but sneer.
Robert was indeed the eldest son of his old friend, Duke Steffon; he truly had the style of Duke Steffon in his youth.
To be able to make Tywin flee in such a pathetic state was truly heart-warming.
He would catch him later and give him a quick death.
Hearing the King laugh, Lord Staunton was delighted, thinking his suggestion might work.
He still remembered the last time he was beaten by Daeron; he had almost died in his sickbed.
He spared no effort in trying to smear the other party.
But among the ministers of the Small Council, how could he have the right to speak?
Qarlton immediately spoke up: "Your Majesty, Lord Tywin has sent word of his defeat. He has decided to return to King's Landing to reorganize the Lannister army before returning to the Riverlands battlefield."
"Tywin is coming back?"
Aerys frowned, not wanting to see Tywin's stiff face at all.
"Yes, full authority over the southern battlefield has been given to Prince Daeron."
Qarlton said quickly.
"Hmm, I see."
Aerys hesitated repeatedly, torn between his old friend Tywin and his Second Son Daeron over who could better lead the Royalist army to victory.
Daeron had fought this battle beautifully, winning fame across the Seven Kingdoms.
But Tywin had fought more tough battles and was one of the most outstanding military strategists in the Seven Kingdoms.
Despite not wanting to admit it, Aerys still leaned towards Tywin leading the army to a swift and successful suppression of the rebellion.
"Your Majesty, Lord Tywin's choice to hand over command to Prince Daeron suggests he trusts the Prince's military capabilities."
Varys was best at reading expressions and hit the nail on the head with one sentence.
Aerys's eyes lit up. He was about to agree but then said worriedly, "Where has there ever been a twelve-year-old army commander? Even the Young Dragon King Daeron I and Daemon Blackfyre only began to show their talent at sixteen."
Westeros was very fond of the idea of becoming famous at a young age.
Because the average lifespan was short, old things weren't worth cheering for.
But Daeron's age was simply too young.
Varys's eyes flickered as he said, "Your Majesty, Prince Daeron hatched a dragonet at eleven, soared on a dragon at twelve, and in the same year conquered the Iron Islands and relieved Fawnton. Does this not prove the Prince's extraordinary ability to handle great responsibilities?"
He paused and added in a low voice, "Prince Daeron is Your Majesty's son. For Your Majesty to have raised such a young commander is rare among the kings of previous generations."
This bit of flattery hit the mark perfectly.
Aerys immediately fell into a fantasy, showing signs of madness as he said excitedly, "Yes, my son is a military genius. He won the battle that Tywin lost. I must reward him handsomely."
He wasn't completely insane.
The first step of the reward was to strip Tywin of his overall military command and mercilessly curse him as a piece of trash.
The second step was the turn of his Second Son.
Aerys tried hard to recall historical knowledge but couldn't think of a decent title. He scratched his hair irritably and shouted, "Were all the people in the past useless?"
"I shall appoint Daeron as the Grand Marshal of the Seven Kingdoms, to lead all military operations during wartime until the rebellion is successfully suppressed!"
"Your Majesty is wise."
Varys bowed respectfully.
In his heart, he thought he had expected the King to grant Daeron the title of protector of the realm, not this temporary creation, the Grand Marshal of the Seven Kingdoms.
But Grand Marshal it was; as the supreme commander during wartime, its power far exceeded that of the protector of the realm.
And so, the discussion between monarch and ministers concluded harmoniously.
Lord Staunton didn't give up and wanted to frame Daeron with a few more words, but he was immediately besieged by Qarlton, Lucerys, Varys, and the others.
After a barrage of verbal abuse, Staunton's face was flushed red. Branded as a treacherous villain, he almost died of rage right there in the hall.
Earl Colton and the others were triumphant, their attitude very clear.
Prince Daeron had proven himself and earned military merit.
They were determined to elevate Daeron to the position of heir to the Iron Throne and lift up a king everyone could accept.
Anyone who stood in the way was their common enemy.
Meanwhile, Stormlands entered the rainy season.
When Daeron received the news, he was by the banks of the Blueburn River, having just celebrated his thirteenth name day.
"Grand Marshal of the Seven Kingdoms... this title has some weight to it."
Daeron reached out to warm himself by the fire and casually tossed the letter into the brazier.
From another perspective, his father was truly stingy with him.
He didn't grant him the title of Regent or protector of the realm, but instead this first-of-its-kind Grand Marshal of the Seven Kingdoms.
This was for fear that his fame would grow too great and threaten his throne.
Daeron smiled faintly. "If there is a need, I will take it myself."
The tent flap was lifted, and Davos entered.
"Prince, Lord Randyll has sent word. Robert has finished regrouping the rebel forces and is about to pass through Summerhall."
Daeron asked, "Where is Lord Randyll now?"
"He's almost at Summerhall."
Davos answered truthfully.
After Robert's defeat at Fawnton, he had failed in his primary task of reorganizing Stormlands, so he naturally didn't dare to head south into The Reach easily.
He spent a great deal of time ordering the retreat of the army heading for Ashford while simultaneously gathering his routed troops.
He had intended to attack Fawnton again and then move on to Ashford.
But the rebels had developed a fear of dragons; attacking Fawnton again was already a pipe dream.
After failing to rally Blackwater and Nightsong, he lacked the confidence to attack Ashford and stop The Reach army's northward advance.
Settling for the next best thing, he led his army toward Summerhall, intending to sweep through the lands of vassals who had joined the Royalists—such as Allsight, Fallwood, and Blackwater—to restore the morale of Stormlands rebels.
Randyll had anticipated this and led his army directly to Summerhall to intercept him.
Daeron made an immediate decision: "Inform Lord Caron to organize three thousand troops and head straight for Summerhall."
He wanted to settle the matter in one battle and shatter the illusions of Stormlands rebels.
With seventy thousand Reach coalition troops, Commander Randyll Tarly, and himself providing aerial suppression on Caraxes, Robert would stand no chance of winning.
"Yes, Prince!"
Davos's expression was solemn.
Summerhall.
Randyll Tarly led a force of cavalry to lie in ambush near the Kingsroad at Summerhall.
The Kingsroad ran from north to south, connecting King's Landing to the heart of Stormlands, while also linking Summerhall in Dornish Marches and...
Blackwater.
Passing through Summerhall, Robert would not abandon the Kingsroad in favor of rugged mountain paths.
"A thirteen-year-old Grand Marshal of the Seven Kingdoms?"
Randyll's gaze was sharp, a hint of yearning appearing on his iron-gray face. "I shall use this battle to make the name of Randyll Tarly known and restore the glory of the Tarly Family."
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