Riverlands, Stoney Sept.
An inn.
"Hiss, it's scalding me to death."
Robert lay in the bathtub, the hot water soaking through the gauze and stinging his wounds, nearly making him jump out in pain.
But he was stubborn, claiming the pain was just the heat.
"Honestly, even Storms End has fallen."
Robert wasn't as angry or despairing as one might imagine; he lay comfortably in the bathtub with a hot towel over his face.
With his face hidden, his demeanor quietly shifted.
Robert showed a hint of decadence as he muttered to himself, "Stannis has surrendered, Storms End is gone, and I am no longer the Lord of Storms End."
He said this not because he craved power or blamed his younger brother for failing to hold their ancestral home.
On the contrary, he was very calm.
He knew perfectly well that facing dragons and tens of thousands of The Reach allied forces, Stannis could not have held Storms End.
Even that relatively unknown Randyll Tarly was a force to be reckoned with.
Stannis's choice to surrender and admit guilt might just save his and Renly's lives.
At the same time, he knew that with the loss of Storms End, his title as Governor of Stormlands was effectively dead, and even his name might be stripped away.
Without the weight of his status, he would have no standing within the four kingdoms alliance.
His foster father Jon Arryn was cunning, Lord Hoster's will was wavering, and his good brother Eddard wasn't by his side—he didn't even know if Eddard had safely returned to The North to call his bannermen south.
The great cause of resisting the Targaryen tyranny seemed likely to collapse halfway.
"Maybe I should just surrender."
Robert removed the hot towel and wiped it across his hairy chest.
Unlike the Battle of Summer Hall in the original history where he won three victories in a single day, this battle had severely dampened his spirit, making even this sturdy man feel a sense of dread.
Dragons were invincible beings.
That Dragon Prince Daeron, riding that Red Dragon, was simply slaughtering the armies of Stormlands, toying with him like an ant that could be crushed at any moment.
He even had a vague feeling that the other man was intentionally letting him escape.
"What benefit could my being alive possibly have for you?"
Robert wasn't stupid, but he couldn't understand why anyone would spare a rebel like himself.
However, he could not surrender!
Robert's gaze hardened, filled with an inexhaustible hatred, as he ground his teeth and said, "Rhaegar, you took my Lyanna, and I will make you pay the price."
And then there was Lyanna.
He had to demand an answer from her—why she had broken their betrothal and preferred to elope with a married man.
Was being his Lady of Storms End really not as good as being Rhaegar's mistress?
"I won't accept this. I will find both of you!"
Robert swore a silent oath.
Just then, the door was kicked open, and the giggling of girls drifted in.
Two or three scantily clad, provocative young women walked in, circling around Robert in the bathtub.
Seeing Robert's powerful physique and impressive endowment, their eyes lit up, and they began to show off their charms.
"Hahaha, don't be in such a hurry, let's all do this together."
Robert's moods came and went quickly; he adjusted his posture, pulled one of the pretty girls into the water, and his hands and feet began to wander.
At no time should one go without food or pleasure.
The war had to be fought, and the girls had to be attended to.
.
King's Landing.
Daeron rode a white stag, entering King's Landing through the Kings Gate, passing through the throngs of people toward the Red Keep.
The white stag stood two and a half meters tall at the shoulder, its fur as smooth as silk, its temperament gentle yet noble.
This was a rare animal Count Owen had discovered by a stream while passing through The Kingswood; he immediately deemed it an auspicious omen and reported it to Daeron, who lacked a ground mount.
Daeron had fed it a meal of special fruits and successfully tamed this limited SR-edition auspicious mount.
"Yo yo—"
The white stag was massive, yet it strolled through the crowds of commoners in King's Landing without the slightest fear, occasionally snatching a red Apple offered by a commoner and eating it with juice splashing everywhere.
"An omen! It's a white stag!"
"Stormlands have just been pacified, and now a white stag appears; if that isn't an auspicious sign—"
The commoners cheered, and seeing the silver-haired, purple-eyed Dragon Prince with the pure white stag, they all reached the same conclusion.
Heroes and auspicious signs appear together.
Dragon Prince Daeron would be the restorer of the Targaryen dynasty.
""
"Prince, your prestige is growing ever higher."
Davos rode his horse, following to Daeron's right.
Daeron smiled and looked up at the sky.
"Screech—!"
Caraxes darted through the clouds, his Red Dragon silhouette shining brightly; that unique, piercing screech served as a hymn announcing a victorious return.
Behind him, two young dragons—one blue and one black—flew past; the three dragons circled over King's Landing, occasionally breathing Dragonfire, drawing bursts of cheers from the commoners.
After more than a hundred and fifty years, King's Landing had once again become a capital of dragons.
Dragons were the true auspicious signs.
Red Keep.
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, "White Bull" Ser Gerold, led Oswell—two Kingsguard in total—to personally receive the Prince.
"Prince, congratulations on your triumphant return."
Ser Gerold saw the procession from a distance and stepped forward to offer his congratulations.
Daeron glanced at him, holding the reins with one hand as he rode the white stag past him.
Davos and Randyll were on either side, both mounted on warhorses and clutching longswords, following closely behind the Prince.
Ser Gerold looked awkward and quickly took a step back to clear the way.
After the Prince entered, Brynden, Duke Mace, Paxton, and the other meritorious officials filed in, but upon reaching the front courtyard, they all dismounted.
"Ser Gerold!"
Jaime stepped forward, clad in silver armor and a white cloak, returning to the ranks of the Kingsguard.
Ser Gerold gave a strained smile, feeling a sense of foreboding.
The current Second Son was no longer the Prince he used to be.
He acted with a high profile and a flamboyant style, radiating a dangerous aura from every pore.
Yet it was precisely this kind of person that the lords of Westeros most admired and were obsessed with.
—
Throne Room.
Aerys was dressed in his ceremonial robes, wearing a golden dragon crown as he sat atop the high and twisted Iron Throne.
Inside the two-story-high hall, the Small Council Members and noble lords mingled, standing in rows on the left and right.
The entire room was silent, like the calm before a storm.
Aerys's purple eyes were vacant as he struggled to suppress his mad impulses, his hands unconsciously gripping the armrests of the Iron Throne.
His palms were cut by the sharp blades and were bleeding, yet he remained oblivious.
Clatter, clatter—
The sound of hooves echoed from outside the hall as a pure white stag appeared, carrying the figure that everyone was waiting for.
"A white stag!?"
Varys stood in the crowd, looking at the exotic beast in surprise.
Although exotic beasts were not unheard of in the Seven Kingdoms—such as the Shadowcats of The Vale or the Direwolves north of The Wall—a white stag symbolizing royal power, especially one appearing live before their eyes, was still breathtaking.
Daeron dismounted, gently patted the white stag's head, and left it at the entrance.
He was not like his teacher Tywin, who felt the need to trample upon the King's dignity and authority.
"Everyone, I have returned!"
Daeron stepped into the hall and instantly became the center of everyone's attention.
Following him were Duke Mace and other loyal subjects and brave commanders.
Lady Olenna stood at the front of the crowd, pointing at the pompous Duke Mace and boasting to those around her, "Look, that fat boy is my son. If his belly weren't so large, he'd actually be quite handsome."
Alerie: —
"Good! You have suppressed Stormlands rebellion; you are all heroes of the kingdom!"
Aerys was unexpectedly lucid, offering genuine praise to everyone and earning a round of applause.
Daeron scanned the room, spotted the smiling Lady Olenna, and made his way over to her.
As the saying goes, major issues are decided in small meetings, while minor issues are discussed in large ones.
The Throne Room, filled with over two hundred noble lords, was merely a stage for the King to be satisfied and for the meritorious to be honored—a political performance.
The true core of power would wait for the Small Council afterward.
Having shown his face and gained the approval of the noble lords, Daeron didn't need to hog the spotlight and could leave the center stage to Duke Mace and the others.
"Prince, congratulations on your great victory."
Lady Olenna was thoroughly satisfied and was not stingy with her praise.
Daeron said with a light smile, "It was thanks to Duke Mace's effective coordination that the campaign proceeded so smoothly."
"Don't make this old woman laugh."
Lady Olenna was self-aware and said dismissively, "With Mace's meager talent, if he hadn't been coveting Randyll's achievements, he'd be ranked behind that white stag."
Daeron was amused by her.
The old woman really did have a sense of humor.
Commendations were handed out, and rewards were bestowed.
For Duke Mace and the other bannermen of The Reach, there was no need for substantial rewards; they were granted some honors as a formality.
The only one truly deserving of a reward was the Grand Marshal of the Seven Kingdoms, Daeron.
"Don't worry, I'll put in a good word for you."
Lady Olenna nodded, as if giving him her support.
Daeron stepped out from the crowd, scanned the room, and stood in the center of the hall.
As the commander of the army, having fought the Battle of Fawnton and the Battle of Summer Hall, and having conquered Storms End, his achievements were immense.
Aerys's expression twisted as he looked at his handsome young Second Son, and a wave of inexplicable jealousy surged within his chest.
"Your Majesty."
Daeron nodded slightly, his etiquette impeccable.
Aerys squeezed an "Mm" from his throat, staring intently at his Second Son without saying another word.
The ministers exchanged glances, all sharing the same thought.
The King is likely going to refuse to grant a reward!
Given the King's track record, he was entirely capable of such a thing.
"Your Majesty, Prince Daeron has pacified Stormlands and conquered Storms End; he is the greatest contributor to this war and must be rewarded."
Tywin stepped forward, speaking with logic and reason.
He and Daeron were teacher and student, and their interests were aligned.
The higher Daeron's status, the more advantageous it was for House Lannister.
If Daeron were to become King one day, Cersei could become Queen, allowing Tywin to realize his ambitions.
"The Hand is correct,"
Count Qarlton agreed.
The noble lords in the hall were uncertain, but they all nodded in agreement, their expectant gazes flickering between the King and Daeron.
When a father rewards his son, shouldn't he be as generous as possible?
Aerys insisted on doing the opposite, saying as if it were only natural, "You have your merits, so let Lord Qarlton disburse some gold for you from the treasury. Afterward, go to the Riverlands to campaign and take Riverrun for me as well."
The expressions of the gathered lords shifted slightly.
The King's words were like wanting a horse to run without giving it any fodder.
Would the Prince really care about a little gold?
Daeron's expression remained unchanged; he didn't care much about such things.
Having conquered Stormlands, the tangible benefits were already in his grasp.
He had no intention of giving up Stormlands.
As for titles and honors, with his position as the Grand Marshal of the Seven Kingdoms, they were of little use unless he were granted regency powers.
But while he was content, others were not.
Tywin said solemnly, "How can a meritorious official be dismissed with mere gold and silver? If this is the case, who will serve the Iron Throne in the future?"
"Then what do you want?"
Aerys's face darkened instantly, showing signs of his impending madness.
Tywin, a master of rhetoric, said, "Your Majesty, you are the King on the Iron Throne, and below you is your meritorious official. The reward should be your consideration."
My consideration is not to give a single cent!
Aerys desperately wanted to say it, but under the watchful eyes of the assembly, he forced himself to hold back.
After some deliberation, he said, "Boy, your Prince's Domain is still under development. I will allocate funds for you from the treasury and grant you Tumbleton and the portion of The Kingswood north of the Rose Road as your fiefs."
"
Gasp!
The noble lords were stunned, and a low murmur of discussion broke out.
Daeron's Prince's Domain was on the south bank of the Blackwater Rush and already covered three thousand kilometers. If Tumbleton and the northern part of The Kingswood were added, the area of the Prince's Domain would expand at least four or five times.
This area included The Kingswood and the mouth of the Mander River, which were prime locations for forestry and fishing.
Even if the land around Tumbleton was barren and largely composed of mountains and steep slopes, the handicraft industry and tax revenue from Tumbleton itself meant the fiscal income would not be poor.
In terms of land area and potential alone, it was a solid elevation into the ranks of the first-tier nobility.
Daeron remained indifferent, his emotions perfectly stable.
Tumbleton's taxes had been waived for a year, and The Kingswood could not be logged at will.
No matter how large the newly granted territory was, it was of no immediate use to him.
This was merely a stalling tactic by his father, who couldn't find a way to refuse—a thoughtless and reckless stalling tactic at that.
To grant all the land on the south bank of the Blackwater Rush in one go would leave the royal family truly impoverished in the future.
Tywin's brow furrowed, unable to find any fault to pick.
For the nobility of Westeros, a grant of land was the ultimate reward.
Daeron understood the situation and prepared to offer his thanks.
"Wait a moment!"
Just as the matter seemed settled, Lady Olenna stepped forward, calling for a pause.
Aerys frowned and said rudely, "What is it now?"
He secretly wondered where this old woman had come from; her sharp, sour expression had given him quite a start.
If Lady Olenna had known his thoughts, she would have been livid.
In her youth, she had been a renowned beauty of the Seven Kingdoms with countless suitors, and she hadn't even thought much of the Targaryens.
"Your Majesty, I believe your reward is quite appropriate—generous, in fact."
Lady Olenna began with praise.
Aerys sneered, "Nonsense. In that case, you may step down."
"No, no, no, I haven't finished. Let me have my say."
Lady Olenna was not intimidated by the Mad King's reputation and said boldly, "Prince Daeron has pacified Stormlands and will pacify the Riverlands, The Vale, and The North in the future, yet he currently only holds the title of Grand Marshal of the Seven Kingdoms."
"To be honest, in all my years, I have never even heard of such a thing as a Grand Marshal of the Seven Kingdoms."
Her words were witty and yet held a kernel of truth.
The noble lords laughed, thoroughly amused by her.
Daeron: —
You truly don't understand the weight of a position that commands all military affairs during wartime.
Lady Olenna continued, "Prince Daeron represents the Royalist Army and the dignity of the Iron Throne."
"That being the case, why not give him a proper title that is recognized throughout the Seven Kingdoms, so that he may better lead the army and triumph over the rebellious enemies?"
Aerys's face turned beet-red at the question, and he stammered, unable to find an answer.
Why?
Because he was jealous of his Second Son and didn't want to grant him an honorable title.
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