Chapter 68: The Young Dragon V
Early 162 AC
When the Essosi diplomats finally departed his solar, Daeron let loose a sigh he had been withholding for nearly the entire meeting, held back only by the restraint he had consistently needed to strengthen with every passing moon as the ruler of the now Seven Kingdoms. His Kingsguard Olyvar gave him a knowing look as the young king rose from his great desk, stretching as he did to alleviate the stiffness in his legs.
"They do not seem convinced of your intentions, my king."
"I know, Olyvar, I know," Daeron replied, his righteous indignation having long ago been replaced by begrudging understanding and tired exasperation. Yes, he had imagined his conquest of the region of Dorne would have stirred caution and fear amongst those across the Narrow Sea. Yes, it had been the first major annexation of any real territory under the Iron Throne since his grandfather's ultimately unsuccessful conquest of the Stepstones, and before that had been the Conqueror's annexation of Westeros itself. No, he had no designs on Essos, not even the rest of the Stepstones after Bloodstone (yet) and the fact that he had no dragons to ride into battle did little to ease the fears of men across the Narrow Sea. For all they belittled the people of Westeros as primitives and barbarians, behind a strong king they knew the land to be an incredibly formidable opponent to any that would oppose them.
"What use could I possibly have for lands so different from Westeros? Most of the smallfolk do not speak our Common Tongue, and the history of slavery in those lands is too deeply entrenched to merely overcome with conquest outside of Braavos, and that is a land I dare not try for, lest the Faceless Men end my line before it can begin."
"My king, as you have concluded before, Braavos would be better pursued as an ally than another annexed land," the Kingsguard said. "Their lands and people hold as little love for slavery as our own do, they are nearly unrivalled when it comes to their power at sea, and it would be better for them to seek dominion on Essosi lands to reduce slavery than for us to do the same. Yet to voice such support could see problems arise with the slaveholding states and cities, even if we were to engage with Braavos as formal trading partners."
"Trust me, Oly, that had I the power to do so, I would gladly see the stain of slavery erased from Essos as far as my armies could march and my voice could be heard," Daeron said, gazing upon the great map of Westeros that hung proudly from one of his walls, a marker indicating every major keep, city and town in the land. "Yet it is Westeros I must look to, for my house, my kingdoms, and my designs for our future depend not on the shores of Essos and her people, but of our own instead. Dorne yet simmers with discontent in the mountains and lands under Tyrell control, the Ironborn yet reave when they should not, the Sistermen are no better, the Vale tribes have yet to be pacified or destroyed as they should have been in ages past, the isle of Bloodstone must be secured to protect the Sea of Dorne, and to the far north, past the Wall, an entire people exist merely to raid and rape their betters."
"So many tasks to accomplish, my king, and in as short a time as any king might have."
"Yet I am a young king, and with that comes opportunity," the young dragon replied with a smile. "As Dorne continues to come into the fold, I will break the Vale tribes, and through that, extend enough influence to bring the Sistermen fully to heel, with Fire and Blood if I must. The Ironborn will be a trickier solution, given their proclivity for fighting at sea, but it is one I am confident will present itself soon enough. Bloodstone shall be perhaps a crowning achievement, or simply the first step in ensuring the Dornish sea and our eastern coastlines will be freer from pirates. As for the far north… that will come later, to be sure, but it will come nonetheless."
"Will you freshen up before dinner tonight, my king?"
Daeron smiled, knowing full well how Olyvar could help him 'cleanse' himself after such an arduous meeting. It remained one of the few occasions they could privately have with one another, now that the burden of kingship had begun to fully settle its weight upon his shoulders. "Another time, Olyvar, as we are to have a guest tonight, one I had not expected, and it would not do for the king to be late."
"Oh?" his Kingsguard asked. "So the rumor amongst the lower court is true, then? Lord Wytch is to dine with House Targaryen?"
"Aye," Daeron replied, his smile fading into an annoyed frown. "With a great deal of aid from my Lord Hand, as it would seem. I had never expected my uncle to be the lead figure in such a turn of events, nor had I expected word of it to get out so quickly amongst the lower court, despite only having happened late this morning. The entire tourney will hear of it before the night is through, no doubt."
Indeed, as Olyvar flanked him as he departed his solar, Daeron was not entirely happy of his uncle's naked display of politicking. Certainly, the man was nothing less than an administrative and social veteran, having rebuilt the finances and reputation of their house in the immediate aftermath of the Dance far more than his own father had. Viserys was a highly capable Hand, adept at seeing and deducing the truth from things most others would overlook, yet the fact remained that his uncle's near-obsession over Baelor's… friend was beginning to irk him more and more. If Viserys could no longer separate this paranoid behavior from his duties, then it would eventually reach the point he would need a new Hand…
Shaking his head in exasperation, Daeron continued through the Red Keep, keen on at least trying to keep the peace with as much kingly austerity as he could. "I have yet to see any genuine evidence of Lord Wytch attempting anything other than growing the prosperity of his lands, seek connections with his betters, and to raise a family without the guidance of his father. Were he even half as supposedly similar to Otto Hightower or Corlys Velaryon, even my cousin Aegon would have noticed it by now, let alone half the realm. None would have tolerated or allowed for a lord from such a young house attempt to rise above his station so quickly." Such things were not done in so short a time, as it usually took decades, if not centuries, for such a young house to rise above a status, and even then, respect was not guaranteed alongside power and influence. One only had to look to the Tyrells, Freys and others to see evidence of that.
"I concur, my king, and should he prove to not be of good breeding, he is of sufficiently minor stature to quite easily put back in his place without much trouble," Olyvar added. "Not even through royal censure or that of his Lord Paramount, but by simply encouraging those with greater resources to mirror his accomplishments and establish themselves as even more successful, thus turning his own methods against him."
Daeron nodded. "It is certainly something to be considered, my loyal Kingsguard. However, as the king I must appear as impartial as possible, even within my own family. We shall speak of this after dinner is finished." Settling his gaze to be as kingly as possible, and smoothing out any slight ruffles his clothes had obtained during his brisk walk, he had a pair of servants open the doors leading to one of the private dining halls his family used for more private events.
"-and then she picked up the poor cat and carried it everywhere, as if it were nothing more than a doll," a voice said, and for a moment, Daeron was at a loss for who it belonged to.
"Ah, that phase can be a bit troublesome, especially if they develop a penchant for not acknowledging the word 'no' or being told to not do so," another voice replied, one he immediately recognized as his mother, the dowager queen. "What of the younger two?"
"Brienne and Ravella are too young to be in that sort of phase, let alone able to get around as my little Argella does," the first voice said again, and Daeron rounded one of the pillars to find the owner to be…
"All rise for the king," Olyvar said behind him, causing the conversation to break as all attendees did as they were told. For a table not quite as large as the ones used for grander feasts, Daeron was not surprised to find that Casper had been assigned the lowest seat possible. Fitting, given his house and status denoting him as lesser than everyone else present, even his cousin's young children.
"Please, let us be seated," the young king said with a smile he had long practiced as 'gracious yet firm', and as everyone indeed took their seat, he slowly surveyed the situation before him. Baelor, as usual, sat by him as his heir, whilst his lady mother and sisters sat closer than his uncle and cousins. Their own children sat closer to Lord Wytch, though given the space between them, they may as well have been clear across the room. Still, it would not be difficult to see who would make trouble, as already he saw an errant glance by Viserys towards Lord Wytch that could be mistaken for polite interest, but Daeron knew the shrewd gaze of an interrogator about to work his craft.
He bit back a sigh as the first course was served to them. Truly fit for a king's palate, the finest in the city, and for all the problems he had had on the campaign, having good food was one thing he had appreciated the Wytch men imparting on his own cooks. Of course, those recipes were now made with much finer ingredients when he so desired them. If only his cooks had managed to discover the secret behind the wheelers, for while the recipe was deceptively simple, the results had yet to achieve what he had eaten in his war camp.
His mother Daenaera began, or rather, continued the conversation he had overheard upon entering. "So then, Lord Wytch, of your three daughters, who would you say takes most after yourself?"
"Well, they are a bit young to have grown enough for me to be certain, but as of yet? I would say Argella is a bit more like myself than my wife, especially after I asked my mother of my own behavior at that age." The smile of the lesser lord was content enough, Daeron supposed, though that his mother and sisters had returned from their visit with Velaryon kin in the city had quite surprised him. Then again, his mother had expressed interest in the past of meeting Lord Wytch, given the changes wrought by him upon her second son and now the king's heir, so upon the news reaching her of Baelor's friend was to be a guest at dinner, was it any wonder she made sure to return in time? Part of him believed his mother simply wanted someone other than Viserys to swap stories with on their children, especially since she and Lord Wytch both had three daughters. Hopefully she wouldn't tell anything embarrassing of his days as a young child, lest such a minor lord be liable to spread hearsay of his younger, non-kingly years.
He most certainly did not paint a pony like a dragon, affix wings of scrap cloth and ride it around the Red Keep! Oh, yes, the young lord was speaking…
"-though it will be some time before we know whom takes after whom the most," Lord Wytch finished.
"What of your marriage to, Mylenda I believe it was?"
"I have no complaints for our marriage, my lady queen, save for her insistence on having a son so soon after our third daughter," the young lord said. "She suffered from a fever during and shortly after the birth, but my maester believes she will fully recover soon enough. I would rather not risk it, given our scare."
"Yet, Lord Wytch, should you not seek a son, in case of succession between sons-in-law?" Daeron asked. "As you have no brothers to succeed you?"
"I would much wish for a son, but my wife and I are yet young, and we have had little complication in acquiring three beautiful daughters, my king. It does not help the situation of my wife's house, however, in that the laws of inheritance in my region of the Stormlands, being close enough to the Marches to be considered part of it, are more of a hindrance than an asset in securing her family line as well as mine own."
"How so? I must admit I am not terribly well-versed on the laws of those lands," Daeron's mother replied.
"My wife's family has no living members save for herself, but if her family line is to continue we must have at least one son. A man's daughter may inherit the lands and title, ash Mylenda did from her grandfather, but her daughter may not, in this case. It is rather vexing, but it is the law, and we must abide by it, as inconvenient as it is. Should we have at least one son, he will inherit both, but be able to divide the two lands between sons of his own. Should we have more than one son, we could avoid that first portion altogether."
"Indeed, aggregating lands through inheritance from other houses has long been an issue of the kingdoms," Viserys replied politely, drawing Daeron's gaze. "In ages past, innumerable small houses have died out as daughters lost the lands to their husbands' line, many times through unscrupulous means, or when assassinations occurred to ensure that no daughter's son would live to ensure it would pass to her daughter's husband instead. I shudder to think of how many such houses have withered and died from such treacherous actions."
"Untold numbers, to be sure, Lord Hand," Lord Wytch replied. "Were one able to peer into the past with perfect clarity, and observe their actions, one could no doubt find the origin of many of the greater houses having originated from such means. I do not believe, however, that we should judge them for what they did with the mindsets we now have, as that would be unfair. We, for example, know of the making of steel, and were we to mock those that came before who knew only of bronze, it would be nothing short of foolish."
Daeron could agree with that. Just as with his kingship, everything he was doing was built upon the actions, for good or ill, of his ancestors and those around them. Come to think of it, as the young lord continued to wax about his apparently lovely wife, how would he leave behind his legacy? The kingship was secure, as there were four Targaryen men of adult age in case something happened, with at least little Daeron there as a potential last-ditch effort, but what of his line in particular? He was in no hurry to get married, partially because of his time with Olyvar, but his Kingsguard had urged him to at least consider the Tyrell sister as his bride, being of the Reach himself. He had alluded to rewarding Lord Tyrell for his stewardship in Dorne's western half with a potential marriage, as the young lady Tyrell was old enough to wed, was apparently quite pretty, and for all the faults of the Tyrell lord, that house's obsession with securing their nearly-continuously contentious rule would be greatly enhanced with Tyrell blood sitting upon the throne, thereby helping to secure the Reach's compliance for another generation or two. Besides, the Tyrells had a good record of birthing strong sons and daughters, as well as numerous ones given their house words, which honestly should have been "Growing Numerous" at times. Yet even with that, would he even be happy in a marriage, as Lord Wytch apparently was? Or, as he glanced over to his tender cousin, her expression flashing mild irritation as Aegon imbibed alcohol as if he were to be denied it for the rest of his life, would his marriage be like that of sweet Naerys, and be privately miserable? Only instead of some charming philanderer, would he have some beautiful harridan or shrew of a queen to suffer in silence?
Decisions, decisions…
"While you have no sons as of yet, surely you are at least becoming more experienced in how to handle their youthful antics?" a new voice said, and he turned to find his cousin Aemon asking. Why was he asking? It wasn't as if the man would ever need the advice on how to raise sons, or have any to give, having taken the white cloak of the Kingsguard.
"Well, if my wards are anything to go by, or my current ones at least, the older they get the less… manageable they'll likely become, unless I've done something terribly wrong as a parent," the young lord replied. "The Martell boy is a kind soul, though more than a bit easily ordered around by my sisters. He seems to enjoy it though, given they are his elders and has been told to respect them, so keeping him in line has not been difficult. Jonnel Stark, on the other hand…"
"I would imagine that even for the spare of House Stark that journeying so far south would have been enough of a change to his life, let alone fostering with a house as young as your own," Viserys said after sipping his diluted wine. "That the Lord Paramount and Warden of the North thought to send him to you is truly unlike anything the court has heard of, and was indeed the talk of the city for weeks once word got out."
Lord Wytch paused for a moment, as if mulling something over. "He is… headstrong, yes, but he has grown more accommodating of the way things are done in the south. He has no ambitions of being a knight, though I will still teach him all he needs to know in that regard, nor does he wish to convert to the Seven, but that is perhaps for the best. The rapport we have built is good, but it will wither should I press too hard in these matters, among others."
"Oh? But you are such a devout practitioner, what with your three septs now, surely it would not be too difficult to encourage him to embrace the true faith of the Seven?" Daeron's uncle asked, and seeing as he was looking for it, the young king did not miss his brother's hand clenching tightly around his fork, the silverware likely to bend at this rate.
"It is five now, Lord Hand, we've recently begun rebuilding the old sept in the town my wife's ancestral keep overlooks, as well as the newest one in Storm Hollow, and a sixth shall follow shortly in Ironvein. As for conversion, as I have seen with Jonnel time and time again, forcing an issue… does not end well. Let him hold onto the faith of his ancestors, it is not as if he is trying to plant Weirwood trees and carve faces into them in my courtyard or trying to convert others to his ways. As for his… stubbornness, it is perhaps a good thing, as one needs to be stubborn somewhat to deal with a stubborn lot of lords, and from what he has told me, the North is full of them. One could say they are much like the Reach in that regard, only far quicker to react with a punch to the face than mere chivalric words laced with insults."
"How has he adapted, Lord Wytch?" Daeron's mother asked. "I assume his father sought to have him learn from you that which my son Baelor has also learned."
"Him and half the lords near my lands, at this rate," the young lord said with a mild chuckle. "I am to foster four more boys within the year, though I suspect more lords might come to me if others like the results I produce. That, or to have them close to the sons of other lords, to foster friendships among them. While I myself was never fostered, I can certainly see the appeal behind it as a means of securing deals and ensuring peace."
"So you will have six young boys fostering under you," Aegon said, an odd glint in his eyes that Daeron did not like. "Just how young are they, to be sent so far from home, alone with the lord of a young house, whose background or mettle has yet to be proven?"
Daeron definitely did not like that subtle accusation, and was grateful Baelor hadn't suddenly jumped across the table to strike Aegon. His cousin may be the elder, but with Baelor's time at war, and his constant training in the yard… he may not have been too much of a betting man, but his money would have been on his brother folding his cousin like parchment.
"Some would have been sent earlier, but outbreaks of sickness prevented that, and as it stands, the youngest will be… perhaps nine when he finally arrives? I will have to check my reports on the matter, but I do believe so. At least Jonnel is finally taking to heart the lessons my wife and I are imparting on him, rather than complaining about them or insinuating that anything I say about the North is some sort of 'veiled southron insult' as he used to. Besides, it is not as if he will be by my side for too many more years, at any rate."
"Oh?" Daeron asked, unashamed to acknowledge that he was intrigued, though he would not admit that to the rest of them. "Why is that? I did not think he was yet old enough to return to Winterfell."
"He is not my king, but due to his injuries in the Sacking of Sunspear, Jonnel's elder brother Rickon, the current Stark heir, is likely not much longer for this world."
There was silence at the table, save for the childish whispers and giggles of the babes and his youngest sisters. "Whatever do you mean Lord Wytch?" Baelor asked. "Last I recalled, Rickon Stark had survived the injuries he sustained during the siege, with much thanks going towards your medics in that regard."
Lord Wytch sighed. "For all that we have learned about the traumas inflicted upon a man's head, and everything we have tried to heal or at least alleviate, it would seem his injuries were too great for even my people to fully treat. According to the latest letter Jonnel shared with me, his father is of the mind that Rickon will never recover the mind he once possessed, having been reduced to someone that will require constant care for the rest of his life, however long that may be. Given how his half brother will likely never recover, and with only daughters to select for Rickon's heirs, Jonnel is concerned that he will be declared the new heir instead, much as King Viserys was over Baelon's daughter. He is of the mind that should this come to pass, he will then return to Winterfell before his time learning under my house can be completed."
Daeron's shock at this upcoming change in the succession of the North was only compounded by his uncle's next words.
"I… I was unaware that Cregan Stark was looking to pass over his eldest as heir due to such injuries."
His uncle, unaware of something so monumentally important to the continued cohesion of everything Daeron was planning? Had he become so focused on Lord Wytch's supposed plans that other important events had begun to escape his notice? If so, just what else was he capable of overlooking?
"It is not something to be openly discussed, but Lord Stark had given Jonnel permission to discuss the matter with me, and Jonnel likewise permitted me to discuss it with Prince Baelor and whomever we deem worthy to hear it. Word of it has already spread throughout the North, so better it come from a reliable source here in the south than from errant merchants bringing rumors down from White Harbor. Seven only knows how many scheming lords might already be looking to attempt to curry favor for one of their daughters to wed Jonnel in just the North."
"So, Jonnel will become the Lord of Winterfell then, and with him, your younger sister will become the new Lady of Winterfell instead of a northern lady, eh? I must commend you, Lord Wytch, for such a fortuitous stroke of luck."
"Luck, Prince Aegon, had nothing to do with it," Lord Wytch said, with no small amount of polite heat. "Yet my sister will not be the Lady of Winterfell, nor would I wish that title upon her. Shyra was… changed by the actions of Lord Craggner and his ilk, and while not physically harmed in any way, I doubt she would be comfortable leaving the south for a keep as far away as Winterfell."
"What if Cregan wished for a match?" Viserys asked. It was certainly something Daeron would do, had he been in the Northman's position, seeing as word on the grapevine put Lord Wytch in a quite favorable light for that kingdom and its lords. Even grumbling lords would have to respect their lord's decision to tie themselves to a young house whose rise was nothing short of impressive, let alone all that same house had begun to do for a kingdom not his own.
"With all due respect to the Lord of Winterfell, I would have to decline it."
Daeron was suddenly unsure if he had fallen from his desk after his lengthy meeting with Essosi diplomats and was simply suffering from the effects of some illogical dream brought on by milk of the poppy, but had he truly heard this minor lord declare he would… decline an offer of marriage from a Lord Paramount? Even for a second son who may or may not become the heir?
"Why?" he heard his sister Daena ask.
"Princess, while it is far more complicated than I could reasonably explain during dinner, it is mostly due to the situation of my family and my house, and how declining would be better for our houses and respective kingdoms alike. I am a young house, perhaps the youngest on the continent that was not formed in the aftermath of the king's conquest of Dorne. Despite that, with what my father before me managed to lay the foundation for, I have built upon with the aid of my wife, my maester, and countless others on top of my own skills. Even then, my lands are small, tiny even compared to those of many greater and ancient lineages, and what I have done thus far may not be fit for what a land needs under different conditions. Even if the possibility of my younger sister marrying the future heir of Winterfell were to be presented, the threat it could pose to my house and her safety would be immense."
"Why?" Daena asked again to Daeron's minor annoyance. She usually wasn't this interested in this sort of topic.
"Princess, my sister is not as sturdy as the ladies of other houses tend to be. Years before now, she was scarred by the actions of others, not physically mind you, but she is more delicate because of it. I would rather she be sent to a good house 'closer to home' if you will, if only because if she is at peace of mind, it will be of greater benefit to her husband and her future children. In addition," the young lord continued, setting aside his goblet, "culturally, I do not believe she would do well in the North. Yes, she would learn to adopt many of the customs, but it would be an uphill battle for her to find acceptance amongst the lords and ladies of the North, regardless of how well I am purported to be received there. After all, she is not I, and she is thus a stranger to them, from a strange land with strange ways."
"So even with the connections to Lord Stark, you fear your sister would be a target for those looking to tie themselves closer to House Stark by putting their daughters ahead of a possibly widowed Jonnel," Daeron surmised. It reminded him starkly of the Hightowers after his great grandmother's death, according to what his father had told him.
"Potentially, my king. For all that I've made good with the North, a quick way to destroy that goodwill is to be seen as trying to rise higher than my station should, regardless of my intention. That, and Jonnel and Shyra are not attracted to one another that I can determine, viewing one another as closer to siblings or mere acquaintances. It is better this way, for both our houses in such a scenario, that we are not tied together through marriage."
"So then if not your own sister, who do you believe will be Jonnel's bride?" Viserys asked as their plates were cleared and the next course was brought out.
"I do not know, as it is not something Jonnel has felt free to discuss, though it may be his father has not told him at all. If it is to be secret, then I will not pry into it even as his foster father, for even foster sons should not have to tell their foster fathers everything," the young lord admitted. "It is not my place to make plans for such a pact on his behalf either, only to help prepare the lad for that eventuality."
Daeron remained silent as a lull interjected into their conversation, his mind spinning with possibilities. Lord Wytch was doing something with the North, something that had led them to hold him in high esteem in a very short amount of time. By extension through Baelor, as a close friend of Lord Wytch, this could be extended to include House Targaryen as well, which was always a good thing. Given that Rickon would likely die, or at least be passed over, it was vital to attempt to replace any potential pact of marriage between Wytch and Stark with something the young king would find more palatable.
Wait a moment, a pact! That reminded him of something, one his father had spoken with him of in the past regarding the Dance…
"A good idea, to know your place," Aegon said suddenly, interrupting the king's thoughts. "Best to do with what you have than to grasp for more."
"Indeed, my prince," the young lord said, his tone a touch frostier, but still polite. "I've too many projects for my house and my lands to ever consider attempting anything so brash as to rise above my current station, as my house shall forever be grateful and loyal to House Baratheon for our elevation from nothing. Just as well, adding in the agreements in place with other lords and kingdoms, I will have very little time left that will not be spent with my family, something I find far more important than gallivanting off somewhere to have more adventures."
"Projects?" Viserys asked, his disapproving sideways glance towards his eldest son not escaping Daeron's gaze. "I was curious how a young house would spend its earnings before paying their taxes to their lawful liege. What sort are you partaking in?"
"Oh, much of what I've already done, Lord Hand, nothing worth keeping hidden. Building roads and bridges, expanding farmland and pastures, building up towns and villages, exporting my plows and other creations. That, and expanding on the trading company I've begun with several likeminded lords."
"Yes, I remember this, we've spoken of it before," Baelor said, Daeron turning to his heir with a raised brow. "What?"
"Brother, I'd not heard of this before, just what does it entail?"
His brother looked to their guest, who nodded for the younger prince to continue. "Well, several lords from the Reach and the Stormlands are looking to establishing a trade fleet that operates along our eastern coasts, specifically for between the kingdoms therein. I was present for a meeting or two, but the primary purpose is to move their goods to other markets without having to involve Essosi, whilst also ensuring they are not swindled by hired captains or are easy marks for pirates."
Ah, yes, pirates, a thorn in the side of his coastal subjects that he would not leave be. In time, they too would feel the dragon's wroth, just as the Dornish had for their transgressions over the generations.
"With the eventual goal of expanding across the coasts of Westeros, my king, perhaps even venturing towards Essos once enough of a good reputation has been established," Lord Wytch added. "Any lords wishing to join in this endeavor are welcome, so long as they follow the fair guidelines directing our charter. Our first order of business is seeing to the Connington port as our first base of operations, for we are looking to start small-,"
"Port? The Conningtons have no port, the Stormlands has only one significant port along its entire coast," Aegon interjected, surprising Daeron that he knew that. Then again, Aegon wasn't a drooling moron, he was just simply oblivious to good sense and fidelity. It was what made his charming personality such a disastrous thing for those who grew too invested in him.
"Well, they have a fishing village that we are turning into a port," Lord Wytch replied.
"What would they even trade? Mutton?" Aegon scoffed.
"I agree with my son, Lord Wytch, though perhaps in politer terms," Viserys said. "There is not much in Connington lands, let alone the Stormlands, that others would consider worth trading in enough bulk to consider the need for a trade fleet."
"Outside of what amber we can find, most trade items will be that which we produce, not simply grow," the young lord replied. "Dyes from cobalt, raw iron, poppy and other such crops, to say nothing of my plows, brandy, whiskey and the like are all to be considered for trade."
"How is it possible for you to turn a village into a port? The Stormlands are named as such for a very good reason," the dowager queen said. "Any other port worth the name would have already formed if not for the storms that outright destroy them."
"We are developing the means through my Wytchstone to construct large barriers upon which we can expand to create docks, wave breaks and the like to shelter ships, much as I did to create the great reservoir growing in unusable valleys in my lands. In fact, what we have yet to do is…"
Daeron's attention rapidly drained from the conversation as ideas struck him like the blows of a warhammer. Long had he heard of Wytchstone and what the young lord was doing with the stuff, he'd even marched along his fine roads during and after the war, but to think it could be used for such? To create lakes where there had once been infertile valleys, or reclaiming land from the sea if only to protect ships and shorelines? To think of the great wonders the material could be used for by those with the foresight, experience and gold at their disposal, why… it was nothing short of boundless. Indeed, the sheer possibilities of it completely rearranged his thoughts on the young lord.
His uncle was right… somewhat. Lord Wytch was a potential threat to House Targaryen, but not through trying to put Baelor on the throne, or cause an uprising against them or any such nonsense. No, he was a threat in creating the means by which other houses could improve themselves greatly enough to reduce the power their house currently had by comparison, power that had already been greatly reduced from the loss of their dragons. He would not, for all the gold in Westeros, attempt to find and tame Cannibal or any of the other wild dragons to regain that power, wherever they may be, nor could he even wish to take his half-aunt Rhaena's dragon Morning for himself. That beast had disappeared years ago when his father yet ruled, and nobody knew where it was, not even Rhaena herself. Whether it even lived or not was as much a mystery then as it was now, having last been seen in the ruined Dragonpit many years ago, and never since.
He would need to secure the potential this young lord had for House Targaryen itself, and if possible, House Targaryen alone. His brother had already unwittingly done that by befriending the young lord, but more would need to be done to fully secure it. Assigning him a position on the Small Council offended Daeron's sensibilities, and would no doubt cause uproar amongst older houses outside of the Stormlands and perhaps the North, something he could not risk with his upcoming plans for the Vale and its hinterland barbarians. He could name him to some new post that would tie him closer to their house, but the precedence for that was minute at best, and even then the outcry and grumbling would occur when he least needed it to. A betrothal to the man's house was not possible, not that he would even consider that either, nor could he simply order the young lord to accomplish these tasks for him without viable payment…
No, as he silently turned to eye his brother, who was animatedly discussing the process of building the dam to their sisters, the thought struck him that he already had the means by which to do so. It would need to be subtle, so as not to alert either Baelor or Lord Wytch, but convincing the young lord to continue teaching the princely heir all he knew could then be transcribed and kept safely for their own house's benefit. It might take years to accomplish, but they already had a head start, and the gap between the two would only lessen with time. Then, once they knew all that the lord had to teach them, Lord Wytch would need to be reigned in to ensure House Targaryen alone would achieve the greatest benefit from such knowledge. To think of expanded Kings Landing dockyards, or finally expanding the city with an additional set of walls to allow for greater growth, of aqueducts comparable to those of Old Valyria and Essos ferrying clean water, great castles built quickly on Bloodstone to ensure their permanent foothold on that great island once it had been seized…
If the young lord upon having a son had to suffer a crippling… accident, to ensure his talents were not used against House Targaryen, or his allies were to be turned against him to isolate him from further growth, then that was just the way of the game of thrones, was it not? Daeron, in the absence of dragons, would not allow for the wheel to turn against their house. The Targaryens had united this continent, so they were not the wheel, but the carriage upon which the wheel rested, and thusly should always remain on top. Spokes could be replaced, but a ruined carriage would break the wheel beneath it, and bring everything down in turn.
"You indeed have a great many plans for the future, Lord Wytch," Viserys said. "Such plans require a great deal of cunning, no doubt, the likes of which few in your station could hope to match. Many would call such lofty goals absurd for a house so young, so I must commend you on your diligence."
"Thank you, Lord Hand," Lord Wytch replied.
"However, there have been… rumors, reaching all the way to King Landing, concerning your lands and those around you. Undoubtedly many are completely unfounded, driven by hearsay and smallfolk gossip, but now that you are here, I think there is no better time to ask on the validity of these tall tales. You are, after all, one of the more interesting Stormlords of our time, what with so many being connected to you, and thus no better man lives that could ease our minds on the more troublesome accounts."
"Certainly, Lord Hand, I would be honored to be aid in dispelling anything that would paint my house in a bad light, intentionally or not."
Daeron internally winced at his uncle's subtle shift in expression. He knew it all too well, but woe to those who did not know what they were to experience and had let their guard down over the course of the dinner, which the young lord undoubtedly had by now. He would need to play the kingly mediator if things grew out of control, before his brotherly heir could cause more trouble in defense of his friend.
"I have heard a great many things of the Sept of Lowhill, as it was one of the first things that drew my nephew's attention to your lands years ago, and since then you have built even more septs in your towns. Yet more distant septons venturing to these lands have found… questionable practices in place in Lowhill, among other towns. Healing houses built onto the septs specifically for the poor? The teaching of the Seven, figures and sums to smallfolk, and similar schooling for their children? Gatherings by septas and septons to discuss theology and doctrinal teachings of the Faith? Did we not know any better, it would almost sound like House Wytch was attempting to create its own branch of the Seven, as it would seem almost all of these acts are supported or funded by your own coffers."
Lord Wytch was silent for a few moments, the briefest look of shock crossing his face before he schooled it into a more neutral yet still polite expression. "My history outside of the Stormlands is not the greatest, Lord Hand, but has something like that ever happened before? Where a lord attempted to diverge from the Faith for his own benefit?"
"The Faith has existed for millennia, Lord Wytch, and even if many records have been lost to the ravages of time, such divisions are rare, but not nonexistent. Whenever lords have done so, usually so as to accrue power or to operate outside the tenets of the Faith, terrible wars and unrest have arisen afterwards, sometimes lasting for generations."
"Well, I can say for certain that I am uninterested in propagating such unrest, especially in my own lands," the young lord replied. "As a faithful follower of the Seven-Who-Are-One, I believe it is my duty to ensure that the Faith is not only respected in my lands, but also the teachings of its holy book are applied at all times. That which the Faith preaches of as good deeds towards your fellow man, of caring for the poor and incapable, of reaching out to heal both body and soul from the troubles that ails them? I seek to do as much good as I can in the name of the Seven, and those who wish to do so as well have naturally flocked to my side in this endeavor. Most resulting discussions tend to focus on how such teachings originated or evolved over time, as well as the best means by which to put them into practice without causing trouble for lords or the faithful at large."
"The sick houses?"
"I have found that an ounce of prevention, Lord Hand, is far more valuable than a pound of cure. It is better to put into practice the means of preventing sickness from spreading than to try and combat it once it has already reared its ugly head. That, and it gives more people greater experience when dealing with sickness that does not rely on untested or downright false cures, many of which are too… unfit for dining conversation to speak of here."
Daeron bit back a retch at the thought. Did people truly become so desperate as to believe such… things could cure them of sickness? He did not even want to imagine what disgusting practices the woodswitches and hedge wizards thought could cure ailments…
"Besides," Lord Wytch continued. "Keeping the smallfolk healthier is better for my lands, no? The healthier they are, the more they can work, the less illness can spread amongst them, and the more my house directly benefits through tax and trade. Besides, losing children is never easy for anyone to endure, so seeing to it that fewer smallfolk children die from something that could have been prevented by wiser stewardship is a goal I shall forever stride for."
"Which is why, according to my brother, you have been so adamant in not only producing more food and finding new crops for the Stormlands, but finding better means of preserving it for times of trouble and winter alike," Daeron said to Lord Wytch, who nodded in reply. "If the lowliest people in our society are healthy, than those of higher and higher stations can only be more so." Yes, he could definitely see the benefit of this, as overproducing food has never been a bad thing for their society. If there is too much to go around, then hunger need not be a threat, and even if not traded, too much excess can be used elsewhere, such as oil from olives or as additional feed for livestock. Not to mention the amount of supplies it would allow for his armies and fleets to use where the Vale tribes, Iron Islands and Bloodstone were concerned…
"As noble that intention supposedly is, what of teaching the smallfolk the lessons of their betters?" Aegon added on, his tone of polite derision making Daeron wince at his brother's sharp inhale. Yes, that silverware was definitely bent now. "What possible use could it be for some farmer to know how to read?"
"Well, my prince, the schools of Lowhill and every other town with a sept do not simply teach everyone for free, nor are they to learn the likes of which maesters teach to young lords and ladies, such as more advanced sums. Those who can afford to send their children to our schools, such as merchants, yeomen, scribes, smiths and other skilled craftsmen and laborers are to pay a fee to cover the cost of feeding the children and ensuring they do not fall ill under the care of the septas and septons overseeing their learning. As it is, the children are taught the basics, such as figures, sums, an overall history leading up to the Conquest and after, basics in hygiene and fitness so as to promote health, and finally the teachings of the Seven Pointed Star. Adults are a bit less expansive in this regard, but what they are taught is more complex, such as figures so as to be able to both read and write reports, their sums so as to be better able to keep track of harvest totals, inventory of goods, how much they may owe or be owed, and finally how to identify certain sigils of greater houses or those of my neighbors."
This was… well, Daeron was unsure how to feel about it. Teaching the smallfolk carried with it risks of them believing themselves to be higher than their true station allowed for. There were even lesser lords that could neither read nor write, relying entirely on maesters or scribes to do that for them, yet they functioned just as well as illiterate smallfolk. Yet the thought of a populace that could clearly better engage in trade and keep track of supplies… it was an enticing prospect. How many times had his uncle resignedly explained they needed more scribes for one reason or another, halting progress in one of Daeron's many, many plans for the future? To think that one could educate enough of the 'upper' smallfolk to provide a greater pool of literate people was something he would definitely need to look into. Then Lord Wytch explained this was exactly his reason for doing so, and Daeron's mind was made up. After dinner, he would need to speak with the grand maester of setting up a similar institution made to elevate those loyal to House Targaryen to be trained into scribes for his growing lower administration.
"So quick to try and bring those in the mud up, as your grandfather was by the Lady Baratheon? Is that kind of thinking not counterintuitive to your house's existence?" Aegon asked, and Daeron barely stifled his groan. Gods damn it Aegon! Could you just shut your gob and down your goblets of wine in silence?
Viserys, however, interrupted before Lord Wytch or Baelor could offer some sort of retort. "Aside from my son's… personal views on the matter, it does bring to question the reasons for this might be greater than we know. I have heard rumors of Lowhill now hosting, among other things, an 'academy' of some kind, offering training and learning to a wide variety of people, primarily smallfolk. I cannot imagine the guilds in your lands are happy about this."
Lord Wytch sighed. "Not at first, Lord Hand, they were indeed not happy with this newest institution despite all I had done for them beforehand. As it is, however, I believe I have won them over with some… minor concessions, ones that will not upset the delicate balance within society. The Academy is meant to become not only a repository of knowledge, but the means by which anyone with new ideas may come and explore them, be they craftsmen or naturally inquisitive people alike… with proper self-funding of course, as well as within the laws that govern us all. This is so they need not fear discrimination by guilds who are too close-minded for new ideas. Just as well, if new or improved methods of one thing or another are discovered, then those who have the means to travel and learn may come to do so, thereby spreading these improvements when they return to their homes and kingdoms."
"Sounds like a challenge to the maesters to me," Aegon added, entirely unnecessarily in Daeron's opinion. It sounded more to the young king as a good idea of ensuring that prosperity was not stunted in one land or another by those who did not think something could be improved upon. One only had to look at the lands that had adopted the Wytch plow, seed drill and other such creations and compare them to those that had not, even if the latter had formerly been more productive than the former.
"Only the maesters who are afraid of losing their monopoly on knowledge would deem it so, cousin," Baelor said suddenly, his face schooled into a neutral, if slightly hard, expression. "The maesters already hold sway over the land from every keep they deign to inhabit and are privy to the secrets and inner circles of every lord and lady they supposedly serve. Lord Wytch's own maester, a Riverlander named Gorman, has been instrumental in a great deal of Lord Wytch's successes, including the creation of the Lowhill Academy. Were a terrible fire to consume Oldtown and perhaps damage or destroy the Citadel, then the loss of knowledge contained therein would be nothing short of catastrophic for Westeros and perhaps the world."
"I concur," Daenaera added suddenly, surprising the table. "My kin have long spoken of histories being lost from fire, flood and pests within stores of knowledge. So much was lost in the Doom, followed by the Century of Blood, and then so much more whenever invasions or rebellions set fire to that which they saw no need for. Even our own library of the Red Keep, were it to be lost, would be a great blow to history and knowledge alike."
"I must agree with my brother and mother," Daeron said, sitting a touch more upright in his seat. "This 'Academy', Lord Wytch, just what has it learned thus far? Certainly it cannot have done nothing for your lands, as young as it is, without needing excessive funding from your own coffers?"
"Outside experiments that are still ongoing, one thing we have discovered is that copper will not allow for barnacles and other pests to foul the hulls of ships they are sheathed in," the young lord said. "Sadly, we have not yet found a way to create the means of coating a ship's hull with copper sheaths without drastically increasing the expense or making the ship too heavy to properly sail, but it is a start."
Daeron did not need to look at his uncle to know they were both shocked. Ships were constantly at odds with the fouling effects of the sea, often losing speed from the amount growing on them or even facing the chance of sinking if the boards were worn enough to risk breaking in rough seas. Copper did not rust as iron did, famously enough, and if it prevented the hull from fouling, why, not only would ships last longer, they could by chance travel faster through the water! He needed to have his Master of Ships look into this as quickly as possible. Yet… why was Lord Wytch telling them this? It stood to be a massive source of power for whatever house could determine the means by which to cheaply implement this for their own fleets! Was he truly so foolish as to so freely give this sort of knowledge away?
Wait, House Wytch didn't border a coastline... and Baelor was Lord Wytch's friend. Was… was the lord trying to help House Targaryen by telling them this? What could he want in response for such a potentially powerful boon? Perhaps Viserys was right again, and Lord Wytch was far, far more cunning than he had previously thought…
"Is that why the Pyromancers have established an outpost in your lands?" Viserys asked. Ah yes, Daeron recalled his uncle speaking of this before, but as magic faded from the world, what good would it do for those flame-obsessed underground recluses?
"Partially, as even if we seek nothing related to magic, their insight into the properties of the natural world have proven invaluable," Lord Wytch said. "They have had a long time to study such things, and in my experience, are far more open to experimentation than most maesterly circles."
"Yet they require funds to operate, do they not? Is it your patronage they have secured, as the Lowhill bank has?"
Daeron had to stop himself from gasping aloud. A bank?! Just how much of his uncle's ramblings had he been ignoring, thinking of it as nothing more than hearsay and the worries of a man seeing Colrys and Otto in every step of Baelor's friend? Any lord operating a bank was something unheard of in Westeros.
"Ah, yes, I was wondering when more word of that would get out," Lord Wytch said, his tone almost… indifferent? "I offer loans to those in my lands capable of paying them back in good time, such as merchants, yeomen and skilled artisans. However, Lord Hand, I must have you know that I do not offer loans to fellow lords, as it is not my place."
"Why not?" Daena asked, sounding genuinely curious.
"If one takes a loan from another, princess, then the loaner must have the means of ensuring they are paid back. A lord who takes a loan from a lesser lord is in his debt, but if the lesser lord does not have the means of collecting the debt, should the lord refuse to pay it, then what good is the bank at all? The Iron Bank is well known for how they can collect on reneged debts, but I do not have mystical assassins ready to slay those who do not repay their loans. Instead, I have the monopoly on force in my lands, and should a merchant, yeoman or the like be unable to repay within the allotted time, or at all, then I must seize the assets needed to cover the debt. Thus far, I have had to do so on nine occasions, though thankfully none have yet ended with bloodshed, merely banishment or the Wall instead."
"I see," Viserys replied, and silence once again resumed at the dinner as the last course was brought out. Daeron was unsure of what to think, though the idea of a bank of Westeros was tempting, especially if it were the Dragon Bank or something similarly Targaryen-eqsue. He especially enjoyed the idea it would not only further cement the kingdoms under the control of the Iron Throne without dragons to back them up, but also so that less coin would flow to Essosi bankers. Yet, even as he determined how to incorporate this bank with the Master of Coin seat on the Small Council, a new voice piped up, one he had never expected to.
"Lord Wytch?" his second sister asked, Rhaena's little hand politely waving slightly to capture his attention.
"Yes, Princess Rhaena?" he replied.
"My brother spoke of medics tending to the wounded during the war and after your adventure down in Dorne. Is it true some of them are women?"
"Do not be silly cousin, of course not," Aegon quickly interjected. "The maesters would never allow for women to learn of the healing arts."
"The prince is correct, I suppose," Lord Wytch said. "Maesters do not allow for that… hence why my medics are not under the purview of the Citadel. Indeed, princess, the medics of the Stormlands are welcome to any and all men and women who can read, write, and wish to aid in the healing of others."
"I can attest to Lord Wytch's medics myself, sister," Daeron said. "They were of great help during the Conquest of Dorne, often saving the limbs and lives of many men who would have lost either otherwise. Though they are not maesters, when it comes to quickly saving someone from a wound, they are quite skilled."
"Hence why the means to join their ranks is open to men and women alike, with stipulations of course," Lord Wytch said. "They are to learn their necessary skills both among the smallfolk and at the Academy for a set number of years, less if they already have a good grasp on certain skills. Some of the women choose to go off to join the Silent Sisters or as septas, or as local healers in their villages, but every so often some will decide to stay amongst the ranks."
"Are they safe?" the princess asked.
"Well, more than one man has tried to… do things to our medics before, be they injured ally or enemy that had surrendered," Baelor said as delicately as he could. "Such actions did not end well for the perpetrator, sister, and the medics thankfully remained unharmed."
"Given how well-received they are, they often have near as many guards as lords do," Daeron recalled with a fond smile. More than a few handsy Dornish prisoners had been beaten to bloody pulps after trying something with a pretty medic. Then those same medics had helped to heal them, citing some oath of healing they were bound to. Honestly, he wouldn't have tried to save any of them a second time, but he was a king, not a healer, and not bound to whatever code they believed in.
Wait… was his sister interested in learning these skills?
As the final course was finished, Daeron spied a guard enter the room and be stopped by one of the Kingsguard. With a nod, he sent Olyvar off to see what the matter was before musing again on the future Dragon Bank. Yes, it would need to be a great series of vaults, perhaps built into a hillside to prevent thieves from easily tunneling into it. The color scheme would be of House Targaryen of course, but as for the uniforms of the guards…
"My king?" a voice said, and Daeron's musings fled him as he turned to find Olyvar bowing before him. "A carriage has arrived bearing gifts."
"Gifts?" Daeron asked aloud. "From whom?"
"Ah, my king, that would be me," Lord Wytch said somewhat awkwardly. "As this was my first time in the capitol, I had thought it pertinent to present some of the finest gifts of my house and my lands for the royal family."
Ah, well, could be worse he supposed. "Very well, have them brought forth," Daeron said. No need to make a fuss of them in front of the royal court, as doing so would have likely upset his heir. That his brother had kept this from him was surprising, but perhaps he had already told him before, and he had merely forgotten in the years since? It would not be the first time such had happened, hence why he kept his uncle as Hand to remind him without nonfamily learning of their little faults.
He was not… unimpressed with the gifts as they arrived, but they did strike him as something a far worthier house should have produced, further indicating House Wytch was indeed one to keep an eye on. For the dowager queen, a silver necklace inlaid with…
"What are these?" his mother asked as she examined the alternating precious stones. "These here appear to be amber, but the others look like… pearls?" His mother would well know about pearls, coming from House Velaryon.
"They are indeed pearls, your highness."
"But… your lands are nowhere near the coast."
"That is correct, for those in your necklace would be freshwater pearls, from the town of Highmarsh, your highness. We have been cultivating them for some years now, and managed to settle an errant craftsmen or two who specialize in working them into such jewelry. We shall likely be expanding into exporting them after our port project with the Conningtons is completed."
Freshwater pearls? Daeron knew pearl diving off certain coasts was highly valued, but to somehow 'cultivate' them in fresh water? Once more, Lord Wytch showed more of his hand than the young lord realized, and Daeron knew that learning of these same methods could make a lord with plenty of lakes in his lands quite a bit of gold. Hmm, the Riverlands had many larger portions of rivers with very slow currents, perhaps they would be willing to stop squabbling for once for a chance at learning such a secret…
His uncle received a fine woolen cloak, which was not surprising given that sheep were so common in the Stormlands, but the finery of the cloak was… unusually well, as was the deep blue it bore, apparently from the dyes from some town called Ironvein. What kind of mining town had access to dyes this deeply blue? His cousin Naerys received a large book, finely made as well, which according to the young lord contained a great number of stories for children, especially for bedtime, to which she was most graciously thankful. Soon after, his sister received…
"A Dornish dagger?" Daena asked excitedly. Daeron had already gifted her a Dornish bow, one which she looked forward to practicing with whenever she could. Baelor was even helping her when he had the time, oddly enough.
"Indeed, princess, as even a lady of the highest court in the land should not be without protection," Lord Wytch replied. "Whilst not the same kind of dagger a Dornish lord attempted to harm our king with during the war, as I felt that would be in poor taste, it is more than fit for a lady to wield in the event she should need it, easily hidden and retrieved from even the finest of dresses."
"You go too far, lordling," Aegon muttered, a firm hand from his father preventing him from rising to his feet, his face already ruddy with drink. "You would think our guards be incapable of protecting our family, here, in the Red Keep?"
"It was outside of the Red Keep that our king was almost assassinated, by the same lord who had 'surrendered' proceeding the Battle for the Gates of Dorne, Prince Aegon," Lord Wytch replied coolly. "It was only quick thinking and quicker reflexes by Baelor's bow that halted the attempt. Besides, I would never insinuate that your house's loyal guards, let alone the Kingsguard, would fail to protect your family from threats outside of the Red Keep." He gestured to a large crate. "For Prince Aegon, a known lover of fine drink, I present barrels of aged whiskey and brandy, the finest in the Stormlands, of which I recommend slow drinking, for they are far stronger than most wines."
Daeron's eyes narrowed as the barrels were unloaded, clearly hearing the lord's subtle intent even as he moved onto the other gifts. If not threats from outside the Red Keep, then… from within? Amongst the court, from guests and emissaries, or from within their own family? He glanced over at the increasingly drunken Aegon, the target of these words, a cold lump forming in his stomach. Those words were not directed at anyone but his cousin, and for all his lustful ways, would his cousin lust for the throne? All that stood between him was Daeron and Baelor, then his own father, three healthy Targaryen men who had yet to have other children. Surely he wouldn't… no, he would have no more thoughts on such possibilities. House Targaryen did not need division, not so soon after Dorne's annexation and the Dance years before it.
Was this Lord Wytch's game? Driving a wedge between the two lines of Targaryens from his grandmother and grandfather, the children of Aegon and Viserys, turning against one another? Or was this directed at Aegon for the insults he had made during dinner?
His theories dissolved quickly though, for as Daeron turned in time to hear his two younger sisters let out delighted squeals, a puppy was produced from one of the larger crates. It looked old enough to have been weaned before the journey here, certainly, with liver spotting across its body and a rather shortly docked tail. The guard handed it to Lord Wytch, who cradled it against his chest whilst rubbing one of its ears, even as the pup excitedly tried to lick his face.
"What breed is this?" his mother asked, a note in her voice worrying Daeron that declining this gift would be met with harsh motherly reprisals. Even a king had people to fear for one reason or another, and his own mother was no exception.
"It is a type of spaniel, my lady, one born of the line of litters my father began breeding in the first years of his lordship. They were originally hunting dogs meant for flushing game in thick brush or in water, but they have developed a much friendlier temperament over the generations. They will often bond especially closely with one person, can be easily trained to follow all sorts of commands, and have excellent dispositions among children."
"Does the breed have a name?"
The young lord shrugged as he let the puppy finally lick his face, which it did so with gusto. "We call them Storm Spaniels, for they will work in sun or storms with equal fervor. Whilst not as empathetic as other breeds, their friendliness can often be a touch overwhelming for the unprepared, hence the need for obedience training. I would like to present this unnamed little female as a gift to the king's sisters, if he would allow it."
The suddenly pleading looks thrown his way by all three of his sisters proved to be too much for even a king to withstand. Add on the looks the children of Naerys also threw his way, and it was truly miraculous that King Daeron, First of His Name, did not perish from a heart attack. "Yes, very well, I will accept this dog on the behalf of my sisters," he said graciously, turning to face them, "on the condition that the dog does not get in the way, and remains obedient and trained."
Their nods nearly broke his stern visage, and with that, the young lord approached and handed off the dog to the two girls, whose squeals of delight were nearly indistinguishable from the puppy's own. The young wondered what they would name it…
"As for my king, I have this," the lord said, and Daeron turned in time to hand something to Baelor. "It was not mine to give, as I had not been the force behind its discovery, but I do believe it will make up for the lack of aid I was able to give your forces during my incapacitation after the battle for Storm Hollow." The shape of it was… familiar, and as Baelor held it to him, a smile on his face, Daeron could not help but feel wonder as he opened the wrapping, and saw runes that had not been seen by a Targaryen ruler for two generations…