The sun had barely risen above Blackwater Bay when the city stirred to life.
Kingslanding no longer awoke to the sounds of panic.
It awoke to routine.
The harbor bustled as fishing boats returned with the morning catch. Dockworkers shouted over one another while barrels of salted cod and crates of oysters were hauled onto the piers. Bakers lit their ovens, sending the smell of fresh bread drifting through narrow streets, while blacksmiths raised their hammers, their anvils ringing across the city like distant bells.
Life continued, just as it always had.
The only difference being the occasional dragon flying overhead.
As the smallfolk started their morning, they would occasionally look towards the sky as if expecting something.
A little boy no older than seven tugged impatiently at his father's sleeve.
"Will he come soon?"
His father never took his eyes from the open field.
"I'm sure he will."
Almost as if answering...
A roar echoed across the morning sky.
The smallfolk throughout the city instinctively looked upward.
There.
Emerging from behind a bank of clouds...
Caraxes appeared. He flapped his enormous wings, circling the city; his golden eyes scanned the people below, like a farmer counting his sheep.
But nobody screamed or fled.
Because they had all seen dragons before.
A month ago, there was no doubt the city would have erupted in chaos.
Now, the smallfolk simply watched.
One elderly merchant standing beside the wall nodded toward the dragon.
"Looks healthy."
His companion laughed.
"I suppose that's good for us."
"Better he eats cows and sheep his grace feeds him, and the wild boars in the Kingswoods than citizens."
A nearby Gold Cloak snorted.
"He's never eaten a citizen."
"Yet."
The merchant answered.
The guard shrugged.
"Then don't give him a reason."
The conversation moved on.
As naturally as discussing tomorrow's weather.
Time passed quickly; soon it was midday, but the city was still busy.
Within the city's markets...
Business had never been better.
A grinning woodcarver held up his newest creation.
A tiny crimson dragon.
Its long neck curved exactly like Caraxes'.
A little girl gasped.
"Father!"
"I want that one!"
Her father sighed dramatically.
"You already have one."
"This one's bigger."
"It is not."
"It breathes fire."
"It most certainly does not."
The merchant leaned forward conspiratorially.
"It breathes imagination."
The father laughed despite himself.
"I'll take it."
The merchant accepted the coin with a broad smile.
Across the street, another craftsman sold painted figures of Dreamfyre.
Unlike Caraxes...
Dreamfyre's carved wings spread elegantly.
Her scales had been painted pale blue.
One little boy frowned.
"Caraxes would win."
Another immediately protested.
"No!"
"Dreamfyre's bigger."
"Caraxes is faster."
"My father says Caraxes is mean."
"My mother says Dreamfyre's prettier."
"My uncle says pretty dragons still burn people."
The children immediately began arguing louder than before.
Nearby adults smiled.
Inside a tavern called The Black Kettle, a bard tuned his lute.
As a small crowd gathered, the man cleared his throat.
Then began to sing.
Come fill your cups and gather near, I'll sing of flame and fallen spears. When rebels marched with pride so high, Two dragons darkened all the sky.
Caraxes roared with crimson fire, Dreamfyre's breath burned ever higher. Wing by wing they swept the field, And none were left with sword or shield.
The king rode high with silver hair, While death itself flew through the air. The gates stood firm, the city cheered, As every rebel's heart knew fear.
So raise your ale to dragons twain, Whose fire washed the fields with flame. Long live the king whom none could tame. The King of Two Dragons, blessed by flame.
Coins landed in his hat before he'd finished the second verse.
An old veteran raised his mug.
"Again!"
The bard grinned.
"I've only just begun."
By the third chorus...
Half the tavern was singing along.
Not because they had known the song.
Because everyone already knew how it ended.
The Dragon Prince had won.
Stories spread quickly, but songs spread faster.
Inside the Red Keep...
Damon Targaryen stood before an open window.
He watched everything.
The people, the merchants, the guards, the children and the songs.....
He smiled faintly.
Fear remained. It always would, but fear no longer ruled them.
Acceptance did. That had always been his objective.
Dragons could never become ordinary. But they could become expected.
There was power in that.
Far greater power than terror alone.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
Ser Harold Waters entered.
"Your Grace."
"What is it?"
"The boy has arrived."
Damon nodded once.
"Bring him."
Harold bowed.
Moments later...
The doors opened again.
A child stepped hesitantly into the chamber.
Renly Baratheon.
He couldn't have been more than seven years old.
His black hair had been neatly combed before entering the Red Keep, though the journey from Storm's End had left dust upon his boots.
His blue eyes moved nervously around the room.
Looking for danger.
He found only Damon.
The prince wore no armor today.
No crown.
Only black and crimson robes.
The simplicity somehow made him seem even more intimidating.
Renly swallowed.
He remembered stories. The dragons that had burned the rebel army.
His brother Robert imprisoned beneath the Red Keep.
Everyone said Robert would die.
Some whispered that Renly would follow.
Harold gently rested one hand upon the boy's shoulder.
"His Grace."
Renly hurriedly bowed.
Not perfectly.
Just enough.
"Y-your Grace."
Damon studied him quietly.
A frightened child.
Nothing more.
"You may leave us."
Harold hesitated only briefly before bowing.
"As you command."
The doors closed.
Silence filled the solar.
Renly stood perfectly still.
Waiting.
Damon spoke first.
"How was the journey?"
The question caught him completely off guard.
"..L...Long, your grace."
"I imagine it was."
Another silence.
Finally, Damon gestured toward a nearby chair.
"Sit."
Renly obeyed immediately.
His feet barely reached the floor.
Damon remained standing.
Looking down at a large map of Westeros.
Without looking at Renly...
He spoke.
"Storm's End requires a lord."
The boy frowned.
"My brother Robert is Lord."
Damon's voice remained calm.
"Robert Baratheon will be executed."
The words struck like a hammer. Renly lowered his head.
He was a child be he knew; everyone knew.
Hearing it aloud still hurt.
Silence stretched between them.
Then Damon continued.
"That makes you Lord Baratheon."
Renly blinked.
"What?"
He genuinely hadn't understood.
Damon looked toward him.
"You inherit Storm's End."
The child stared.
"I..."
His voice barely emerged.
"I thought..."
"You thought I intended to imprison you, or name your brother Stannis Lord of Storm's End."
Renly nodded slowly.
"...Or kill me."
"No."
Damon answered simply.
"A child does not inherit his brother's crimes, as for Stannis...."
The boy looked up.
Confused, hopeful, and uncertain.
Damon walked toward the window overlooking King's Landing.
"Your brother chose rebellion."
He turned back.
"You still have a chance to be loyal, to become the greatest Lord of Storm's End."
Renly didn't answer. But his eyes shone the more Damon spoke.
Damon noticed and smiled very slightly.' Ambition is a part of every man, especially those who thought they would never achieve something.' Damon thought to himself,
"You will remain here."
The hope disappeared.
"...As a prisoner?"
"No."
"As my responsibility."
The words hung in the room.
"You will study."
"You will learn history, law, war, administration, and the sword; you will grow to become one of the best of the future generation of the realm."
He walked back toward the boy.
"When you become a man. You will return to Storm's End."
"As my Lord."
"Not Robert's successor."
"My Lord Baratheon."
Renly searched Damon's face.
Looking for mockery or Cruelty.
Anything.
He found neither.
Only certainty.
Damon rested one hand lightly upon the boy's shoulder.
"You cannot choose the brother you were born with."
His voice softened.
"But you can choose the man you become."
For the first time since entering King's Landing...
Some of the fear left Renly's eyes.
Not all.
But enough.
Enough for something new to take its place.
Purpose.
Damon saw it immediately.
Good.
Two days later.
The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet.
Most of the castle still slept.
Only the guards upon the walls, servants beginning their duties, and the occasional messenger disturbed the silence before dawn.
Prince Damon Targaryen walked alone.
His footsteps echoed softly across the ancient stone as he made his way through halls built by his ancestors nearly three centuries before. Torches flickered along the walls, throwing long shadows across tapestries depicting Aegon's Conquest, Maegor's wars, and Jaehaerys' long peace.
Every king had left something behind.
Some had left prosperity.
Others, only ashes.
Damon intended to leave something far more enduring.
A kingdom that no longer depended upon the brilliance or madness of a single ruler.
His thoughts drifted to Renly Baratheon.
Young and impressionable.
Still untouched by the rivalries and pride that consumed so many great lords.
Robert had become the warrior Westeros admired.
Stannis had become the dutiful brother few loved.
Renly... Renly was still unfinished.
A blank page.
Damon smiled faintly.
Most rulers thought only about defeating today's enemies.
The greatest rulers created tomorrow's allies.
The old generation had nearly destroyed the realm.
Rickard Stark.
Jon Arryn.
Hoster Tully.
Steffon Baratheon's sons.
Even Aerys.
Every one of them had inherited old grievances and passed new ones to their children.
Damon had no intention of repeating their mistakes.
If children could inherit hatred... They could inherit loyalty.
That was why Renly would remain in King's Landing.
Not merely as insurance against the Stormlands.
Not merely because Storm's End required a lord.
But because boys became men.
And men became history.
Raise a future lord beside the Crown...
Teach, manipulate, brainwash him that the Iron Throne protected him rather than threatened him...
Allow him to witness competent rule every day...
The Stormlands would remain loyal for decades.
Not through fear.
Through habit.
He intended to do the same elsewhere whenever opportunity presented itself, and in the meantime he would install a Lord to rule Storm's End until Rently was of age, someone from his personal soldiers, who would get rid of anyone even slightly opposing him, while also getting the other Lords loyal to the crown, in case the worse were to happen and Rently did not walk down the path he set. If that happened, he wouldn't even survive two days as Lord Baratheon when he returned to Storm's End in a couple of years.
The realm's future would not be secured only by dragons. It would be secured by people who had never imagined rebelling in the first place, and by dirty, ruthless moves in the dark. Damon wasn't sure how many lords would die in the coming years, but it would be a lot.
His thoughts shifted again.
Renly would not be alone.
His future children would one day need companions.
Trusted men. Future Lords Paramount, not parasites.
Men whose loyalty had been forged over years rather than bought with gold.
The Seven Kingdoms would slowly become something entirely different from the realm Aegon the Conqueror had created.
Less a collection of proud kingdoms held together by fear.
More a single realm. A single government. A single Crown; the changes would take decades, perhaps longer.
That was acceptable.
Trees planted today were often enjoyed by grandchildren rather than fathers.
Damon reached a narrow balcony overlooking Blackwater Bay.
The sea stretched endlessly before him.
Ships drifted lazily across calm waters while the first hints of dawn began touching the eastern horizon.
Some kings ruled for today.
Others ruled for tomorrow.
He intended to rule for centuries.
Looking out at the water, his mind couldn't help but drift back to that night before the small council meeting.
Lord Tywin Lannister entered the chamber.
The Lord of Casterly Rock wore simple crimson rather than armor, though simplicity meant something very different for House Lannister.
Every thread spoke of wealth.
Every movement spoke of discipline.
He bowed.
"My prince."
"Lord Tywin."
Damon gestured toward a nearby chair.
"Sit."
Tywin obeyed without hesitation.
Neither man spoke immediately.
Silence settled naturally between them.
Two players studying the board before the first move.
Finally Damon broke it.
"I've decided."
Tywin's expression remained unreadable.
"Regarding?"
"My Hand."
Only the faintest tightening around Tywin's eyes betrayed surprise.
"I see."
"I imagine you already suspected."
"I considered the possibility."
"You considered it inevitable."
For perhaps half a heartbeat... Tywin almost smiled.
"A possibility with favorable odds."
Damon allowed himself a chuckle.
"I appreciate honesty."
"I've always found it efficient."
"So have I."
Another silence followed.
Damon walked slowly toward the great window.
Without turning, he spoke.
"When I was younger..."
"Everyone underestimated me."
Tywin remained silent.
"They watched Rhaegar. They assumed the quiet prince had little worth noticing."
Damon looked over his shoulder.
"I allowed them to believe it."
Tywin met his gaze.
"I know."
The answer was immediate.
That earned a raised eyebrow.
"You know?"
"I've suspected for years."
Now Damon was interested.
Tywin continued calmly.
"The intelligent child who says nothing learns far more than the loud one demanding attention."
"I watched you watching others."
His voice remained level.
"Most dismissed you."
"I did not, but I admit for all my guesses of what you would become, it stopped at a competent hand to your brother; never in my wildest dreams did I imagine the two of us sitting here under these circumstances, hence why I march on Kingslanding."
Damon smiled faintly.
Tywin folded his hands.
"You remind me of someone."
"Oh?"
"Myself."
The admission surprised neither of them.
"Though," Tywin added evenly, "you've accomplished considerably more at your age than I had."
The compliment was measured.
Calculated.
Damon respected it precisely because it was restrained.
"You've governed the Westerlands successfully for decades."
"I've governed one kingdom."
Tywin answered.
"You now intend to govern seven."
Silence lingered.
Then Damon finally turned fully toward him.
"I want you as Hand."
The words were simple.
Direct.
Tywin did not immediately answer.
He already knew the office would likely be offered.
Hearing it spoken aloud carried different weight.
"The realm requires rebuilding."
Damon continued.
"I know administration."
"I understand economics."
"I've studied governance."
"But study differs from experience."
"I won't waste years learning lessons you've already mastered."
Tywin nodded slowly.
"A sensible conclusion."
"It is."
"I also know your ambitions."
For the first time...
Silence became noticeably heavier.
"You desire influence."
"You desire legacy."
"You desire House Lannister standing beside the throne."
Tywin neither confirmed nor denied it.
Damon continued anyway.
"I intend to give you influence."
"I intend to allow you to build a legacy."
"And if your service deserves it..."
"House Lannister will prosper."
He paused.
"But understand one thing."
Tywin's green eyes remained fixed upon him.
"The realm comes first."
"Always."
"If House Lannister's interests ever conflict with the interests of the Crown..."
"You already know which I expect you to choose."
Tywin answered quietly.
"The Crown."
"Do you mean it?"
Another pause.
Then...
"Yes."
The answer came without hesitation.
Not because Tywin had suddenly become selfless.
Because he understood something Damon had quietly ensured everyone around him understood.
The Crown now possessed dragons.
No lord could rival that.
Serving the Crown faithfully had become the surest path to preserving his own house.
Damon inclined his head.
"Good."
Tywin studied the young prince for several moments.
"I have one question."
"Ask."
"Why trust me?"
Damon smiled.
"I don't."
That answer might have offended another man.
Tywin merely listened.
"I trust your abilities."
"I trust your intelligence."
"I trust your desire to leave behind a stronger house than you got."
"I do not trust ambition."
"Because ambition belongs to every great lord."
Tywin slowly nodded.
"A fair distinction."
"I don't require unquestioning loyalty."
Damon continued.
"I require predictability."
"I know what motivates you."
"I know what you're likely to do."
"That makes you easier to work with than men who mistake impulse for wisdom."
Tywin allowed himself the faintest smile.
"Again..."
"You remind me of myself."
"Perhaps."
Damon answered.
"Though I intend to make fewer enemies."
Tywin almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead he rose.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Then bowed far deeper than protocol required.
"When you are crowned..."
"I shall accept the office."
Damon watched him carefully.
"No."
Tywin looked up.
"You accept it now."
Silence filled the chamber.
Not prince and lord.
Not future king and powerful bannerman.
For the first time...
King and Hand.
Tywin straightened.
"I accept."
The words were quiet.
Yet they carried the weight of kingdoms.
Outside the windows, the first rays of morning finally broke across Blackwater Bay.
The darkness retreated from the towers of the Red Keep.
A new day had begun.
And though neither man spoke it aloud...
Both understood the truth.
The reign of Aerys had ended with fire.
The reign of Damon would begin with order.
And together, dragon and lion had just taken the first step into a new era.
Well, sorry for no chapters, but this chapter was for some reason hard to write, and I still don't think I got it right.
In other news, it seems like option 2 has won for the choice of his wife, which I don't mind. Now all I need to do is figure out who he is going to bring back. Right now I'm leaning toward Rhaenys Targaryen, since option one lost. I already know how to deal with it.
But should he have Cersei as a mistress?
And currently I'm still thinking of a way for him to talk Rhaenys into agreeing to come to the future with him.