Chapter 25 — Making Money the Right Way
The afternoon sun bled gold across the Red Keep's courtyard. The Sea Snake, Lord Corlys Velaryon, stood with his arms crossed, sea-salted hair glinting, his eyes as sharp as a blade honed by storms. Across from him stood Prince Daemon, calm, confident, the faintest smirk curving his lips.
Corlys broke the silence first.
> "I'll not lend you coin, boy. You've a reputation in Flea Bottom — the sort who pays when he wins and vanishes when he loses. My wealth was carved from the sea, from storms and blood. I won't see it tossed into your pit."
Daemon smiled lazily, the kind of smile that promised mischief and ruin alike.
> "And yet, Lord Corlys, when the son of the Iron Throne's heir borrows from you, every lord and merchant in Westeros will speak your name in awe. They'll say the Sea Snake's coffers are so deep even princes come to him for aid. You'd let that glory pass you by?"
Corlys hesitated — pride and caution warring within. Daemon pressed, his tone silk over steel.
> "Never mind, then. I'll take my business to the Iron Bank of Braavos. Their interest is high, but I suppose Braavosi coin will glimmer brighter in my coffers than yours."
That did it. Corlys's jaw clenched.
> "I'll lend you what you need — at the same rate as the Iron Bank."
Daemon's smirk widened.
> "Done. You are as generous as you are wise, Lord Corlys."
They shook hands, the Sea Snake muttering under his breath about reckless princes and dangerous debts.
---
Later that day, word reached the royal family that Daemon had begun construction of a castle on his newly granted lands along the Blackwater Rush.
Inside the King's solar, the old King Jaehaerys, Queen Alysanne, Prince Baelon, and young Viserys sat in uneasy counsel.
> "A castle already?" Alysanne asked, brow furrowed. "You've only just been named a lord. You live beside the Red Keep itself. What need have you for another fortress?"
Daemon replied evenly,
> "The Red Keep will pass to my father — and after him, my brother Viserys. Gael and I wish for a home of our own. A seat worthy of our blood."
He spread a parchment across the table.
> "Two keeps. One on either bank of the Blackwater. The southern keep shall be blood-red, shaped like a dragon coiled in flame. The northern, pale as frost — an ice dragon gazing across the water."
Viserys's eyes lit with boyish wonder.
> "Like Valyria of old! You've seen Father's models — towers shaped like beasts, bridges that breathed smoke!"
Baelon, ever the pragmatist, snorted.
> "Valyrian craft is long lost, Daemon. You'll end up with two piles of expensive rubble."
Daemon shrugged, grinning.
> "Perhaps. But even without Valyrian sorcery, men built Harrenhal, Storm's End, the Eyrie, Highgarden. Beauty and strength need not be born of magic."
He traced a finger over the map.
> "This fortress will guard the mouth of the Blackwater Rush and the King's Road. It will shield the city from raiders and serve as a resting place when His Majesty hunts in the Kingswood. In war, it will choke the river and deny the Stormlands passage north. A fortress of flame — and ice."
Jaehaerys leaned back, studying his grandson.
> "You've thought this through. But gold does not flow like water. The Sept of Baelor's construction bleeds the treasury dry."
Daemon smiled.
> "I've secured funds. Lord Corlys lent me one hundred thousand gold dragons."
Alysanne's expression softened.
> "Ah, reconciliation at last. House Velaryon and House Targaryen should never stand divided."
Baelon frowned.
> "That's a vast loan. What if you cannot repay it?"
Daemon's smile did not waver.
> "Then I'll simply make more gold."
---
That night, cloaked in black, Daemon descended into the gutters of King's Landing with several trusted Gold Cloaks — Qidan Massey, Andy Harver, and Richard Storm.
Flea Bottom stank of sweat, ale, and despair. In the torchlight, they entered a gambling den thick with smoke and shouts.
Men cheered as two women clawed at each other in a pit, blood streaking their torn dresses.
In another, a boy of thirteen fought a snarling dog barehanded. The crowd screamed as the beast lunged — the boy strangled it with trembling hands, his face spattered red.
Daemon's expression turned cold. He moved forward, flanked by his men, and tore back his hood. The room froze.
The owner, Jerry, a squat man with a bald head and greasy smile, nearly choked on his drink.
> "P-Prince Daemon! I hadn't expected you—"
> "You've been accused," Daemon interrupted, voice calm as a blade's edge, "of forcing women and children to fight for sport. Of selling souls like cattle. In the Crown's eyes, that's treason — and a noose."
Jerry fell to his knees, babbling.
> "Mercy, my prince! They're volunteers, every one!"
Daemon's gaze was like dragonfire.
> "Volunteers don't scream for help, Jerry. You'll tell the truth — or you'll hang. But perhaps I'll be merciful and send you to the Wall instead. Either way, your gold is forfeit."
That night, the Gold Cloaks swept through Flea Bottom. More than twenty gambling dens were raided; owners dragged out in chains.
By dawn, each establishment had new management — Daemon's men.
Within a fortnight, Flea Bottom's coin flowed into Daemon's coffers. The gutters ran cleaner, but the gold ran hotter.
Daemon Targaryen had become the unspoken King of the Underworld, cloaked not in shadow, but in royal sanction.
---
At the Mud Gate, wagons brimmed with coin — silver stags, copper pennies, gold dragons — all bound for Daemon's lands on the Blackwater.
Captain Qidan Massey saluted as Daemon approached.
> "We seized three smugglers' ships, my prince. Saffron, cinnamon, anise, and dried fish — even barrels of peanuts and sunflower seeds."
Daemon smiled faintly, eyes glittering in the lamplight.
> "Even the smallest trade can feed an empire, Captain."
He gazed toward the dark river. The faint gleam of torchlight from the half-built settlement flickered on the horizon.
> "Soon, my lands will thrive. Let the Sea Snake have his seas — I'll build my own kingdom on blood and coin."
And as the tide rolled in, Daemon Targaryen — gambler, prince, reformer, and lord of Flea Bottom — watched the gold of the city pour toward his dream.
> "Power," he murmured, "isn't taken by sword alone. Sometimes, it's bought — one coin at a time."
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