Game of thrones: A storm is coming

The streets of King's Landing were a cacophony of life, filled with the scent of roasting meats, the cries of merchants hawking their wares, and the laughter of children darting through narrow alleys.

Daeron walked among the smallfolk with a purposeful stride, Acnologia perched far off on the Red Keep's highest spire, keeping a watchful eye. He had his guards accompanying him on his walk.

Though his Valyrian features made him stand out, he had chosen simple clothing for the day—a practical tunic and breeches—eschewing the finery that would mark him as nobility. His goal was to observe and connect, not to intimidate.

As he strolled, Daeron's mind churned with ideas. The bustling city, though vibrant, was rife with hardship. The shantytowns and struggling traders reminded him of his own humble beginnings in Pentos and the many lessons he had learned about wealth and power.

"If I invest in a trading hub here," Daeron mused, gazing at an old, run-down warehouse near the Blackwater.

"It could connect Westeros to Essos even further. Ships, caravans, and even artisans... it would create work for the smallfolk and bring stability to this part of the city. A good reputation is crucial for better success rate. "

The thought of building something lasting, something meaningful, tugged at his heart. But as he watched a group of barefoot orphans begging for scraps outside a bakery, a pang of guilt tempered his ambitions.

"No grand plans mean anything if the people at the bottom are left to starve," he muttered.

Daeron approached the children, handing a few silver coins to the eldest.

"Go. Buy food for all of you. If the baker cheats you, tell him a dragon will be by for a visit." He winked, and the children giggled nervously before running off.

Later, he visited a small orphanage run by a kind-faced septa. The place was in dire need of repairs, and Daeron didn't hesitate to offer assistance.

"Take this," he said, placing a small pouch of gold coins in her hands. "Fix the roof, and buy some decent bedding for the children. I'll check back soon."

The septa thanked him profusely, but Daeron waved her off with a smile. "No need for gratitude. Just ensure these little ones grow up knowing kindness."

That evening, Daeron found himself in a lively tavern in Flea Bottom, the aroma of ale and roasted meat thick in the air. A bard strummed a harp in the corner, singing an embellished tale of Daeron's supposed heroics in Meereen—half of which was exaggerated nonsense.

The tune was catchy, though, and Daeron chuckled at the liberties the bard took. "Hero of Meereen, huh?" he murmured to himself. "They forgot to mention I mostly burned my way to victory there."

But as he watched the bard's fingers deftly pluck the lute strings, a pang of nostalgia hit him.

In his previous life, he had played the guitar to drown out loneliness and sadness. Music had been his escape, a way to pour out emotions he could never voice. Although he never had the chance to share it with others.

When the bard took a break, Daeron approached him. "Mind if I give it a try?"

The bard looked surprised but handed over the lute.

Some of the audience looked at him with interest, thinking what the young prince could want. Daeron plucked at the strings awkwardly at first before finding a melody.

He found that it was rather easier to play than the guitar. The old skill returned slowly, his fingers adapting to the unfamiliar instrument. The small crowd in the tavern fell silent, listening as Daeron played a soft, melancholic tune. 

As he finished playing the tune, Daeron looked up to everyone clapping and cheering while some ladies wiped their eyes. A young girl of about 5 ran up to Daeron and asked, " My Prince, can you sing a song too? A romantic one?"

Daeron chuckled and ruffled her head. " If I were to sing, most of you will probably go deaf from my bad singing." Which made everyone chuckle. 

But the kid still insisted, "Of course not, my prince! You are so good-looking; your voice must be great too!" 

Daeron laughed, amused by the kid. " What's your name, kid?"

She replied without missing a bit, " My name is Nettles, my prince."

Daeron gave a dramatic sigh as he spoke, " Okay little Nettles, I'll fulfill your wish just this once, but if I sing badly, you will have to be responsible for everyones's complaints." To which she excitedly smiled and nodded. 

Daeron plucked a few strings while thinking what kind of song would suit this era. 'Hmm , a medieval world, needs a medieval themed romance song. so probably should go with one of Jaskier's songs from the Witcher tv show; those were pretty good and I loved them.'

He smiled and gave a light cough before starting to sing softly

The fairer sex, they often call it

But her love's as unfair as a crook

It steals all my reason

Commits every treason

Of logic, with naught but a look

A storm raging on the horizon

Of longing and heartache and lust

She's always bad news

It's always lose, lose

So tell me love, tell me love

How is that just?

But the story is this

She'll destroy with her sweet kiss,

Her sweet kiss, oh

But the story is this

She'll destroy with her sweet kiss

Her current is pulling you closer

And charging the hot, humid night

The red sky at dawn is giving a warning,

you fool, Better stay out of sight

I'm weak my love, and I am wanting

If this is the path I must trudge

I welcome my sentence

Give to you my penance

You can be my jury and judge

But the story is this

She'll destroy with her sweet kiss

Her sweet kiss, oh

The story is this

She'll destroy it with her sweet kiss.....

Daeron softly ended the song as his fingers slowly came to a halt. When he finished, everyone was silent for a few moments, then a loud applause erupted, and Daeron handed the lute back with a small smile.

People were cheering loudly, and the bard was asking him where he heard this song. Daeron just replied casually that he made it, making the audience gasp.

The females present all looked at him with an intense gaze. A charming dragon rider prince, with skills in both blade and music, and a kind and gentle demeanor, he was simply the ideal candidate for a fairytale prince. Daeron felt like he was ripping off Rhaegar .

"Maybe I'll take this up again," he thought. "It's been too long since I made music just for myself. Not to mention it will give a good reputation like Rhaegar; people love a graceful sad prince."

He ruffled Nettle's head as he left the tavern, not knowing he had just caused another sensation among the people of Westeros.

Later that night, in his chambers within the Red Keep, Daeron sat by the window, practicing with the new lute he had purchased . The faint notes of his melody drifted into the corridor, soft and introspective.

He plucked the strings carefully, reacquainting himself with the rhythms and techniques of playing. The act brought him an unexpected sense of calm amidst the whirlwind of court intrigue.

A knock at the door pulled him from his reverie. Before he could respond, Rhaenys stepped in, her violet eyes gleaming with curiosity. "I didn't know you could play the lute," she remarked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Daeron set the instrument aside with a small shrug. "I just got it today. I'm learning as I go."

Rhaenys smirked, her gaze appraising. "You were already an attraction for noble ladies. If you learn to sing on top of that, you'll have half the maidens in Westeros swooning while the rest blame their husbands for not having your skills. As if your other charms weren't enough."

Daeron chuckled softly, brushing off the compliment. "I'll keep that in mind if I ever decide to take up courting as a full-time endeavor."

She crossed the room and perched on the edge of his desk, her expression turning more serious. "We'll be leaving soon. Have you thought about what you'll do next?"

Daeron nodded, his gaze drifting out the window. "I'll stay here a while longer; learn what I can from the court. Then, I plan to head to the Vale. There's much to see and learn there as well."

Rhaenys regarded him for a moment, a flicker of concern in her eyes. "Take care of yourself once we're gone, Daeron. This place is a snake pit. Never let your guard down."

"I promise I'll be careful," Daeron said, his tone reassuring. "When are you leaving?"

"Within a week," she replied. "There's much to prepare for before we go."

He nodded, the weight of her words settling in his chest. "Thank you, Sister. For everything."

She reached out, giving him a hug before rising. "You'll do fine, little brother. Just remember—power is nothing without wisdom."

With that, she left, the sound of her footsteps fading down the corridor. Daeron turned back to his harp, plucking at the strings once more.

The melody he played this time was softer, imbued with a quiet resolve. For all the dangers and uncertainties ahead, he knew he would face them head-on.