Game of thrones: A storm is coming

A week passed in a blur, marked by farewells and preparations. The Red Keep bustled with activity as the Velaryons prepared to return to Driftmark. On the day of their departure, Daeron joined his Velaryon kin at the docks. Laenor and Laena, both dressed in fine sea-green silks, stood beside their parents. As the ship's crew loaded the last of their belongings, Laena approached Daeron with a warm smile.

"You should come with us, Daeron," she said, her silver hair glinting in the sun. "Driftmark is much more fun than here. We can go on adventures every day!"

Laenor chimed in, his tone half-teasing. "We could use your help fending off the boredom. Besides, Driftmark is your home too, Uncle."

Daeron smiled and ruffled their hair, much to their protest. "I can't leave just yet. My work here isn't finished. But I promise to visit within the year. There's much I still need to see and learn in Westeros before I return."

Laena sighed but nodded. "We'll hold you to that promise."

Rhaenys approached him, gently embracing him. "Your home is in Driftmark, brother. We will welcome you no matter what. Never forget that." Daeron smiled and nodded, 

Corlys slapped his shoulder with a grin. " Don't cause too much trouble here, Daeron. And do come back soon. I have some things to discuss that might interest you." 

Daeron shook his hand with a smile. " I'll return as soon as I can."

As the Velaryons boarded their ship, Daeron stood on the dock, watching until the vessel disappeared into the horizon. A pang of longing tugged at his chest, but he quickly buried it. There was much to be done, and sentimentality isn't a good thing to cling to.

Daeron asked Viserys for permission to build a trade hub near Blackwater Bay. Otto, as usual, vehemently opposed the project and made it difficult for Daeron. But Viserys denied his arguments and allowed the project to proceed.

Otto Hightower, ever wary of Daeron's growing influence, vehemently opposed the project during a council meeting.

"It is dangerous to allow a foreigner to establish a trade hub in the capital," Otto argued, his voice sharp. "This will grant him undue influence over the city's economy. It is a risk we cannot afford."

King Viserys, seated on the Iron Throne, waved off Otto's concerns with a weary sigh. "Daeron is not a foreigner. He is of Targaryen blood, a prince of my house, regardless of his birth. His plans will bring prosperity to King's Landing. Let him proceed."

Otto's jaw tightened, but he said no more. Despite his objections, Daeron's project moved forward. The bustling streets near Blackwater Bay soon transformed into a thriving hub of commerce, with merchants, artisans, and traders flocking to the area.

Otto's frustrations grew as Daeron's popularity in King's Landing soared. The smallfolk admired the young prince for his charm, his music, and his tangible efforts to improve their lives. Seeking to undermine him, Otto began spreading rumors of Daeron's supposed ambitions to usurp the throne. However, Daeron's spy network, already entrenched in Westeros, quickly uncovered Otto's schemes.

In response, Daeron unleashed his own wave of rumors, painting Otto as a power-hungry second son with designs on the throne, that he cared not for what happenedc to the common folk as long he gained power. The whispers gained traction, frustrating Otto's efforts and turning the court's gaze onto him.

One evening, Otto stormed into Daeron's chambers, his face a mask of barely restrained fury. Daeron, lounging in a chair with a goblet of wine in hand, greeted him with a sly smile.

"If it isn't my number one fan Otto," Daeron said, his tone light. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You've gone too far bastard," Otto hissed. "Spreading lies about me—"

"Lies?" Daeron interrupted with a mocking laugh. "If they were lies, you wouldn't be so bothered, would you?"

Otto took a step forward, his hands clenched into fists. "Do not think you can provoke me into action. You are nothing more than a bastard playing at being a prince."

Daeron's smile widened, but his eyes grew cold. "And you are a second son playing at being a kingmaker. Tell me, Otto, how does it feel to be outplayed at your own game?"

Otto's face darkened, but he said nothing further. With a curt turn, he left the room, his fury evident in every step.

A couple months later, the trade hub was operational and departed with the first batch of goods to Pentos. Daeron met with Viserys in the Great Hall to formally announce his next move.

"I plan to travel Westeros, your grace" Daeron said, bowing slightly. "There is much I wish to see and learn from the realm. I hope to return with knowledge and wisdom to better serve our house."

Viserys, pleased with Daeron's progress in Kings Landing, granted his request. "Well, I knew you can't stay anywhere for too long. Go, Daeron. See the realm and its people. And when you return, I hope you'll bring tales of your journey. If I was younger, I might have joined you myself." He sighed.

The next morning, Daeron prepared to leave King's Landing. As he mounted his horse, a large crowd of smallfolk gathered to see him off. Their cheers and well-wishes filled the air, much to Otto's chagrin.

"His popularity is dangerous," Otto murmured to Viserys. "The people's love for him could make him a threat to your heir."

Viserys ignored him, watching Daeron with a mixture of pride and curiosity.

Among the crowd, Rhaenyra approached Daeron, offering a small smile. "Return soon, Daeron. The city is dull without you."

Alicent followed, pressing a delicate handkerchief into his hand. "For luck," she said softly, her cheeks tinged with pink. Otto's scowl deepened as he watched the exchange.

Daeron, ever gracious, nodded to them both. With a final wave to the crowd, he set off, the road stretching before him full of promise and peril.

The cheers of King's Landing faded behind him, but the journey ahead was just beginning.

As the golden hues of the setting sun painted the sky, Daeron soared high above the Riverlands on Acnologia, the wind whipping past him as the dragon's powerful wings carried them northward. The verdant fields and winding rivers stretched endlessly below, but his thoughts were focused ahead.

Spotting a secluded hill by the banks of a slow-moving river, Daeron urged Acnologia into a graceful descent. Standing atop the hill was a familiar figure clad in dark leathers—Nessa , his beautiful spymaster. Her hood was pulled back, revealing her distinctive Lyseni features and the sly smirk she always seemed to wear.

As Acnologia landed with a gentle rumble, Daeron leaned over, extending a hand. "Need a lift, my lady?"

Nessa laughed, her melodic voice carrying over the sound of rustling leaves. "Only if you promise not to drop me, my prince."

With a deft motion, she climbed onto Acnologia's back, wrapping her arms around Daeron's waist as the dragon launched back into the skies. Her laughter bubbled up again, light and carefree, as they soared higher.

Once they were steady, Nessa leaned closer, her lips near his ear. "You've been busy charming the people in Kings Landing, I hear. But I've got news from Essos you might find interesting."

Daeron tilted his head slightly. "Do tell."

"Your little empire is thriving," Nessa began. "Daena has done an excellent job managing Pentos in your absence. Trade is flourishing, and the city's defenses have never been stronger with Orlen and Zhao Yun."

Daeron allowed himself a small smile. "I knew she would be capable. That's why I left her in charge."

Nessa giggled, her tone turning teasing. "Capable? More like beloved. You're quite generous, my prince—gifting an entire city to your future wife before even courting her."

Daeron rolled his eyes, adopting a smug expression. He jabbed her lightly in the ribs with his elbow. "What's this, Nessa? Feeling jealous?"

Nessa's laughter turned wicked as she grabbed his collar, pulling him close until their faces were mere inches apart. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Jealous? Why would I be?" she purred. "I'm the one flying across Westeros with you while poor Daena is stuck in Pentos playing queen."

Daeron chuckled, amused by her boldness. "Fair point."

Nessa smirked, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Perhaps we should make the most of it. No one to disturb us up here. Just you, me, and the clouds."

Daeron pinched her waist, earning a surprised yelp. "Only you would think about doing something like that while flying on a dragon."

She shrugged, entirely unapologetic. "You love that about me."

He smiled, shaking his head, before reaching up to stroke her cheek with surprising tenderness. "What I love, Nessa, is your loyalty and everything you've done for me. I treasure you, more than you know."

Her teasing demeanor faltered for a moment, replaced by a rare vulnerability. "Daeron…"

"If it's truly what you want," he continued, his voice low, "I wouldn't mind having a child or two with you someday."

Nessa's confident smirk vanished entirely, replaced by wide eyes and a flush spreading across her cheeks. For once, she seemed at a loss for words.

Daeron chuckled at her reaction, patting her hand. "Speechless? That's a first."

Recovering quickly, she smirked again, though her blush remained. "Careful, my prince. You might just tempt me to take you up on that offer."

As they neared the Vale, Daeron guided Acnologia to a descent near a dense forest outside the main roads. Nessa dismounted gracefully, her sharp eyes already scanning the terrain.

"I need you to do something for me," Daeron said, his tone serious. "See what you can find about my mother. Any rumors, whispers—whatever you can uncover. I want to know everything."

Nessa nodded, her playful demeanor giving way to professionalism. "Consider it done. I'll send word once I have something."

Daeron offered her a hand briefly, which she squeezed lightly before stepping back. With a final glance, he urged Acnologia into the skies, the dragon's mighty wings carrying him higher.

As the mountains of the Vale came into view, Daeron's destination became clear: Runestone, the seat of House Royce. Below him, the rugged beauty of the Vale stretched out, its peaks piercing the clouds.

The journey was far from over, but Daeron felt the stirrings of anticipation. Each step forward brought him closer to his goals, and with allies like Nessa by his side, he was more determined than ever.