The Great Hall of Casterly Rock
The maids and servants darted about the hall like anxious bees, filling goblets and laying steaming dishes before one lord after another. At the high table, Lady Joanna sat beside Prince Daeron, her hand looped through his arm in a possessive show of grace.
On his other side, Lady Genna Lannister dabbed delicately at her lips, her golden curls catching the torchlight.
"Genna, have you finished eating?" Joanna asked, her voice soft but edged with irritation.
"I could ask you the same, Joanna," Genna replied without looking up. "I'm hungry—and I'm certain Prince Daeron is too. Perhaps you should let him eat as well?"
Joanna huffed, withdrawing her hand. "Hmph." She snapped her fingers for a servant to bring more food.
Daeron gave a quiet, knowing chuckle as he looked between them. "That looks delicious," he said, as the plates were laid before him.
"Try this honey pie, my prince," Genna said sweetly, scooping a spoonful from the pie before him and offering it up. "It's one of my favorites."
"Oh, thank you, Lady Genna."
Joanna's jaw tightened.
"It's as sweet as you are, my lady," Daeron said with a polite smile.
Genna blushed faintly. "Hehe, I said so."
Before Daeron could reach for his goblet, Joanna tore a piece of roast chicken with her bare hand and held it near his lips. "Have some meat, my prince. The spices are from Dorne—and even Essos."
Daeron swallowed the honey pie and leaned forward to taste the offered morsel. "Mmm… truly one of a kind," he said, his tone softening. "It reminds me of home. My mother and aunt used to chase Aerys and me around the Red Keep when we tried to sneak bites before supper."
Joanna smiled at that, her voice turning gentle. "I'm glad you like it, my pri—Daeron."
She spoke his name just a touch louder, enough that Genna's smile froze. Their eyes met across the prince's shoulder—Joanna's calm and victorious, Genna's narrowed and sharp as a drawn blade.
"My Daeron, hmm? It seems you've forgotten a few lessons in manners, Joe," Genna said with a teasing lilt, though the sweetness in her tone didn't quite reach her eyes.
Joanna scoffed, crossing her arms. "Hmph. The prince allowed me to call him that. And if I recall correctly, the Maester praised my manners, not yours."
"Why, you—"
"Now, now, my ladies," Daeron interjected smoothly, raising a hand before their words could sharpen further. "There's no need to quarrel at the table. Lady Genna, you may call me Daeron too, if you wish. I consider anyone I share a meal with to be a friend."
Genna smiled, victorious but graceful. "Thank you, Daeron." She lingered on the name just enough to make Joanna's jaw tighten. Then, turning her attention toward the minstrels, she added with a soft, knowing tone, "The bards tonight are from the Reach and Dorne—true masters of their craft. You'll find their songs quite enchanting."
Daeron leaned back, sipping his water with an amused glint in his eyes. Between the music and the sparks dancing between the two ladies beside him, he couldn't help but think—The feast at Casterly Rock may yet prove more entertaining
"Excuse me, Lords and Ladies of the Westerlands!" Lord Tytos's booming voice cut through the music and chatter of the Great Hall. The crowd quieted, goblets lowering and heads turning toward the High Table.
"I wish to make an announcement," he continued, smiling nervously as he gestured toward a thin, awkward boy seated at a table just below them. The lad looked about fifteen, his face pinched and his hair lank. He rose hesitantly, giving a stiff bow.
Daeron leaned toward the two girls beside him. "Who's that? He looks like a weasel."
Genna's lip curled. "That's a Frey," she said with undisguised disgust. "I don't know what Father sees in them."
Tytos beamed as though announcing the grandest of unions. "This is Emmon Frey, second son of Lord Walder Frey of the Crossing! I have betrothed my only daughter, Genna Lannister, to this fine young man!"
The hall went dead silent for a heartbeat—then erupted in murmurs and scattered applause.
Daeron's goblet froze halfway to his lips. He blinked once. "Who?" he said aloud—clear enough for several nearby lords to hear.
Down the table, Ser Roger Reyne slammed his goblet down. Without a word, he pushed back his chair and strode out of the hall. Daeron heard a loud woman's Laugh from the corner of the hall.(A/N: Guess who this woman is?)
"What?" Tywin barked, his voice cutting through the hall like a whip. "Even an illiterate fool wouldn't come up with something so idiotic!"
The Great Hall fell deathly silent. Lord Tytos went pale as mare's milk, frozen in place as he started blabbering something. Even Lady Jeyne beside him seemed stunned—but unlike her husband, she had the sense to hold her tongue.
Daeron leaned back slightly, watching the scene unfold. At least one of them has a spine.
"Tywin, that's enough," Lady Jeyne interjected quickly, seeing the fury in her son's eyes as he looked ready to strike his own father. "We'll discuss this later."
Genna said nothing. She sat beside the Prince, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, eyes wide and unblinking as if the world had collapsed around her.
Daeron, still trying to piece together the storm of emotions before him, decided it was best to remain silent.
"Genna, let's go to your room," Joanna whispered, standing and taking her cousin gently by the arm. The two girls left the hall together, leaving Daeron alone amidst the lingering tension.
He turned toward Kevan Lannister, who was sitting beside the now absent Genna, he sat stiff and uneasy.
"I'm sorry, my Prince," Kevan said awkwardly, trying to salvage some dignity for his house. "I hope this… scene doesn't sour your evening."
"Oh, I assure you, Lord Kevan," Daeron replied with a faint smile, "your cousin and sister have already filled my stomach beyond its capacity. I'm quite… satisfied."
He rose from his seat. "It seems everyone here has matters to attend to. I'll take my leave — a long rest is overdue."
Kevan inclined his head respectfully. "Good night, my Prince."
"You too, Lord Kevan," Daeron said, before turning and walking out, the chaos fading behind him.
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"Ser, what was that all about?" Daeron asked as they stepped out of the hall, his voice still laced with confusion. "Is the betrothal such a bad thing?"
Gerold let out a long sigh. "We need to ramp up your studies, my Prince. Do you at least know of the Freys?"
Daeron frowned. "Well I know someone called Freys exist, But do I look like I know about the Freys?"
Gerold pinched the bridge of his nose. "House Frey of the Crossing is a noble house of the Riverlands. Their seat is the Twins—two castles on either side of the Green Fork of the Trident, joined by a bridge. That bridge is the only safe passage over the river between the North and South, and they charge tolls from everyone who crosses. That's how they've grown wealthy."
Daeron blinked. "Wait—so their biggest source of income is… a bridge?"
"Don't underestimate them, my Prince," Gerold replied patiently. "That bridge makes them indispensable. Anyone who wants to move armies, trade goods, or even visit family across the river must pass through their lands."
"I see."
"They also command one of the largest armies in the Riverlands—third only to the Blackwoods and the Brackens. And with this marriage alliance, they might even rise to first. I'm sure you saw Lord Frey tonight."
Daeron tilted his head. "Who?"
Gerold exhaled sharply. "The man who looked like a great weasel stuffed into human skin."
Recognition dawned on Daeron's face. "Ah, him! Right—what was his name again? Wald? Wild? Wilder?"
"Walder Frey," Gerold corrected.
"Right, Walder. What about him?"
"He's the best lord that wretched house has ever had," Gerold admitted. "Under him, they've grown richer and stronger than ever… and more hated than any family in Westeros."
Daeron rubbed his eyes. "So you're saying marrying into that house is like… tying yourself to a weasel?"
Gerold gave a small nod. "Compared to the Lion of Casterly Rock, my Prince, yes. It's a great insult for the Lannisters—and Lady Genna knows it."
"Oh." Daeron yawned, exhaustion catching up to him. "Well… I'll think about it tomorrow. I need sleep."
Gerold bowed slightly. "We leave the Rock at dawn, my Prince."
Daeron nodded, his steps slow as they reached his chamber. "I wanted to sleep more."
Gerold smiled faintly as he escorted the young prince inside. "Well, we'll have time for that once we reach Castamere, for now Sleep well and get up early tomorrow."
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The Next Day
Daeron ran his hand through Nike's sleek black mane, the morning light glinting off her coat. "We've got a lot of training to do, little girl," he murmured.
The mare only flicked her ear in response, too busy nibbling at a basket of hay. With the stableman's help, Daeron tightened the saddle straps and gave a small nod of thanks. "Appreciate it."
"So, leaving without a word?" came a familiar voice from behind.
He turned to see Joanna standing there, arms crossed and a mischievous pout on her lips. "I'm offended, Daeron. Are you trying to break my heart?"
"Oh, Joanna," Daeron grinned, "I didn't expect you to wake up this early. I told a maid to leave you a message when you did. I suppose she went ahead and woke you up herself."
Joanna chuckled softly. "No, silly. I wake up early anyway." She stepped closer and slipped her hand into his left. "Will I see you again?"
Daeron looked toward the great gates of the Rock, where the royal party was already assembling. "Well… I don't know," he admitted. "I'll try to visit sometime."
"My little prince, are you trying to get rid of me?" Joanna teased, pouting again.
"No, nothing of the sort," Daeron said quickly. "Why would I ever want to get rid of a friend?" He paused, thinking. "You know, I heard Lord Tytos hosts feasts for his family's name days. I'll visit then. How does that sound?"
Joanna smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in it. "I'd prefer you visit every month—but fine, feasts will do."
"Good," Daeron said with a playful smirk.
They walked together until they reached the gates. The guards and servants bowed as the young prince approached with his horse and their Lady.
"I'll see you later then," he said, placing a foot in the stirrup.
"Yeah," Joanna whispered, stepping closer. She reached up and kissed him gently on both cheeks, her lips soft and warm. "Don't forget about me, Daeron."
His face flushed crimson. "I won't." He smiled at her—open, boyish, and genuine—and Joanna's heart fluttered. How she wished he could smile at her like that forever.
Mounting Nike, he turned toward the open road and raised a hand. "Goodbye, Joanna. I'll see you again."
"Goodbye, my Prince," she called, waving until the royal party disappeared beyond the horizon.
Only when the dust of their departure settled did she let her smile fade.
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Next Chapter: First Time Skip
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