Merry Christmas guys
My lap is not booting for a while tried some methods still showing some problems hence had to post from my phone as for the next part I will post it on Sunday then I will post again after new year
You can read more chapters on p@tr3on
The link will be in authors thoughts
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Jaehaerys leaned forward slowly, the chair beneath him creaking in protest. His face hardened into something carved rather than aged, every line sharpened by memory and restraint.
"Why now, Daemon?" he asked. His voice was steady, but his eyes burned. "Why bring all of this together today?"
Daemon inhaled through his nose, long and measured, as though steadying something feral inside his chest.
"Because my instincts," he said, unflinching, "call them what you will, are screaming. This isn't politics anymore. The pieces fit too cleanly. Too perfectly." His jaw tightened. "And the pressure around our house is tightening."
Baelon spoke next, his voice roughened by strain he hadn't fully masked. He shifted his weight, one hand braced against the table as if grounding himself.
"Father… he's right. Too much aligns. Too conveniently." He shook his head once. "I didn't want to believe it either."
Across the table, Alysanne lifted a hand to her face, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her palm, as though angry at the tears for daring to come.
"We lost too many children," she said softly, "for patterns to be ignored."
Jaehaerys looked at all three of them in turn.
For a long, long moment, he did not speak.
The fire popped behind him. A draft stirred the tapestries. Somewhere beyond the walls, the Red Keep breathed.
Then:
"We act."
The single word cut clean.
All three straightened instinctively.
"We trust only within this room," Jaehaerys continued, voice firm, measured. "We prepare quietly. We do not alert the court. We draw our family close." His fingers curled slightly against the armrest. "And we watch every movement in Oldtown, every letter, every whisper, every man they place near us."
His gaze locked onto Baelon's.
"They will not take you from me."
Baelon bowed his head, the motion sharp and restrained. His throat worked, but he said nothing.
Jaehaerys turned then to Daemon.
"And you, Daemon…" His eyes narrowed, not in distrust, but in appraisal. "Your instincts have teeth. From this day, I expect you to sharpen them for this family, not only the city."
Daemon inclined his head once, precise and controlled. There was no reverence in the gesture, only acceptance.
"I will," he said. "Whatever comes."
Alysanne reached for Jaehaerys's hand, her fingers threading through his, anchoring him.
"Then we face this storm together."
Jaehaerys squeezed her hand, and when he spoke again his voice rang like iron struck against stone.
"We are Targaryens. They think they can hunt dragons." A pause. "But they forget what dragons become when threatened."
They stood there, four of the same blood, the same grief, the same danger, united in a way they had not been for years.
And for the first time, the thing circling them had a name.
And a target.
The Iron Throne
The room did not immediately fill with sound again.
It remained quiet, the kind of quiet where decisions had already been made, and argument no longer had a place.
Baelon exhaled slowly, his jaw still clenched as if he feared it might shatter if he loosened it too soon.
"If they're aiming for me," he said, measured but grim, "we need to assume they've already put pieces in motion."
"They have," Daemon replied without hesitation. "They're patient. That's what makes them dangerous." His fingers drummed once against the table, then stilled. "They don't strike fast. They set traps and let you walk into them."
"Then we stop walking into their traps," Jaehaerys said flatly. His fingers curled once against the arm of his chair. "Call for your spies. I know all of you have some they are ordered to increased their range of activity. Tell them to be ready to begin spreading rumors, ones subtle enough to travel the length of the Seven Kingdoms."
Alysanne touched his arm, her grip gentle but deliberate, a quiet signal meant only for him.
"Jaehaerys, we must also consider Viserys."
Baelon stiffened at once, his shoulders tightening as though the name alone carried weight.
"Viserys is being influenced," he said, the words heavy. "It's obvious. I didn't want to say it aloud before. He is my son. How could I disparage him?" His voice dropped, roughened by frustration. "I thought I would have time to teach him. But he listens too easily. He believes praise too quickly."
Daemon snorted softly, not cruel, but edged with bitter amusement. His gaze stayed fixed on the table.
"He doesn't even see the snare tightening around his neck."
Jaehaerys tapped the table once, sharp and decisive.
"He will remain under Barth's instruction. No feasts. No meetings with Reach envoys. No visits to Oldtown's friends."
"And Aemma?" Alysanne asked, her voice careful.
Daemon's head snapped up immediately, his expression darkening in a way that left no room for debate.
"Aemma stays guarded," he said. "By my healers. Not the maesters. They don't go near her again."
Jaehaerys lifted a brow slightly.
"You distrust them that strongly?"
"I trust only what bleeds for me," Daemon replied, his voice cold and unyielding. "Those Essosi healers owe me their lives. They answer to me, not to Oldtown."
Baelon rubbed the bridge of his nose, the tension etched deep into his posture.
"Viserys is already tense around Aemma's pregnancy. If he senses interference…"
"Then tell him the truth," Daemon cut in. "Tell him the child is Targaryen blood and needs protection. Tell him it's your order. Or Grandsire's."
Alysanne shook her head gently.
"Viserys will respond better if the guidance comes from those he looks up to."
Daemon's mouth curved into a brief, sharp smirk.
"Then not me."
For the briefest moment, Jaehaerys's lips twitched.
"No," he said. "Not you."
The tension cracked just enough to let them breathe.
Then Jaehaerys's expression hardened again, the momentary levity vanishing.
"Daemon. Give me every detail. Nothing omitted."
Daemon stepped forward, jaw tight. This time he spoke like a man who had rehearsed these thoughts alone, pacing them out in the dark long before he ever gave them voice.
"Their plan is layered," he said. "One part is broad and visible. The other is subtle, designed to create what they want without appearing to act at all."
Jaehaerys nodded slowly.
"Start with the subtle one."
"The subtle one targets Father," Daemon replied. "Patience. Positioning. They don't need a sword. Just the right moment. A hunting accident. A fall from a horse. A sudden fever. Anything that removes him without suspicion."
Baelon's fists balled at his sides.
"Not again," Alysanne whispered.
Daemon didn't stop.
"They've tried it before. At least twice. I'm sure of it. He recovered too fast for it to succeed, or I intervened before it reached him."
Baelon turned sharply, disbelief and anger colliding in his expression.
"When?"
"Three moons ago," Daemon said. "Your wine was tampered with. They tried to mix something into the barrel. I replaced the cask before it reached you."
Jaehaerys's gaze darkened, the room seeming to cool with it.
"Why was this not reported?"
"Because I had no solid evidence," Daemon said. "They would have dismissed it as paranoia. All I had was instinct."
His jaw clenched.
"The second time was at Harrenhal. The cook."
Alysanne paled.
"But she was dismissed…"
"By me," Daemon said. "She wasn't incompetent. She was scared. Someone paid her. She didn't know who." His fingers pressed flat against the table. "They always use layers. They always leave no trace."
Baelon's voice dropped to a whisper.
"They want me dead."
Daemon didn't soften.
"Yes. And they want it done in a way that leaves Viserys as the natural successor. Scared. Grateful. Confused. Surrounded by their guidance."
Baelon's breathing hitched. Daemon saw it and adjusted his tone, just slightly.
"Father… I don't say this to frighten you. I say it because it's true. And because the one thing they fear more than you is you living long enough to make your own decisions."
"And the broad one?" Jaehaerys asked.
"Destroy me," Daemon replied. "Ruin me. Make me the monster. The next Maegor. A prince to be feared. A prince to be put down." His eyes burned. "All while they move pieces in the background, keeping the light on me while they work in shadow. I would be the only dragonrider left in the family at that point, with Rhaenys the other. And let's be honest, she doesn't think much of Viserys. She would come to our aid, but I would be the main target. By then, she would not kneel to my brother while he bleats their nonsense."
Jaehaerys's brows lowered dangerously.
"They use rumors," Daemon went on. "Whispers. Every tavern has a story about me, and each one grows a little darker."
"I've heard some," Baelon said quietly.
"Of course you have," Daemon replied. "That's the point. They want Viserys to fear me. To see me as a threat."
"They want the brothers divided," Alysanne whispered.
"Exactly," Daemon said. "They want him convinced I'm waiting to usurp him, and that only they can protect him. Control him."
He placed both hands on the table, leaning forward.
"They push Viserys to crave an heir. To panic. To be desperate. Because a desperate man clings to the hands that reassure him."
Baelon's expression tightened.
"Viserys has been… obsessed with it lately."
"Not just dreams," Daemon said. "They speak to him every chance they get. If Aemma births a son, they mold him. If she births a daughter, they surround her and isolate Aemma until something happens."
Alysanne shook her head slowly, as if refusing a truth she could already feel pressing against her ribs.
"They would not dare."
Daemon stared at her.
Not angrily. Not triumphantly. Just steadily, the way one looks at a wound that refuses to close.
"They dared with your children."
The words landed without force. That was what made them devastating.
Silence slammed the room shut.
It was not disbelief that followed.
It was recognition.
Daemon turned his gaze to Jaehaerys then, fully now. No courtly half-angles. No softened edges.
"Grandsire… you are old," he said, not cruelly, but without mercy. "They believe the board is almost cleared. They believe Father dies next. Then Grandmother. Then you."
He stepped closer, boots whispering against the stone.
"That leaves Viserys. Soft. Frightened. Eager to please."
His mouth tightened.
"And after him… me. Easier to destroy once the realm is already poisoned against my name."
Jaehaerys inhaled slowly. Deep. Measured.
The sound was like stone grinding against stone.
"…You believe they plan to kill my son."
"I believe," Daemon replied evenly, "that they have already begun."
Alysanne's breath broke. It left her as something close to a sob before she mastered it.
"All of this…" she whispered. "To rule through him."
"Yes," Daemon said. "And they think Gael harmless. They think Aemma naive. They think your line weak enough to pluck apart piece by piece."
He lifted his eyes fully to the Old King at last.
"That is the truth, Grandsire. The Reach wants a throne with no dragons. Just dragon sigils. A crown with no fire."
Jaehaerys leaned forward.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Deadly.
"Then they will learn," he said, voice low and absolute, "what real fire is."
Alysanne reached for his hand. Her fingers trembled, but her grip did not.
"No more children lost," she said. "No more sons in graves. No more daughters poisoned by politics."
Baelon exhaled shakily, the sound rough in his chest.
"We protect ours," he said. "And then we hunt."
Daemon nodded once.
"Together. No more secrets."
Jaehaerys' voice fell into decree, cold and final.
"This house stands united. And the Reach will learn, too late, that they have awakened dragons."
No one contradicted him.
Because it was true.
The room remained tense long after Daemon fell silent.
This was not the quiet of uncertainty.
It was the quiet of men and women adjusting to the weight of decision.
At last, Jaehaerys spoke again.
"We have trusted our name to shield us for too long," he said. "That ends tonight. Baelon. Alysanne. Daemon. We plan."
Daemon stepped forward immediately, as though he had been holding himself in check for this exact moment.
"I'll start," he said. "The Reach believes they are ahead. They believe they are subtle. They are not. They rely on patterns they think we will not break."
Baelon crossed his arms.
"Tell us the counter."
"First," Daemon said, "I give them a villain."
Alysanne frowned faintly. "Daemon—"
"Not chaos," he cut in calmly. "Not stupidity. Calculated confrontation. Enough that they believe I am impulsive. Hostile. Too hungry for power."
His mouth curved, humorless.
"They will waste their breath pushing the story that I am unstable. Let them."
Jaehaerys tapped the table once.
"Why?"
"Because while they scream about the monster," Daemon said, "they will not notice the work being done in the dark."
He placed a list on the table, parchment whispering against stone.
"My own eyes and ears will muddy the waters. Quietly. The same men who hear whispers in taverns will hear others praising me. Stories of me breaking smuggling rings. Of gold cloaks pulled from rot. Of smallfolk spared, fed, protected."
Alysanne's gaze sharpened.
"You intend to rewrite the narrative."
"I intend to fracture it," Daemon replied. "Confusion favors us. Let half the realm fear me, and the other half call me a necessary evil. They will argue among themselves while we move."
Jaehaerys watched him closely.
"You are saying you will weaponize your reputation."
"Yes," Daemon said simply. "I will be the blade they stare at, while the knife finds their ribs."
He gestured to the list again.
"I'll transfer key watch posts. Replace Reach-born officers. Shift harbor patrols. Quietly. On parchment it will look like routine restructuring. In truth, every guard they bribe will already answer to me."
Baelon nodded slowly.
"You intend to flip the board."
"Piece by piece," Daemon said. "And that is only the first layer."
He leaned forward.
"We will feed them lies."
Alysanne blinked. "What kind of lies?"
"Controlled ones," Daemon replied. "Rumors of tension between Father and me. Whispers that Viserys resents both of us. Suggestions that House Targaryen is divided enough to exploit."
Jaehaerys' eyes narrowed.
"You want them to overextend."
"Yes. When they believe us fractured, they will rush. Their bribes will grow sloppy. Their agents will move too fast. Their whispers will grow louder."
His gaze was cold and intent.
"I will mark every one of them."
Baelon exhaled slowly.
"A trap."
"A large one."
Daemon paused, then added, precise as a knife sliding into place.
"And Otto Hightower will be our entry point."
Alysanne stiffened.
"Explain."
"The Reach needs someone inside the Red Keep to shape Viserys," Daemon said. "Someone young enough to rise. Hungry enough to gamble. Otto is a second son. Nothing to inherit. Everything to gain."
Baelon frowned deeply.
"You believe they will use him."
"They already are," Daemon replied. "He speaks too freely when frustrated. Pushes the Faith too eagerly. Admires Viserys too openly. He thinks himself invisible."
A thin smile.
"He is not."
Jaehaerys murmured, half to himself,
"We turn their future weapon into a conduit."
"Exactly."
Jaehaerys lifted the ledger then, the old leather creaking softly in his hands. It was not a dramatic motion. He had held this book a thousand times before. But now, the way his fingers rested on its spine carried finality.
"I will not wait for daggers in the dark," he said quietly. "I will remove the vines before they strangle the roots."
He opened the ledger and ran a finger down the page, eyes sharp, memory sharper.
"First," he said, without looking up, "every royal accountant with Reach ties is dismissed. Immediately."
Baelon nodded once, slow and grim. He already knew the names. He had approved half of them years ago.
"Second," Jaehaerys continued, "the harbor masters. Any man promoted within the last ten years under Reach influence will be replaced. We will install loyalists from Crackclaw Point and Driftmark."
Daemon let out a low breath, something like approval.
"Good," he said. "Crabs and Velaryons don't take Reach gold."
Jaehaerys did not smile. He turned the page.
"Third. The city septs. Any septon caught preaching sedition or obedience to Oldtown over the Crown will lose his post. I do not care how loudly the Faith cries."
Alysanne's mouth curved, not in humor, but satisfaction.
"It is time they remembered their place," she said softly.
"Fourth," Jaehaerys went on, "the royal household staff. Every cook, steward, laundress, and groom questioned discreetly. Those with Reach connections are reassigned far from the royal family. No exceptions."
Baelon's jaw tightened.
"Good," he said. "No more strangers pouring our wine."
Jaehaerys's finger tapped the page once.
"Fifth. Ravens. Every message leaving King's Landing is screened. Patterns. Codes. Delays where needed."
Daemon lifted a brow.
"You expect them to notice?"
"No," Jaehaerys replied. "But when letters begin vanishing, they will grow careless. And careless men make mistakes."
He closed the ledger halfway, then paused, eyes lingering on the final note.
"Lastly," he said, voice sharpening, "the Citadel's presence here is reduced. Drastically."
Alysanne inhaled, slow and controlled.
"You mean to sever Oldtown's fingers."
"Yes," Jaehaerys said. "They advise too many lords. They guide too many heirs. They have forgotten that they serve the realm. Not command it."
Daemon inclined his head.
"This will hurt them more than any tax decree ever could."
"Good," Jaehaerys said.
The ledger closed with a soft thud.
Alysanne folded her hands atop the table, posture composed, eyes bright with intent.
"You two deal with soldiers and law," she said. "I will deal with the court."
Daemon stepped back slightly, a faint, crooked smile touching his mouth.
"Grandmother's turn."
She ignored him.
"First," Alysanne said, "I will host a feast."
Baelon blinked.
"A feast?"
"A quiet one," she replied. "Carefully curated. No Reach lords invited. Only Riverlords, Vale lords, and Crownlands nobility. They will see who we choose to strengthen. That alone will shift loyalties."
Jaehaerys huffed, a rare sound.
"Alysanne," he said, "you subtle dragon."
She continued as if he had not spoken.
"Second. I will send personal letters to Lady Arryn, Lady Baratheon, Lady Stark, Lady Tarth, and Lady Celtigar."
Daemon frowned slightly.
"Why only the ladies?"
"Because the men listen to councils," Alysanne answered. "The women listen to households. They hear what their husbands miss. They will hear my concern not as a queen, but as a mother."
Baelon nodded slowly.
"Allies," he murmured, "without drawing blood."
"Third," Alysanne went on, "I will praise House Velaryon openly. In court. At every gathering."
Daemon's eyes sharpened.
"That will force Oldtown to react."
"Exactly," she said. "A shift in royal attention unsettles them."
She adjusted her sleeves, then continued.
"Fourth. Gael and Aemma will be moved into safer circles."
Baelon looked up sharply.
"Explain."
"Gael will spend more time under my household," Alysanne said. "And under Daemon's supervision when needed. The Reach expects her to be quiet. They forget she listens."
Daemon nodded once.
"Good."
Alysanne hesitated, just briefly, before continuing.
"Aemma is vulnerable," she said. "Too trusting. I will assign her older, loyal ladies-in-waiting. Women who cannot be bribed. Women whose husbands owe us life debts."
Baelon's voice softened.
"Thank you, Mother."
"She is my granddaughter," Alysanne replied. "Not a pawn."
Then she looked back to Jaehaerys.
"One more thing," she said. "Summon Lord Tully. Privately. No ravens."
Jaehaerys frowned.
"Tully?"
"When influence becomes war," Alysanne said, "whoever controls the Riverlands controls the roads. You want to choke the Reach's expansion? Start with their trade."
Daemon stared at her, openly impressed.
"That's not subtle at all," he said, exasperated and admiring in equal measure.
"Good," Alysanne replied.
Jaehaerys leaned back, letting the weight of it settle.
"Daemon sets the trap," he said. "Baelon cleans the guard. I cut the vines. Alysanne shifts the nobles."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"Four angles," he said. "One purpose."
"We don't strike at once," Daemon added. "We squeeze. Slowly. Quietly. Until they panic."
Alysanne inclined her head.
"Panicked men reveal themselves."
Baelon's hand tightened on the table.
"And when the truth is clear…"
Jaehaerys finished it calmly.
"We burn them."
No one argued.