Game of thrones: A storm is coming

** * I was honestly surprised to see so many of you actually reading this story. I guess last chapter received the highest number of comments after my little rant xD.

No worries, as I said, I don't plan to stop writing as long as there's an audience to read and love the story. This chapter was written earlier, so decided might as well post it today.

Next chapters will arrive next week, and you can look forward to it, they will be definite bangers! I've gone all out to explore the possibilities and different style of schemes, and something you didn't see coming! Now enjoy ! ***

The waves lapped gently against the hull of the Sea Snake as the fleet approached the shores of King's Landing. Acnologia, Meleys and Seasmoke flew above them.

The banners of House Velaryon flapped in the wind, their silver seahorse sigil gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. Daeron stood at the prow, the salty sea air filling his lungs as he gazed upon the Red Keep, its towers rising imposingly above the city.

Beside him, Lord Corlys Velaryon stood with his usual air of authority, his hands resting behind his back. Princess Rhaenys Velaryon was nearby, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon. 

Laenor Velaryon, now thirteen, leaned over the railing, eyes gleaming with anticipation. His younger sister three years younger , Laena, , tugged at Daeron's sleeve with a mischievous grin.

"Are you richer than my father, Daeron?" she asked suddenly, tilting her head curiously.

Daeron chuckled. "Your father has far more wealth than I do, Laena. But unlike me, he spends a lot of it."

Corlys let out a booming laugh. "He's not wrong, girl. Gold means nothing if it doesn't move. A lord who hoards is a fool."

Laena pouted. "So you're saying you might be richer one day?"

Daeron smirked. "Perhaps. But if I am, I'll make sure your father never knows it."

The docks of King's Landing bustled with activity as the fleet pulled in. Gold cloaks lined the harbor, maintaining order as the smallfolk gathered to watch the arrival of the famed Sea Snake. Daeron dismounted first, waiting as Corlys, Rhaenys, Laenor, and Laena followed.

The city smelled as it always did—a mix of salt, sweat, and the unmistakable scent of unwashed bodies—but there was an underlying energy in the air.

The moment they reached the Red Keep, they were led into the Great Hall, where King Viserys I Targaryen awaited them. The king sat upon the Iron Throne, his face beaming with joy. At his side stood Queen Aemma, pale but smiling gently.

"You've returned just in time, my boy!" Viserys greeted warmly as Daeron approached. "And you've brought our Velaryon kin. Come it's a joyous occasion when family should be together ."

Daeron stepped forward, glancing at Queen Aemma who looked rather tired. " It's our pleasure to accompany you in this joyous moment, cousin. " Rhaenys replied gracefully. 

Daeron remarked with a nod. "May your future children bring more glory to House Targaryen."

Rhaenys stepped forward next, her gaze lingering on Aemma. "How are you feeling, your grace?"

"Tired, but well," Aemma replied."

Corlys bowed curtly. "King Viserys, Queen Aemma, House Velaryon celebrates this blessed occasion. The blood of Old Valyria grows stronger with each new child."

Viserys laughed heartily. "Indeed, my friend! And to commemorate the birth of my child, a grand tourney will be held in a week's time. I expect you all to attend—and participate!"

Daeron exchanged a knowing glance with Corlys. The tourney would be a spectacle, but beneath the surface, politics would swirl like a storm.

After leaving the throne room, Daeron turned to Laenor and Laena. "How about a tour of the city? King's Landing has changed a bit since you last visited."

Laenor perked up immediately. "Can we see your trade hub? Father always talks about how you've built something great in Essos."

Daeron smirked. "Of course. Let's go."

They rode through the bustling streets, with Daeron leading them toward the harbor district. His trade hub stood as a testament to his growing power—rows of warehouses, markets filled with exotic goods from Essos, and a steady stream of ships docking and departing. The buildings were cleaner, the guards well-disciplined, and the merchants wealthier than most in Westeros.

Laena's eyes sparkled as she took in the finery. "This place is amazing!" She turned to Daeron. "Are you sure you're not richer than my father?"

Daeron chuckled. "Let's just say I'm efficient with my coin."

Corlys studied the area with a critical eye but gave an approving nod. "You've done well. Trade thrives where order exists."

Laenor, however, seemed distracted. He looked around with admiration, but something about his posture was different—more reserved. When they left the trade district, he turned to Daeron.

"Would you spar with me?" Laenor asked suddenly.

Daeron raised an eyebrow. "Of course. Let's head to the training yard."

At the Red Keep's training grounds, Daeron donned his practice leathers and took up a wooden sword. Laenor did the same, gripping his blade tightly.

As they circled each other, Daeron quickly noticed something—Laenor had grown hesitant. He moved well, but his attacks lacked confidence.

"You hesitate too much ," Daeron said as he blocked a strike.

Laenor clenched his jaw but didn't respond. He lunged again, and Daeron countered easily, twisting the boy's blade aside before tapping his shoulder with the flat of his sword.

Laenor huffed in frustration. "I—I'm trying!"

Daeron lowered his weapon slightly. "You were more fearless as a child. What's changed? I guess you pulled me here not just for a spar dear nephew"

Laenor looked away, frustration flickering in his gaze. Before he could answer, a voice interrupted them.

"You're back to besting poor Laenor, I see. And you didn't even come to see me after returning."

Daeron turned to see Rhaenyra  approaching, a playful smirk on her lips. She had grown a lot in the past year, her presence commanding, yet still carrying the warmth of their friendly bond.

"Laenor challenged me," Daeron replied smoothly. "I merely accepted."

Rhaenyra glanced at Laenor and raised an eyebrow. "And yet, you seem distracted, cousin."

Laenor sighed. "I just—Father expects me to be a warrior. But I don't know if I want to be."

Daeron studied the boy. He was at an age where expectations pressed heavily upon him. Unlike Daeron, who had carved his own path, Laenor was bound to Driftmark's legacy.

"You don't have to be a warrior," Daeron said finally. "You just have to be you. We will love and care for you no matter what."

Laenor looked at him, searching for judgment, but found none. After a moment, he nodded.

Rhaenyra smiled approvingly. "Well said."

As the sparring session ended, Rhaenyra turned to Daeron. "My father is hosting a grand feast the night before the tourney. He expects all of us to attend."

Daeron nodded. "Then I'll make sure to be there."

A feast before the tourney—a perfect opportunity for alliances, for deals to be struck in whispered conversations, and for tensions to build before steel clashed in the arena.

The clash of steel and the shouts of the crowd still echoed in Daeron's ears as he trudged across the training yard, sweat clinging to his skin after a long spar against Laenor . Just as he was about to grab a waterskin, a small but strong hand latched onto his wrist, yanking him forward.

"Rhaenyra! Let me catch my breath at least!" Daeron protested, nearly stumbling as the princess dragged him away with surprising force.

Rhaenyra barely glanced back, a mischievous glint in her violet eyes. "No time. I need a favor."

He sighed but allowed himself to be led toward the shade of an old tree in the Red Keep's garden. "Is it urgent enough to warrant abduction?"

She came to a stop and turned to face him, her expression unusually serious. "Yes."

Daeron crossed his arms, amused but intrigued. "Hopefully, it's nothing outrageous—like whisking the princess away from the capital on dragonback and soaring into the sunset."

To his utter delight, Rhaenyra's cheeks flared pink. She huffed, swatting his arm. "It's nothing like that!"

"Shame," he quipped. "It would have made for a dramatic exit."

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes but quickly composed herself. "I need you to perform a song for my mother , in the feast few days later."

Daeron blinked. Of all the requests he could have expected, this was certainly not on the list.

He let out a short laugh. "A song? You must have me confused with a bard, princess."

"You can't fool me, Daeron," she said smugly, arms crossed. "I've heard your songs in almost every tavern in the city . When were you planning to reveal this hidden talent of yours to me?"

He groaned, rubbing his temples. "That doesn't mean I'm fit to perform in front of half the court. If I sing badly, the guests might decide to pelt me with bread and bones."

Rhaenyra straightened, puffing up her chest as if she were already sitting the Iron Throne. "If anyone dares say a word against you, I'll have them thrown in the Black Cells."

Daeron laughed outright at that. "A cruel and just princess indeed. But tell me the truth—why am I really doing this? Does your mother even know about this request?"

Rhaenyra looked away, just a little too quickly. "Of course she does!"

"Rhaenyra…"

"Fine! Maybe she doesn't," she admitted, shifting her weight. "But I wanted you to do this for her. She's… not feeling well, and I thought it might bring her some joy."

At that, Daeron hesitated. Queen Aemma had always carried herself with grace, but it was no secret that she had been unwell for some time. And given how weak she had looked recently… this might be her last grand feast.

With a sigh, he relented. "Alright. I'll do it."

Rhaenyra's face lit up like a festival bonfire. "I knew you wouldn't let me down!"

As she turned to leave, Daeron called after her, "Where's your friend Alicent?"

Rhaenyra barely glanced over her shoulder. "Probably doing something her father asked her to. You know how he is." There was a slight edge to her tone, but before he could comment, she disappeared into the halls.

The great hall of the Red Keep was alive with warmth and laughter, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and fresh bread. Servants weaved between nobles, refilling goblets and setting down steaming platters, while a group of minstrels played a lively tune in the corner.

Daeron entered alongside the Velaryons, his dark blue and silver attire fitting the occasion, though he would have preferred something less attention-grabbing. His Valyrian features stood out among the sea of Westerosi lords, making it impossible to blend in.

Before he could be dragged to his seat, he spotted familiar faces among the crowd.

Jeyne Arryn, his friend from Vale approached him a with a teasing smile. " Well hello there stranger . You really are quite heartless, leaving us two beauties and never even writing again. I would have thought you forgot the way there."

Daeron laughed , " Nice to see you again Jeyne. I've been very busy, building a trade hub and visiting here and there. I was in the north for nearly a year to visit my uncle and his family."

Jeyne smiled. " I've heard.Didn't know you were half northerner." She then whispered to him, " Even though you you never wrote to me, you had enough time to write to Sister Rhea."

Daeron laughed awkwardly and replied, " Well, why write 2 letters since both of you literally spend every day together. I do plan to go to Vale before leaving Westeros." Daeron was saved at this moment by a booming cheerful voice.

"Daeron!" Jason Lannister's golden mane and confident smirk were impossible to miss. He strode over, goblet already in hand. " How are you my friend? What is this I hear about you going to the Vale again ? Have you fallen in love with the mountain tribes?"

Before Daeron could respond, Jeyne's voice chimed in. "Careful, Lord Lannister," Jeyne Arryn teased, stepping beside them. "If you mock the Vale too much, we may not let you visit."

Before Daeron could answer, Jeyne continued , her gaze sharp yet amused. "If you don't return soon Daeron , sister Rhea might think you've flown away to escape from us."

Daeron chuckled. "I was planning to visit soon, actually."

Jeyne's knowing smile grew. "Rhea will be glad to hear it. She's been wondering if you'd remembered her."

The mention of Lady Rhea Royce made Daeron's expression soften. He thought of her wry humor, her sharp wit, the way she carried herself with effortless confidence. And of course, the warmth and bond they shared. "Tell her I'll see her before the year's end."

Jason groaned dramatically. "The Vale? Again? You should going to Essos with me!"

Daeron smirked. "Has your father even agreed to that yet?"

Jason's face fell, and he took a dramatic sip of his wine. "Not yet, but I'm working on it."

"Good luck with that," Daeron said dryly. "I suspect he'll need more convincing than a few drunken pleas."

Before Jason could retort, the great doors of the hall swung open. The room fell into a respectful hush as King Viserys entered, his crown gleaming under the candlelight.

Beside him walked Queen Aemma, her pale complexion doing little to mask the exhaustion beneath her regal facade.

Rhaenyra walked proudly at her mother's side, beaming with excitement, while the ever-stoic Ser Harrold Westerling trailed behind them.

One figure, however, was missing.

"Daemon's absence is rather noticeable," Jason murmured, glancing around as the guests resumed their chatter.

"It is," Daeron agreed, though he wasn't entirely surprised. Daemon Targaryen never did care for formal occasions unless there was bloodsport involved.

With the royal family seated, the feast began in earnest. Servants poured wine into goblets as nobles engaged in conversation, laughter rising above the soft melodies played by the musicians.

Daeron enjoyed the brief reprieve, though he knew it wouldn't last. His own moment on stage was fast approaching, and the thought of performing in front of half the realm made his stomach tighten slightly.

He could only hope that if he embarrassed himself, Rhaenyra would make good on her threat and have the critics thrown into the dungeons