Cite

On the night of my return, our family gathered for a much-anticipated dinner, a small intimate affair for just the four of us. Uncle Daemon was out galivanting so he wasn't included.

Despite surviving on camp rations, the flavors of the Red Keep's kitchen were still too rich for my liking.

As we exchanged stories and caught up on the happenings of our respective worlds, I couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the events that had shaped my journey and the seemingly uneventful affairs back home. The familiar political discussions and mundane affairs paled in comparison to the trials and triumphs I had experienced.

Amidst the conversation, it was amusing to witness what particular aspects had captured the attention of my family.

"People lost their lives?" my mother asked, her concern etched across her face.

I nodded solemnly.

"Yes, Mother, in various ways. Some met tragic ends, falling from great heights, while many drowned. Disease claimed its victims, and even old age took its toll. A few ill-fated souls found themselves on the receiving end of a training arrow to the eye, while one unfortunate individual met their demise by simply drinking too hastily after a long march. We even mourned the loss of those caught in a tragic mining accident."

My father inspected the dragonglass dagger in his hands, his eyes admiring its caveman craftsmanship. "And this blade, you fashioned it there?"

"Yes, Father. There is an abundance of obsidian on Dragonstone, more than we know what to do with. It made for an exceptional material."

My sister, ever curious, chimed in. "Wait, there were girls at the camp too? You told me I couldn't come!"

I couldn't help but smirk at her protest. "It was a matter of your status as a Princess, not your womanhood."

She pouted at my lie, crossing her arms. "It's the same thing!"

I raised an eyebrow, playfully teasing her. "Pfft. A typical Princess answer."

Come the next morning, I joined Theodore and Brien in attending the small council to deliver my report.

The council members looked at me with keen interest, except for Uncle Daemon, who nursed a throbbing headache from the previous night's indulgence.

"The figures speak for themselves," Theodore began, reading from his scroll. "Out of the 1,881 volunteers, 501 successfully completed the training. And there was a ratio of approximately 60% from the countryside and 40% from the city."

I raised my hand, signaling Theodore to pause, and took the opportunity to share my observations.

"Initially, we expected the rural volunteers to fare better in training due to their accustomed physicality from their rural lifestyles. And indeed, that assumption held true to some extent. Many city dwellers struggled in the initial weeks, but those who persevered exhibited a remarkable resilience that surpassed even some of the countrysiders, especially those from Fleabottom."

"We observed that city dwellers were less prone to accidental death," Theodore said, "which we attributed to their resourcefulness and street smarts gained from urban experiences."

"Once we delved into the rigorous aspects of the camp," I said, "we found that the initial physical advantages of the countrysider's could be honed and developed through training. On the other hand, the city dwellers demonstrated superior critical thinking skills, which proved more a challenge to train to the others."

The report continued, my father nodding approvingly with each point made. Lord Lyman Beesbury stopped us at every corner to question the expenditure, so much to the point that I had to ask him to leave questions for the end. Bless the old fools heart, he always meant well.

And yet, even after all the effort we made to explain what happened, in both technical and layman terms, some of the followup questions from the small council indicated they did not listen, or chose not to.

"I question the purpose of such a force," said Archmaester Mellos. His time hovering around Grandmaester Runciter had increased his insolence tenfold during my absence, "The realm is at peace."

"Yes," Ser Otto added, "Perhaps the Prince's time would be better suited on other matters?"

I replied in half truths, "As I said, the martial training was more for team building and physical fitness. The bulk of our time was spent helping out the local populace and focusing on infrastructure. Need I explain the roads again?"

Father found that amusing, "No, no. You've done that quite enough of that!"

"I must say, I'm impressed," said Lord Corlys, "When I helped ferry the Prince to Dragonstone, his men did not inspire confidence."

I chuckled, "That was after the first week. You should have seen how many left after the second!"

Grandmaester Runciter peered at the scroll in front of him, "And what is it you plan to do with these… 501 'Rhaenari'... as you call them?"

I almost let a groan escape my lips. There I was, back in the political quagmire of King's Landing, necessitating the return of my indifferent poker face I had honed so well.

With feigned delight, I responded to the question as if it pleased me to do so.

"Whatever we can! There is no shortage of tasks within the realm, I believe we can all agree on that. Upgrading the roads constructed by King Jaehaerys is certainly on the list, and undoubtedly there are numerous keeps across the continent in need of repair.

"Ports and bridges could benefit from our attention as well. Perhaps we could even delve into experimenting with irrigation systems to enhance our farms. Oh, and the thought of restoring Harrenhal! I'm certain Lord Strong would appreciate that.

"And let us not forget, in the event of a natural disaster, we have a dedicated relief force ready to aid the smallfolk. The possibilities are truly endless. The more fitting question, Grandmaester, is what won't we do with them?"

My gaslighting tactics had proven effective. My father erupted into applause, exclaiming, "What won't we do, indeed! A fine job, my son. A fine job!"

"Thank you, Father. But I must give credit to the wise men who came before me. Everyone in this room deserves recognition, for your shining examples have truly inspired me."

Ser Harrold nodded in agreement, "Ser Ryam would have been proud, my Prince."

"As he would with you, Ser."

Lord Lyonel inquired, "What are your plans now? Will they take you away once more?"

Rhaenyra, in her role as cup bearer, accidentally spilled some wine upon hearing the prospect of me leaving again.

I waved dismissively, "Whatever our King decides, though I suspect it entails remaining in the capital. Isn't that right, Father?"

"Of course! The queen would have my hide if I neglected to consider her wishes!"

After spending 101 days away, I had almost forgotten the forced laughter that permeated the halls of the Red Keep.

Almost.

"Anyway," I sighed, "Enough talk about my comings and goings. I have a more pressing matter to discuss that would greatly benefit from my Uncle's input."

Uncle Daemon lifted his head from his hand, the harsh light piercing his hungover eyes. He remarked, "My input? On this council? Call me Daenys, for I must be dreaming."

Uncle Daemon had briefly served as the Master of Coin. Lord Beesbury gracefully accepted his demotion but remained a part of the small council.

In hindsight, I recognized it as a deliberate move by Ser Otto. He either lacked faith in Daemon's administrative skills or had no intention of allowing him to retain the position of Master of Coin, hence Lord Beesbury's standby role.

Later, and very briefly, Uncle Daemon was appointed as the Master of Laws, and Lord Lyonel accepted a similar demotion, only to be later reinstated.

Daemon had been slighted for some time now, and it seemed that Ser Otto was actively working to thwart him at every opportunity.

Currently, Daemon attended the small council in small spurts, but I had no doubt that my father would find a way to officially include him in the council. Perhaps as the Master of Whisperers, or even as the Commander of the City Watch.

Knowing my Uncle, the specific position didn't matter as long as he stood by my father's side. A part of me contemplated suggesting to Ser Otto to invent a meaningless title with minimal authority, but the greater part of me relished in their ongoing conflicts.

Besides, I would prefer to have Daemon in any of those roles rather than some Lord from outside the family. But I digress.

My father's expression shifted, a hint of concern in his eyes. "Nothing dire, I hope?"

"That depends on who you ask," I said, casting a sly glance around the room. Then, fixing my gaze on Daemon, I continued, "Tell me, Uncle, what do you know of wild dragons, and the one we call The Cannibal?"