Purple eyes shot open and his stomach curled. He lurched and reached for the chamber pot at his bedside which he vomited into. He spit once but held on as he regurgitated another volley shortly after. He set it down and pushed it away from him; the boy and girl he had laid with the night prior were resting at his side, both naked and entangled in his sheets. One was a squire and the other a lady attendant to Jorah, some younger cousin from a noble house he hadn't bothered to remember; they were each barely grown and had served their use to him eagerly. He shook them each gently in turn.

"Leave me, the both of you."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Yes, Your Grace."

He had been with each of them at least once before so they knew to be discreet. Besides, they knew there were benefits to having his favor just like all the others. When they had gone, he got up and threw on a robe. He dumped his chamber pot's contents in the privy and had himself a piss. When his attendants arrived, he had them draw him a steaming hot bath where he scrubbed himself clean and oiled his hair. They prepared his oral paste which he used to scrub his teeth to a white sheen. He dressed in fine red wear and wore a black surcoat, pants and spurred boots as well. He had them part his hair and braid half of it down over the other. They then draped his Targaryen banner over his right shoulder and chest. They gave him choice of jewelry and he chose a single white-gold ring with a ruby gemstone on his left ring finger. He dismissed them after that and went to his nightstand to ready himself for the day. He thought of having a glass of his Dornish sour but thought twice of it. He uncorked it and drunk down a sixth of the bottle in short order.

.

He went out into his hallway where every Unsullied there dipped their spears forward at his passing. His old friends, bloodriders and kos were waiting for him, having jests at each other.

He greeted them in Dothraki. "Blood of my Blood. The day is near. Our arakhs will be bloody again."

"As you say, my king and khal" answered Jhogo with crossed arms, "but tell me: must we fight alongside the pale hairs? They cry like women and bicker like slaves over a chicken bone."

"Yes" agreed Aggo. "He speaks truth. The eunuchs fight with fire but these other ones will hide behind us. I know it."

Daeron shook his head. "I should hope not. I hate cowardice. You know this of me."

"It is known" nodded Jhogo.

"It is known" agreed Aggo.

Daeron turned to Rakharo, whom hadn't said anything at that point. He placed his hands on his shoulders, then reached up and lovingly cradled his head behind his ears in his hands, for Rakharo was near half a foot taller than even him. "My brother. We will go forth and sack more lands to the north, east and south. All will be ours. Then, I will find you the most beautiful woman to bear you strong children and make you smile again. You'll see."

Rakharo looked him right in the eyes. "None would compare to Irri."

A wave of guilt washed over him again and he nodded solemnly. He patted him on the shoulders and turned away from him. They followed him close at heel down the halls. On the way he passed through crowds of many a highborn lord, lordling, knight and lady who stuck around his stronghold in hopes of gaining his favor and a place in his court. Some of them had come from King's Landing and other lands in the crownlands as the war had turned against the Tyrell-Lannister armies; some of them had been displaced from the stormlands when the Golden Company came. Wherever they came from, there were too many of them for his fortress. They were filling up his towers just as the people were filling up his island. He would have to populate other nearby isles and establish lordships or send some of them with Celtigar and Velaryon. Or both. Or he would have to field his army to claim his rightful lands in the north, the stormlands and beyond. He would soon have no choice. He wouldn't turn anybody away. The good left in him wouldn't allow it. If he had to be king, he would be great. His Targaryen name had been tarnished far too many times; his throne would bring honor back to it.

"The King of Westeros passes!" Somebody in the hallway shouted who could have made a fine herald themselves. "Make way for the King!"

The crowd slowly but surely parted way from them. He saw many that bowed and dipped their heads at him. He heard so many 'Your Grace 's that he almost laughed out loud yet he kept his composure.

Eventually, Tyrion appeared and called out to him as he dipped his head.

"Good morning, your Grace."

"Good morning, Tyrion." He and his bloodriders didn't stop for the miniature Lannister and he had to nearly run to keep up.

"Your Grace … could you perhaps halt for a moment? I … have things to discuss."

"No." He kept right on at the same pace.

"Very well! Celtigar wishes to discuss matters with you. He wishes to know how we plan to use him in the upcoming battles."

"I'll call on Celtigar when I have need of him. He can leave Dragonstone when he wishes. Tell him that he is free to take any number of hedge and landed knights as well as squires and attendants in court that he desires. Tell the same to Velaryon." Both houses had met with Daeron and Tyrion after the council meeting where three high hostages had been procured from each house including Celtigar's eldest grandson and the Velaryon boy lord's maiden cousin to whom he was actually betrothed.

"Any number of them? Who would serve us wine and keep us company? The boring Unsullied or those dullard Dothraki?"

He gave Rakharo and the others a look of apology. Rakharo curled his lip in a snarl.

"We'll pull from the villages" Daeron told him simply enough. "No more housing from off the island unless I consider them honored guests. Otherwise they can stay at inns."

"What of the northerners? Will you speak to Jeyne Snow today?"

He said nothing.

"Your Grace?"

"No."

"What am I do with them?"

"You'll figure it out, I'm sure. They have free rein of the castle but they are not to leave the castle grounds. Do you understand?"

"Yes, your Grace."

"Good. Now, leave me be."

Tyrion stopped following them and the four of them went on their way.

Dragonstone housed a very considerable dungeon. Daeron had promised himself he would take no prisoners of war and he would keep that promise to himself. Yet, for a moment he had strongly considered adding Jeyne Snow and her northern friends to the cells and even to his few torturers and sorcerers. He kept mostly thieves, murderers and rapers down there. He knew a few choice words didn't earn Jeyne a place there with that lot. Most of them would never again see the light of day and that was probably for the best. He still wished to bring the North under heel with little bloodshed for Jorah's sake if nothing else. Though in all honesty, if he could avoid all war he would but he knew his khalasar starved for it. And the lords that had gone to his side wanted blood and lands as well. And the North, the Stormlands, Dorne, the Eyrie and the Crownlands continued to defy him. It didn't matter what he wished; there would be war.

The herder met him at the base of the Dragon Nest under the watchful eye of spear-wielding guardsmen. He had pale, near silver eyes and muddy brown hair. Artun, he named himself after a bow. The cattle he kept roped at his side looked well-fed and strong. Daeron put five golden dragons in the man's hand.

"You have my thanks" Daeron said, clapping the man on the shoulder. "You have done a great thing for the throne, the island and the people of Dragonstone."

"Anything in service to my king." The herder said, clutching the coinage and dipping his head. "She is strong but most gentle, my king. She will go easily enough."

Daeron nodded and guided her by rope to the winch. The platform would need to be operated by multiple men, the on-hand operators and his bloodriders, as the cow weighed near one hundred and fifty stone.

They all worked together in tandem with a gear-pulley system to lift the cow to the top of his hollowed tower; a former home to clutches of dragon eggs from ages past. Strands of his hair and the tail end of his banner flapped in the wind behind him; he could hear her snorts and agitated snarls as it rose higher and higher. She knew food was coming but it could have just as easily been for him. Even in her state, she always knew when he was near. He heard the chains rattle and strain; he suddenly wished for another cask of wine.

When the lift reached its summit, he could hear the gaseous release of her flames. They all listened to the frantic rattle of her chains; the angered snarling and ripping as she tore at the cattle's flesh with no patience. The heat was something that dampened their skin and heated them through their clothes as flames and smoke billowed outwards and upwards from certain sides of the tower. From the sounds of the rattling; she had to have broken free of some of her binds by then. It would be time to change them soon enough and for that he would need the toxin from his sorcerers. He kept an order of such men down in the dungeons, away from the eyes and questions of his people. He plied them with women, gold and whatever else they might require and they provided him with tools not available to any other man. There had already been deaths, even with their toxin, in attending to his daughter. He didn't wish there to be any more but there was likely no other way.

The first threat to him at Westeros had not been on rock as Tyrion had predicted but at sea as Victarion had warned. Euron Greyjoy's fleet met him before Dragonstone. It was devastating circumstances; the Ironborn proved fierce and deadly warriors at sea and neither his Dothraki nor his Unsullied proved effective at such tactics at that time. He was forced to rely on Victarion's command of his own fleet to oversee his side of battle and he didn't completely trust Victarion at that point. While Victarion commanded his forces at sea, Daeron took to the skies with his daughters. He had become adept at riding all three and he was glad to have done so as they heeded his call without question. His terrors soared through the skies and seaspray and together they blazed through a dozen ships. Only Rhaellys received damage in their initial runs through the Iron Fleet but she tore out the spears from her own neck and belly with her own teeth.

It all went to hells when the blasted man blew his giant horn. A grotesque sound that rattled his head and set deep hurt into his bones. Most men were hampered and disoriented at the call, unable to stand let alone fight for a while. Victarion told him of the horn before and he had attempted to locate and destroy it beforehand. Yet how was he to know where Euron had placed it in his fleet? Silence, Euron's pride, had been among the first to explode under Doreon's flame. No, he had placed it elsewhere. Dragonbinder didn't actually work as anybody anticipated, Euron included. It hadn't binded his dragons to Euron's will; it had stripped them from Daeron. And sanity.

Rhaellys' flight became erratic and she crashed down on a few ships. She rose again in agony and made for the nearest land, giving a haunting cry he never heard before or since. Visenyx tumbled into the sea in a ball of flame and nearly drowned. Any man who was in the water at that time within a large radius of her fall were boiled in their armor like lobster before supper. Dorean was the worst and of course she was, for she was the Black Dread come again and the most terrible of them all. She went on a rampage and tore through all ships in her immediate sight; friend and foe alike. Daeron screamed and called her name; he even whipped her. She would no longer respond to his call. In fact, in between flailing and tumbling around like a snake in panic, she tried to twist her head and bite at herself in her crazed attempts to get at him. He could still remember the heat of her flames as she tried in vain to blast flames over her own body against all logic to rid herself of him. He stabbed her scales multiple times with his Valyrian steel. When he dug up a single scale and the flesh underneath, it burned his hand through his glove. He waited until she was low enough to the water to dive into the ocean. He was fortunately away from Visenyx but he climbed onboard one of Euron's ships that had been taken in the battle. Regretfully he had himself manned one of the half dozen scorpions it had taken to put Doreon into the water. His side had won the day but the cost had been steep.

Eventually, Rhaellys and Visenyx returned to their senses but Doreon never did. He had hollowed out a tower and renamed it the Dragon's Nest. It took much meat, Rhaellys and Visenyx both, as well as cauldrons of the sleeping toxin to bring her under heel but it had been done. The whole ordeal had left him hesitant to carry on his campaign so foolishly. What other tactics could be used to disable his dragons? And how courageous would it make his enemies if they knew he effectively wielded two of them, not three?

.

Before Lady Jeyne Stark had ever made the trip, she had been in Winterfell's Great Hall to discuss matters at her Queen Sansa's side. They had been on the dais before her gathered vassals such as the Mormonts, Umbers, Thenns, Manderlys, Norrey, Flint, Cerwyn and even the lords and knights of the Vale. She relished the two of them being upon the dais in the same way as their shared father once upon a time. The only thing she didn't care for was that Lord Baelish was with them, on the other side of Sansa.

In the center of the hall before them, dancers and players had taken to music, inviting others to come and dance. Sansa pretended to enjoy it for a moment before she slid a letter before Jeyne.

"Read it and don't make a show of it" she told her.

Jeyne did. It was a summons for Lady Sansa Stark to go to Dragonstone, to pay homage to King Daeron III Targaryen, The Third of His Name, the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and The First Men, The Khal of the Great Grass Sea, The Stormborn, The Breaker of Chains, The Father of Dragons, The Unburnt, and The Prince That Was Promised.

"Can you believe that long list of titles?" Sansa whispered as Jeyne read. "It seems the Targaryens haven't lost any of that pride in their fall. Such arrogance. 'Khal of the Great Grass Sea'? Is that supposed to mean something to me? 'The Prince that Was Promised'? I will-"

She stopped when she noticed the young cupbearer come around with a tankard of wine. She was a pretty girl from House Manderly. "Would you care for some wine, Your Grace?" she asked hopefully with a small gulp.

"Thank you and no, sweet girl" Sansa told her with a sweet smile.

The girl gave a small curtsy and turned to Jeyne. "My Lady, would you care for some wine?"

"No, thank you" Jeyne told her with a shake of her head.

Sansa reached out and stroked the young girl's cheek. "You're a darling, aren't you?"

The cupbearer giggled, gave another curtsy and left them alone.

Sansa looked at her a moment longer and leaned in towards Jeyne. She groaned and whispered in agitated tones. "I will not kneel before the son of the man that murdered Starks in open court. But the man has three dragons and the largest army in the world. We can't leave him with no answer. How is it that he has it in his head to look to us! His precious throne is in that wretched King's Landing."

Jeyne thought on it and turned to her queen. "Your Grace … dear sister. Allow me to go to Dragonstone in your stead."

"What?"

"Think of it. I will be your emissary. I can discuss terms and bend the knee without declaring Winterfell's fealty. He is a foreign king who knows not of our harsh winter. Perhaps I can dissuade him."

Sansa simply shook her head and took a drink from her goblet. "No."

"No? But Your Grace, he must be answered. We can't fight two wars. Not like this."

"I know that!" Sansa said as she turned back in her direction.

"Well, whom better than me? Whom better than a Stark?"

Sansa said nothing.

Jeyne leaned towards her ear. "Littlefinger? Would you send Littlefinger instead? Do you trust him truly? Over me, your own blood?"

Sansa spun on her and harshly whispered. "Of course not! But why are you so eager, hmm? Fetching to play the hero again?"

"Of course not …"

"Have you already forgotten? Do you wish to end as father and Robb did? Would this dragon king even send me your head or would he just feed you whole to his beasts?"

Lord Baelish leaned over to them from Sansa's opposite side. "Your Grace, my Lady, I'm afraid your quarrel is drawing undue attention." He was right of course. Some of the occupants had begun to take notice of the two and were conspicuously listening in or at least watching them. "Perhaps you would like to move it to private quarters."

Sansa paid them all no attention and continued to speak to Jeyne. "Starks don't fare well beyond the North and I will not see another dead."

"Sansa …"

"I said no. You're staying here."

And at time, that was that. But King Daeron became more insistent. He wouldn't leave it. He wished for the North to be well in hand before anything else for whatever reason. And Jeyne was proven right. There was nobody the Queen in the North could trust more than her. Anybody else couldn't be trusted to stay to the terms, something Jeyne hadn't even done but she would swear her own fealty without swearing the North's and as a Stark her word would be in line with the Queen's. And as for the last unspoken thing between them, it was also better that if the Dragon King proved volatile that he take the natural-born woman Stark rather than the Queen.

Fear and desperation had worn her down, Jeyne knew. Sansa didn't wish to prostrate herself but she didn't wish to fight a war on two fronts. The Long Night was their war; even a worm like Littlefinger could see that. So, with constant pestering Jeyne managed to wear her down enough to allow her to go. All of the contributing factors seemed to play into it. She never told the Queen her true intentions, only that they would negotiate dragonglass and Valyrian steel if possible. While she was there, Winterfell was building its defenses for both wars. Though engineers of the Vale ensured their defenses against winged monsters, she fully intended on doing whatever was necessary to make it so that they only fought one enemy. She didn't see it as betraying the Queen, though she was overstepping her authority, and she was offering something to the king that may very well save her own life and the lives of her friends. She saw it as her only option and a bold one as well.

.

Two days after the first night, his bloodriders brought her to his study where he was seated at a small table in one of two cushioned chairs. He was reading before his fire, from a book of the North's Legends and Myths, particularly of Brandon the Breaker, who joined his forces to those of Joramun, the King-Beyond-The-Wall to put down the Night's King. The thought might've seemed ridiculous to somebody in his position yet he himself had been touched by magic many times in his short life. It would be willful arrogance to deny that such a thing existed, in his eyes.

"Your Grace" she called out softly to him as she curtsied.

"Miss Jeyne" he said, setting the book on the table next to two cups and a tankard of wine. "Please sit. Wine?"

Jeyne did sit with a dip of her head. "No thank you, your Grace."

He poured red wine into his cup and half-filled hers as well. "I insist."

He raised his cup, gesturing her to raise hers as well. "To the North."

"To the North." They took a drink.

He settled back in his seat. "How do you like Dragonstone?"

"Forgive me, your Grace, but are you referring to the island or the castle?"

He smiled. "All of it."

"It is not dissimilar from certain Northern places such as White Harbor and Eastwatch. Only the volcano keeps things warm even in winter. The people love you. But I do have to ask …"

"What is it?"

"I hear you have brought many from the Free Cities. How do you house them all as well as your great army? And on a single island?"

The king gave a small smile. "I am afraid there are certain things I cannot discuss with somebody not beneath my banners. Surely, you can understand."

"Of course, Your Grace."

Daeron watched her for a moment. He had heard Jeyne Snow was a fair woman and he supposed she was. A long, narrow face framed under long, wavy black hair accompanied her dark, grey eyes. She wasn't nearly up to par with some of the beauties he had seen in Essos or Doreah before them, however. All in all, she seemed rather unremarkable. He tried not to dwell on it.

"Tyrion has told me of your proposal" he said. "Of my betrothal to Lady Sansa."

She wondered how Tyrion posed the proposal in question.

"Why will you simply not kneel? Why should I marry the North? As he told you, the Starks will hold and rule the North in my name. Am I really so terrible?"

"I beg my forgiveness, but Queen Sansa refuses to show fealty to the Mad King's son."

"I am aware of the ill will and grudge that my father's reign caused throughout the realm and I wholeheartedly apologize to the Starks for the actions of both him and those of my foolish elder brother. I am not them but I know that simple assurances cannot heal these wounds. I wonder if I should venture to the North and have a look at your Queen Sansa. I mean, I should meet her if we are to be betrothed. Don't you think?"

"Your Grace, I trust that Lord Hand Tyrion informed you of the North's dangers."

"That you have every snowy town from the Neck to the Wall prepared to die."

"Well, I do hope that they do not just simply die."

Daeron drunk from his cup. "Are you a battle commander as well? Or are you simply another schemer?"

"Your Grace –"

"The North is hundreds of leagues of land and some sea. There are so many lands and lords between me and Lady Sansa. Are you absolutely sure that they are as prepared as you say they are? And of the same mind?"

Jeyne swallowed. "I am, Your Grace."

"We shall see."

Jeyne leaned towards him. "Your Grace. Please listen to me. In the end, our quarrels do not matter. Death awaits us all at the Wall. Everything beyond the Wall are swirls of white. Unbearable cold that would choke any fire and kill a man within minutes. I've seen it. Please, I come to you not as your enemy."

Daeron seemed to consider her words. "You said they are waiting at the Wall? Waiting on what?"

"The Wall was magically built ages ago. It has been said to keep them out. But they have all come to the Wall and their presence seems to strain it. Chunks of ice spontaneously break off and shatter to the ground every day. Eventually, the entire Wall itself will crumble and there will be nothing keeping them at bay. It could be months, days, a year; or it could be tomorrow. I … dearly hope it hasn't happened already."

Daeron leaned towards her. "Jeyne, I leave the scheming and spying to Tyrion, Varys and others because they are capable of little else. I only deal in truths. I will have the North and all the other lands not because it is some destined thing or because my family was usurped. The kingdoms are only at peace under one king. All the others are vindictive, manipulative, snakes who misuse the trust of the people and carry out secret and open war on each other on a whim. I am not like that; my court is not like that."

Jeyne sighed and nodded as he went on. "Only I can save it. Only I am capable. My people grow all the time. My Dothraki need lands to settle. I did not bring Unsullied to simply be castle guards. The Ironborn; the lords that have sworn to me. They want battle and reward."

"You need the North."

"I need everything."

"They will never accept you. You have brought savages to our lands."

"You brought forth wildlings from beyond the Wall. Surely, you can sympathize."

"Oh, there were grave consequences to that. I assure you."

He studied her for a bit. "I have decided. I will treat with your Queen Sansa. I will allow you access to our ravens. Prepare letters. I will stop at every major city and castle in the North between us and Winterfell beginning with White Harbor. They are to expect a king's party. Not their king, yet but a true king nonetheless. My people will be on horseback but I will be on dragonback. This is dependent on you for if we are attacked, there will be war."

"Yes, Your Grace."

He stood so she did as well.

"I look forward to meeting your sister" Daeron told her. "To seeing the North and an end to the threat of the Long Night. You have my leave to take the latest mined dragonglass. We will have more of it when we arrive in the North."

She dipped her head. "Thank you, your Grace."

"You were the only ones who came to me honestly without demanding fealty or playing games with me" he said to her. "For that, I thank you. I hope that we can maintain this relationship."

"I do as well, your Grace."