There Will Always Be a Place for You by My Hearth

The rain poured heavily.

Daeren trudged through rain-soaked mud and spotted the visitor on the dirt path leading to the farm at the foot of the mountain.

Ser Jon was still clad in Silver Armor and White Robe, leading two stubborn warhorses in one hand. He blundered about in the rain like a headless fly, unable to find the path up the mountain.

"Ser Jon."

Daeren called out to him.

Ser Jon stiffened and hurriedly looked up, revealing a face washed by the rain. He wiped away the water obscuring his vision. "Prince, I'm here."

His voice trembled slightly as he tried his best to conceal the bone-deep cold brought by the downpour.

Daeren stood on higher ground, watching the bedraggled White Knight.

He sensed the other man's agitation.

He had merely delivered a letter and perhaps faced a choice in his heart, but there was no reason for him to appear before Daeren in such a state.

Something must have happened.

After a brief thought, Daeren asked, "Ser, did someone ask you to bring me a letter?"

"Lord Tywin."

Ser Jon panted heavily. The rain striking his face fell faster than he could wipe it away.

Clearly, he had been out in the rain for a long time.

Daeren immediately stepped forward and helped take the reins. "Come with me, Ser. I'll take you to the farm to get out of the rain."

Ser Jon was already exhausted and followed him in a daze.

The path he had been unable to find now became an ordinary trail once more.

Daeren returned to Dragon Tongue Farm, tied the horses to a tree, and supported the weakened Ser Jon into the cottage.

The man's body was burning hot, and his face was pale as paper, as though he had been drenched by rain all night.

"Easy, Ser."

Daeren stripped off his outer armor, settled him before the blazing hearth, and handed him a towel.

The heavens had favored him. He had not expected to stumble upon one of those lucky breaks with less than a fifty percent chance.

He had asked Ser Jon who had sent him the letter.

According to his original plan, that letter should have reached either his teacher Tywin or his father Aerys first.

And whoever received it first would certainly rush to respond before the other.

Ser Jon had said, "Lord Tywin."

Daeren brought one of his own back to the farm.

Shivering violently, Ser Jon pulled a letter from inside his open undershirt. "This is the letter Lord Tywin asked me to deliver to you."

Riiip!

Without a second thought, Daeren took the letter, tore it in half, and tossed it into the hearth as fuel.

"Don't!"

Ser Jon immediately grew anxious.

Daeren pressed him down with one hand and said solemnly, "Ser, you are a White Knight draped in honor, not an errand runner for my teacher and me."

"Prince..." Ser Jon froze. His thoughts came to a halt, and his mind went blank.

Daeren said nothing. He turned, took one of the two Silver Star-quality potatoes from the Chest by the door, and lightly buried it in the ashes of the hearth.

He did not care about some letter.

Anyone with half a brain could guess that Tywin would make all sorts of grand promises and summon him back to King's Landing.

It was not difficult to understand. Why else would the man teach him without seeking anything in return, or go to such lengths to secure a fief for him?

Wasn't it all to push him onto the stage and have him compete with Rhaegar, who was far away on Dragonstone?

If he succeeded, the Targaryen dragon court would become just like the Baratheon stag court in the original story—reduced to a puppet of House Lannister.

Daeren understood everything clearly.

The potato was soon roasted. Its blackened skin split open, revealing a golden interior with a light tap.

Grrr~~

Catching the rich fragrance, Ser Jon could not stop his throat from bobbing.

He had gone nearly a full day and night without food, wandered through the rain all night while leading the horses, and was now starving and exhausted. He desperately needed something to fill his stomach.

"Eat."

Daeren picked it up with his bare hand and offered it to the eager White Knight.

The man deserved this treatment.

Ser Jon was starving. He took the roasted potato. "Thank you... Hiss..."

Before he could finish speaking, the heat scalded his palm, and he dropped the potato onto the floor.

"Sorry, Ser." Daeren laughed at his clumsiness.

Ser Jon bared his teeth from the burn. Watching the prince pick up the potato and casually peel away its blackened skin, he remembered the gift inherent in Targaryen blood.

They were not afraid of high temperatures!

Prince Daeren seemed especially gifted in that regard.

"It's still hot. Eat slowly."

Daeren handed over the peeled potato, sat cross-legged on the floor, and said as casually as if making small talk, "Once you're done, tell me about the situation in King's Landing."

"Yes, Prince."

Ser Jon wolfed it down. The Silver Star-quality crop quickly took effect, warming his body and driving away the chill from the rain.

The two talked and clarified the situation.

Daeren nodded as he organized the information.

Sure enough, after that letter was made public, his father Aerys was overjoyed, while his good teacher Tywin could no longer sit still.

Tywin had helped Daeren obtain a fief in order to send a signal to the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms.

The stage had already been set. How could he allow Daeren to slip beyond his control and hide away in his fief?

Aerys's delight had led him to offer funds from the royal treasury to build Daeren a castle. Later, he might even pay to develop the Prince's territory.

That was absolutely not something Tywin wished to see.

Daeren could grow, and the Prince's territory could develop, but only with House Lannister's assistance.

If they nurtured a powerful prince who did not rely on the Lannisters, would he not become another Rhaegar?

"My dear teacher's next move will be to suppress me in secret and find every possible way to keep me in King's Landing, where I will remain under his watch at all times."

Daeren voiced it without reservation.

He was certain his analysis was correct.

Because Tywin was exactly that sort of self-centered, controlling man who never considered others.

One only had to look at how he raised his children in the original story.

Having regained his composure, Ser Jon asked worriedly, "If Lord Hand makes a move against you, will you need His Majesty's help?"

A man who could become a Kingsguard would not be a fool—Robert's era aside. As the saying went, whoever fed you was the one you worked for.

The contempt in Lord Hand's eyes when he had looked at Ser Jon last night remained fresh in his mind. Then he recalled the King's mad rudeness and Prince Rhaegar's cold disregard.

He suddenly understood. The sword in his hand should choose someone new to protect, so that he could defend the honor of the white cloak on his back.

Young, wise, humble, courteous, and dearly favored by the King—Prince Daeren was precisely the person worth protecting with his life.

"Don't worry, Ser."

Daeren smiled knowingly. "I had already thought of a countermeasure when I wrote that letter."

Meet soldiers with generals and water with earth?

A big no. Absolutely not!

When faced with hardship, cowards fled, warriors faced it head-on, and wise men knew how to use it to their advantage.

There was nothing bad about returning to King's Landing. He had been worrying that no one would arrange an official post for him.

"I will do everything I can to keep you safe, Prince."

Ser Jon's expression hardened with resolve. He pushed himself up and knelt on one knee before the hearth.

The kingdom was sick. Someone needed to cut out its festering disease.

He was willing to become that blade.

Daeren's expression turned solemn. "And I will not allow you to take needless risks, Ser."

Then, beneath the other man's expectant gaze, he drew a longsword from the pile of armor by the door.

The sword left its sheath, and its blade rested upon the shoulder of the knight swearing loyalty.

Following the ritual by which a lord accepted a knight's fealty, Daeren said solemnly, "Jon Darry, clad in white, I swear before the Seven Who Are One that there will always be a place for you by my hearth."

Ser Jon's eyes shone brightly. He did not regret his decision in the slightest.

The roasted potato and the hearth bore witness to that moment.