A dark blade serves the crown, two swords hold the balance

Today, the Red Keep's council chamber was shrouded in a somber chill. Morning light streamed through the high arched windows, casting long strips of light on the stone walls. The ministers on either side of the council table held their breath, even their breathing was extremely soft. King Jaehaerys sat in the head seat, the three-headed dragon pattern on his black robe gleaming dark gold in the light. His scepter tapped lightly on the ground, each tap feeling like a blow to the hearts of everyone present.

Daemon stood inside the hall, his long silver-gold hair brushing against his neck in the wind. The Dragon Mark on his right shoulder was covered by his clothes, but one could still feel a faint warmth emanating from it.

He sensed something was amiss as soon as the servant led him in:

Prince Baelon sat beside the King, his brow furrowed so deeply it could crush ice.

Leonno Strong's bald head gleamed coldly in the light, his fingers unconsciously tracing the insignia of the Master of Ships;

Otto Hightower held his silver cup, but his gaze kept drifting towards the king, as if he were waiting for something.

"Gentlemen, I have summoned you here today to announce something concerning my grandson, Little Daemon," Jaehaerys ' voice broke the silence, his scepter pointing at Daemon. "After deliberation at the Small Council, I have decided to appoint Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen, son of the late Prince Aemon, as Master of Intelligence for the Iron Throne, overseeing intelligence affairs across the Seven Kingdoms and reporting directly to me."

The moment the words left his mouth, the council chamber seemed to explode as if a spark had been thrown in.

Baelon slammed his fist on the table, his dark gray scales trembling slightly from the tension. "Father! Have you gone mad? The Minister of Intelligence! That position has been abolished for over forty years since Tyanna's death. Who doesn't know it's a blood-stained and evil post?" Little Daemon is only thirteen. You're putting him in this position? You're trying to kill him with praise! You want the lords of the Seven Kingdoms to see him as the second Tyanna!

His voice was unusually agitated as his gaze swept across the room. "Back then, Tyanna tortured your brother Viserys and wiped out the entire Harroway family. How many innocent people died at her hands? Now, to reinstate this position and put Little Daemon in it—what will the lords think? They'll think the monarchy is going to rule by fear again! This isn't protecting him; it's pushing him into a fire pit!"

Leonno Strong frowned as well, the hem of his black robe sweeping across the ground. "Your Majesty, the Crown Prince is right."

Since your accession to the throne, intelligence affairs have always been handled concurrently by the Hand of the King and the Master of Laws. While this has its inconveniences, it has also helped to avoid any appearance of impropriety. His Highness Little Daemon has made outstanding contributions, but he is still young. Taking on such a "shady" position may be detrimental to his reputation.

Grand Secretary Alar pushed up his glasses, which had slipped down to the tip of his nose, his hands trembling slightly as he held the parchment scroll. "Your Majesty," he said, "This old minister dares to speak frankly. The infamy of Theanna still lingers in the Seven Kingdoms, and the people turn pale at the mere mention of the Chief of Intelligence. Reinstating this position requires caution; moreover, His Highness Damon—he is still a child—how can he shoulder such a heavy responsibility?"

"Why not let him serve as an attendant in the Small Council first, so he can become familiar with government affairs, and then we can discuss it further?"

Viserys, seated at the end of the table, holding Rhaenyra who had just been brought in, couldn't help but speak up, "Grandfather, Little Daemon has just finished touring the Seven Kingdoms for the royal family. He probably doesn't even know all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. How will he gather intelligence? Besides—that position is too terrifying. When I was young, I heard my mother say many times that Tyanna would use red-hot tongs—" Before he could finish speaking, Aemma gently pressed his hand down, but he still stubbornly looked at the king, "You can't let Little Daemon do that."

Daemon's gaze swept over the crowd, finally landing on Otto Hightower Master of Laws who was bowing his head to wipe a silver cup, deliberately avoiding his gaze, but his fingertips were slightly white.

Daemon knew perfectly well that this suggestion most likely came from Lord Otto. It seemed as if he had foreseen that Damon would affect Otto's future. Ever since Damon "returned" to his family, Otto had been targeting him, the Black Dragon who might bring Storm to the future. However, Otto probably did not expect the king to be so direct, and did not even consult with the other ministers beforehand.

Just then, the council chamber doors were suddenly pushed open, and Queen Alysanne, draped in a white fox fur shawl, strode in, her dark skirt sweeping across the pebbles on the floor. Her face was contorted with rage. "Jaehaerys! What are you doing, Minister of Intelligence? Have you forgotten how Tyanna treated our brother Viserys? Do you want to turn Little Daemon into that kind of person?"

She walked over to Daemon and shielded him behind her like a lioness protecting her cubs. "This child has only been back from outside for a short time. Do you know how much he suffered? You still want him to do those scheming, shady things? No way! I absolutely won't allow it!"

No sooner had the Queen finished speaking than another figure burst in—none other than our Prince Daemon Targaryen, who had never attended Small Council since being appointed commander of the City Watch.

Our "Rogue Prince" was not wearing the Gold Cloaks of the capital's garrison today, but rather the black robes of his family. The "Dark Sister" at his waist were still in their sheaths, but they exuded a chilling murderous aura.

He scanned the entire area, his gaze finally settling on Otto Hightower. He rushed forward, drawing his longsword with a "whoosh," the tip pointing directly at Otto's throat. "It was your suggestion, wasn't it? Otto! You wanted to push Little Daemon into that wretched position, and I heard you even wanted to split up his followers? I warn you, if you try anything with Little Daemon again, I'll take my men and Caraxes and burn your House Hightower's tower to the ground!"

"Insolence!" Jaehaerys slammed his fist on the table, his scepter striking the stone with a resounding clang. "Dare to draw your sword during a meeting of the Kings! Daemon Targaryen, do you still respect the rules of the Iron Throne?"

"Do I, his grandfather, still exist?"

The king's "Bronze Fury" instantly swept across the entire hall, and the temperature seemed to drop several degrees.

Daemon Targaryen tightened his grip on his sword, but reluctantly sheathed it, still glaring at Otto: "Father, Otto has ulterior motives! He's afraid that Little Daemon's power will become too great and affect his own, so he wants to use this position to suppress Little Daemon!"

Otto's face was somewhat pale, but he still tried to appear calm. "Your Highness is too kind. I simply think that Little Daemon is young and promising, and suitable to share His Majesty's burdens—"

"Enough." Jaehaerys interrupted him, turning his gaze to Daemon, his tone softening. "Little Daemon, I know this position is highly controversial, and I know of Tyanna's infamy. But I ask you, are you willing to take on this heavy responsibility? Are you willing to be the blade of the Iron Throne, protecting the peace of your family and the Seven Kingdoms?"

Daemon took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping over Queen Alysanne who was protecting him, over the still-angry Baelon, over Vaegon in his eyes, and finally landing on the King.

He knelt on one knee, raising the Blackfyre from his waist with both hands. The Black Dragon patterns on the scabbard gleamed coldly in the light. "I, Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen, swear by the clan sword Blackfyre, and by the dragon Glutton, to be the blade of the Iron Throne and my family. Wherever the traitors, the harmers of the people, or the threats to the peace of the Seven Kingdoms hide, I will find and slay them; and I will protect all those loyal to the Royal Family and law-abiding citizens. This oath shall not end until death."

The council chamber fell silent instantly. Even Queen Alysanne forgot to refute, staring blankly at the kneeling boy.

A smile finally appeared on Jaehaerys ' face. He rose, walked over, personally helped Daemon to his feet, took the Blackfyre from his hands, and handed it back to him, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Good! This is a true Targaryen man, this is my good grandson!"

He turned to the crowd, tapping his scepter on the ground once more, his tone carrying an unquestionable authority. "From this day forward, Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen is the Lord Intelligence Officer of the Iron Throne, and will serve in the Small Council. He may organize his own followers and form the Dark Blade Guard," whose duties include serving as his personal bodyguard, patrolling, and apprehending criminals. In case of emergency, he may act first and report later, without needing the approval of other ministers.

These words struck like a thunderbolt, catching everyone off guard. Leonno Strong's brows furrowed even more, Alar Aarar's glasses nearly fell off, and Viserys's mouth gaped open—even Daemon Targaryen, Commander of the Capital Guard, didn't have the power to "act first and report later"!

Otto Hightower's expression changed drastically; his fingers gripped the silver cup tightly, his knuckles turning white.

He initially proposed appointing Daemon as Minister of Intelligence, intending to use this "idle" position to split up his followers, assigning Colin, Rayford, and others to the Capital Guard or the Royal Fleet. Unexpectedly, the King not only did not split them up, but also gave Daemon the power to form a guard and act first and ask questions later. This was simply shooting himself in the foot!

Looking at the Blackfyre in Daemon's hand, he suddenly felt as if he had attracted an even more uncontrollable dragon.

Queen Alysanne was about to say something, but was stopped by a look from Jaehaerys. The King's gaze swept across the room. "Does anyone have any objections?"

Looking into Daemon's resolute eyes, and then at his father's imposing presence, Baelon finally sighed, "I have no objection. But if Little Daemon suffers any mishap, I will be the first to speak to His Majesty." Leonno, Alar, and the others also bowed, "We have no objection."

Although Daemon Targaryen was still somewhat dissatisfied, he knew that the outcome was already decided. He simply glared at Otto and said nothing more.

The Small Council adjourned, and the ministers left in twos and threes, their eyes filled with complex emotions: some envied Daemon's favor, some worried about his future, and some were plotting how to deal with the suddenly appearing "Dark Blade Guard."

Otto walked at the back, his steps heavy, his heart filled with regret—he had intended to weaken Daemon's power, but instead the other man had seized great authority, and he feared it would be even more difficult to control this young prince at Small Council.

As night deepened, the towers of the Red Keep lit up. King Jaehaerys stood by the window of his study, gazing at the distant dragon's Dragonpit, his brow furrowed. Alysanne was still angry, refusing to let him into the bedroom, and even returning the dinner brought by the maidservants untouched.

"Father," Baelon's voice came from the doorway. He was dressed in a casual robe and holding a roll of parchment. "I still don't understand why you gave Little Daemon so much power. To act first and report later—that's too risky."

Jaehaerys didn't turn around, but simply sighed softly, "Do you think I'm trying to flatter him to death?"

Baelon didn't answer, but tacitly agreed. He walked to the king's side, his gaze falling on the moonlight streaming through the window. "Little Daemon is only thirteen. He doesn't understand the intrigues of the court, nor the scheming of the lords. You've made him Minister of Intelligence and given him so much power; the lords will be wary of him, the courtiers will ostracize him, and even— Viserys might become estranged from him in the future."

"Heh." A cool voice came from the shadows in the corner of the study. Vaegon Targaryen walked out, carrying a copy of "A New Treatise on Stellar Orbits," his long silver-gold hair hanging down behind his gray robe. "Brother, you're still so emotional."

My father has his reasons for doing this.

Baelon frowned. "Vaegon, you knew all along?"

Vaegon didn't answer, only looking at Jaehaerys. The king finally turned around, placing his scepter on the desk, his voice carrying the steadiness of years. "Baelon, I'm not flattering Little Daemon to death, I'm paving the way for you, and reclaiming the power that belongs to the Iron Throne. Just like I forged you for Aemon!"

He pointed to two parchments on the table, one depicting the emblem of the capital's guards, the other an image of Dark Blade: "Over the years, the Master of Laws has controlled the capital's guards, the Minister of Finance has controlled taxation, Hand of the King Minister has controlled state affairs. The King's power has been too dispersed. I need two swords—one in the sunlight to protect the order of King's Landing; and one in the darkness to eliminate hidden threats."

"Big Daemon is a sword in the sunlight." Jaehaerys's gaze sharpened. "I made him Commander of the Capital Garrison, reclaiming military power from Otto and firmly establishing order in King's Landing's Landing within the royal family. Little Daemon, on the other hand, is a sword in the night. He has dragons, followers, and prestige that commands awe from the lords; he's perfectly suited to be the Minister of Intelligence—"

Only he could keep those treacherous rebels hidden in the shadows, and only he could prevent the princes from easily defying the Iron Throne.

Baelon was stunned, then realized. "You want them to check and balance each other?"

"It's not just about checks and balances," Vaegon suddenly spoke, pointing to the "Dark Blade" symbol. "Brother, you've overlooked the most important point—identity. Little Daemon is a bastard. Even if his legally ordained father approves of him and bestows upon him Blackfyre, in the eyes of those lords, he will always be illegitimate. Having him as Dark Blade allows him to utilize his abilities without threatening Viserys's right to the throne. If Big Daemon were to become Dark Blade, given his personality, he would inevitably clash with Viserys sooner or later."

Baelon's expression became complicated—he had never considered the fatal flaw of "identity," but Vaegon was right; Damon's status as Daemon's illegitimate son destined him to be only a "blade," not a "handle."

Jaehaerys sighed, his gaze fixed on the direction of the dragon's Dragonpit outside the window. "I gave Little Daemon the power to act first and report later, not for indiscriminate killing, but to empower him to protect himself and eliminate threats. The Seven Kingdoms appear peaceful on the surface, but too many hidden dangers lurk beneath—the Ironborn are not yet annihilated, Dorne is not yet Dorne, the lords of the Reach harbor their own ambitions, and there are frequent disturbances in the the North. I need Little Daemon, this Dark Blade, to help you clear away the obstacles to the future."

He paused, a hint of worry in his voice. "Baelon, you can wield these two swords well because you've experienced war and know how to weigh things. But what about Viserys? He's too kind, too soft-hearted. When he ascends the throne, will he be able to keep Big Daemon and Little Daemon loyal to him? Will he be able to keep these two swords from harming him? Or even—will these two swords one day turn against each other?"

Silence fell over the study, broken only by the crackling of the flickering candlelight. Looking at his father's aged face and Vaegon's indifferent eyes, Baelon suddenly realized that the power of the Iron Throne was far heavier than he had imagined.

Jaehaerys walked to the window, gazing at the distant moonlight, and sighed softly, "I've lived for almost seventy years, and I've seen too many brothers turn against each other, too many families fight amongst themselves. I only hope that today's decision won't plunge the Targaryen into another civil war of blood and fire—I only hope that my grandchildren can protect this land."

Moonlight streamed through the high arched windows, falling on the king's aged figure and on the two parchments on the table—the city guard's emblem in the sunlight and the Dark Blade pattern in the night, gleaming in the candlelight like two silent swords, quietly awaiting the trials to come.

What Daemon Blackfyre didn't know was that his fate had already been incorporated into the old king's game of protecting the Targaryen and the Iron Throne, making him the sharpest, and most helpless, pawn.