Interwoven hidden threads

The morning light in King's King's Landing today is enveloped in a perfectly warm glow.

In the room of the Minister of Intelligence on the west side of the Red Keep, in the Dark Blade Guard's outpost, the candlelight had not yet been completely dispelled by the rising sun. On the wooden table were densely packed parchment scrolls, some marked with the routes of merchant ships on both sides of the Narrow Sea, and others depicting the spy outposts of King's Landing's Landing. The ink smudges on the paper spread out, looking like spider webs hidden in the shadows.

Daemon sat behind the long table in the room, his fingertips holding a secret letter from Braavos, the edges of the letter still stained with a few grains of salt from the Narrow Sea.

Colin Celtigar stood to the side, a smudge of ink staining his personal Blue Crab pattern on his silver armor. His voice was deliberately low. "Your Highness, according to the latest news from my uncle, Earl Bartimos Celtigar, Earl Corlys House Velaryon's fleet has been stationed in the port of Braavos for over ten days recently. That ' Sea Snake ' not only met with a candidate for Sea King, but also other people—one of whom is the cousin of the current Chief Swordsman of the Sealord of Braavos, and is said to have considerable connections with mercenary groups."

"I understand." Daemon looked up, his purple eyes expressionless, and casually placed the secret letter into the "to-do" pile. "Please reply to your uncle, Earl Bartimos, and tell him to have his sailors and men follow and keep an eye on things, just make sure they don't get caught. As long as they don't lose track of Corlys's ship and don't alert the House Velaryon and Braavos men."

He reached out and touched the Grey Ghost lying at his feet. The timid, light gray-white dragon immediately and skillfully rubbed against his outstretched hand, its golden eyes filled with dependence.

These past few days, the timid dragon has been sticking to him all the time. Even when working on documents, it would curl up at Daemon's feet like a child afraid of being abandoned. Occasionally, it would nudge his knee with its little head, begging for a piece of dried fish.

"Your Highness, Princess Gael has arrived!" Rayford Rosby's voice came from the doorway. As soon as he finished speaking, the Gael's pale purple skirt swept across the threshold.

Gael walked in carrying a food box, followed by Mysaria and Johanna. Brienne stood guard beside them, her six-foot-tall figure blocking the morning light, the Tarth crest on her shoulder armor gleaming coldly.

"Little Daemon, why are you looking at these old, outdated files again!" Gael slammed the food box down on the table, hands on her hips, her pale purple eyes full of reproach. "Your aunt specially asked the Red Keep kitchen to make you a honey almond cake this morning, it'll get cold if you don't eat it soon."

She reached out to snatch the parchment from Daemon's hand, but he gently pressed her wrist, his fingertips feeling warm against her skin. "Eat after you finish this page, sweetie."

Mysaria smiled and handed over a piece of cake, her platinum curls cascading over the food box. "Your Highness," she said, "The princess specially asked the cook to add extra almond slivers today, saying that you loved this when you visited Arbor during your tour."

Johanna nodded in agreement, clutching a piece of freshly sewn linen in her hand. "This is something Little Mei and I made together. This time we added anti-abrasion cotton wadding inside. You can use it to wipe your Blackfyre; it's more convenient than the cloak."

Daemon took the cake, took a bite, and the sweet aroma mixed with the crunchy almonds spread across his tongue.

Looking at the expectation in Gael's eyes, and then at the smiles of Mysaria and Johanna, he suddenly felt that these mountains of paperwork weren't so daunting after all. "Thank you. I'll finish up early tonight, then I'll take you for a walk in the garden, and then I'll take you to see the Grey Ghost breathe fire, okay?"

Gael immediately smiled, her eyes shining like stars. "You keep your word! Don't let Larys or Jarman call you away again!"

"I can't get rid of her." Daemon nodded, his fingertips lightly brushing her cheek, causing Gael to blush. She turned and hid behind Mysaria, muttering softly, "You're bullying your aunt again."

Brienne stood in the doorway, watching this scene. Her six-foot-tall figure seemed somewhat gentle, and a faint smile subtly curved her lips. Having only been with Daemon and Gael for a short time in King's Landing, this was the first time she had seen the princess smile so happily.

The daytime revelry quickly passed, and night soon descended, enveloping King's Landing. The towers of the Red Keep lit up like stars scattered in the darkness.

After strolling through the garden with Gael in the afternoon, Daemon returned to handle official business. By the time he finished processing the last confidential letter, the candlelight was already mostly burned. He rubbed his temples, and just as he was about to get up and go back to his room to find Gael, he heard the "tap tap" of a cane at the door—

Larys Strong appeared in the candlelight, the hem of his black robe sweeping across the crumpled paper on the ground, with Jarman Waters and Rayford Rosby guard on either side.

Even as Jarman's one eye swept over his friend Larys, his fingers unconsciously rubbed together the bow and dagger at his waist;

Rayford gripped his longsword, his eyes warily fixed on the depths of the corridor, clearly still somewhat suspicious of the "Clubfoot" man.

Larys nodded slightly to the two men, tapped his cane lightly on the ground to signal them to be on guard outside, then pushed open the door and walked in. He leaned his cane against the wall, a sly glint in his dark eyes. "Your Highness, today's intelligence has been compiled, but there are some 'interesting things' that I must tell you privately."

Daemon sat back down in the armchair, tapping his fingertips on the armrest, and said in a flat tone, "Speak."

Larys slowly sat down, silently took out a neatly folded roll of parchment from his sleeve, and then slowly pushed it in front of Daemon: "When you first left King's Landing to begin your tour of the Seven Kingdoms, there was a Reach man named Will among your entourage. He was one of our Master of Laws, Otto's men."

He paused, looking at Daemon's expressionless face, and added, "He delivers secret messages every month through the ravens of the House Hightower in Oldtown, detailing your itinerary—for example, which lords you met in Highgarden, how many slaves you rescued in Stormlands, and even the number of times you went for walks in the garden with Gael. He remembers it all perfectly."

Daemon picked up the beer on the table, took a sip, and the rich flavor of the beer masked some of his weariness. His tone remained indifferent. "I know."

Larys raised an eyebrow, leaned forward slightly, and said with a hint of teasing in his voice, "It seems I underestimated Your Highness's charm."

His dark eyes swept over Daemon's silver hair before returning to his face. "I didn't expect the charm of a true dragon to even make Miss Alicent help you—she noticed Will was acting strangely a while ago and secretly told Princess Gael, who then told you, right? That Miss House Hightower values you more than her father."

Daemon looked up, a hint of helplessness in his pale purple eyes, and lightly traced the rim of his glass with his fingertips. "Speak plainly, stop beating around the bush."

Realizing he'd been seen through, Larys had no choice but to stop teasing, tapping his fingers lightly on his knee as if carefully choosing his words: "Will isn't just Otto's man."

His voice lowered, a hint of seriousness flashing in his dark eyes, "He also sends letters to the King's study once a week, received personally by the King's personal attendant. The contents of the letters—no one knows, but after each letter is delivered, the Small Council discusses your movements. Aren't you curious?"

Daemon's hand holding the wine glass remained still; he simply uttered three words: "I don't want to be curious."

"Your Highness, don't you really want to know?" Larys paused, then pressed on, his tone tinged with confusion. "Is His Majesty the King placing people around you because he's worried your power is too great? Or is he afraid that after Prince Baelon —you'll threaten Prince Viserys's right to succession?"

"I don't want to know," Daemon repeated, his tone flat, his gaze fixed on the moonlight outside the window. The towers of the Red Keep gleamed coldly in the night, like a lurking beast. He had long suspected someone was watching him, from Will's "coincidental" appearance beside him during the tour to his occasional encounters with the king's servants whispering to Will after returning to King's Landing. He just hadn't said anything.

His status as an illegitimate child since his previous life taught him to be vigilant from a young age. Coupled with his experiences before dying in battle on the Red Grassland, he was more sensitive than anyone else to the gazes hidden in the shadows.

Larys sighed, shrugged, and gave a helpless smile. "Your Highness, ever since you took over as Minister of Intelligence, you've become even more boring than my stern father. You used to joke with me about Otto's green robes, but now you've become a real taciturn guy."

He stood up, picked up his cane, walked to the door, then turned back, a hint of inquiry in his dark eyes. "You knew all along, didn't you? You knew from the Will accompanied you on your tour?"

Daemon didn't answer, but simply waved at him, signaling him to leave.

Larys smiled and gently closed the door—he could roughly guess that the prince he followed was half his innate kingly intuition and half the vigilance brought about by his status as an illegitimate child. Regardless of Jarman, even someone as carefree as Myles usually concealed a delicate heart beneath that.

Outside the door, Jarman saw Larys come out and glanced at him with his one eye. "What did you say to His Highness?"

Larys, leaning on his cane, his black robes fluttering gently in the night breeze, said, "Nothing much, just reporting some routine new intelligence for today." He paused, then quietly added, "Just keep an eye on His Highness's door, don't let anyone unrelated get close—especially that servant of Lord Otto." With that, he turned and walked towards his room, a profound glint in his dark eyes—the prince he served was far more adept at concealing his brilliance than he had imagined; only such a person deserved the title of a true dragon.

In the Master of Laws's study on the other side of the Red Keep, the candlelight flickered, casting a long shadow of Otto Hightower.

He sat behind the table, his fingers stroking the hilt of the sword at his waist. The white tower emblem of the House Hightower on the scabbard gleamed coldly. On the table lay a secret letter from the Oldtown, its edges crumpled from his grip.

The door was gently pushed open, Bethany Hightower walked in, her pale purple dress sweeping across the gravel on the floor. She held a scroll of Oldtown trade records in her hand, and asked calmly, "Uncle, you wanted to see me?"

Otto looked up, his gaze sharp as he stared at her, as if examining an object. "Is that mysterious Black Dragon really that charming? Alicent tipped him off, and you went to see him every day, even showing him the Oldtown's trade records for the past five years—you forgot, you're from the House Hightower."

Bethany walked to the table, slowly sat down, picked up the cold water on the table, and took a sip. The icy liquid made her even more awake. She put down the glass, her eyes sharp, but without the slightest fear. "Uncle, I haven't forgotten that I'm from the House Hightower. But please don't confuse me with my cousin Alicent —she helped Little Daemon because she was attracted to him; and I approached that Black Dragon simply because his mystery drew me in."

She paused, her fingertips tracing the "Arbor Wine Sales" on the trade record, her voice low. "His mysterious origins, his shrouded history, even his later riding the Glutton, taming the Grey Ghost, exposing the treason in Highgarden, rescuing the slaves in Stormlands, and the lords of the Reach and Stormlands all wanting to befriend him—none of it compares to the many enigmatic mysteries surrounding him that draw me in."

Otto's face darkened, his fingers clenching tighter: "Do you know what you're saying? He's a bastard, Prince Aemon's illegitimate child," and could become a threat at any moment!

"A threat?" Bethany chuckled, a hint of mockery in her eyes. "Uncle, are you targeting him really because of his status and the potential Storm he might cause?" She looked at Otto's suddenly tightening jaw and added, "You're helping His Majesty the King to check him, aren't you? His Majesty is worried that his power is too great and will affect Prince Viserys's right to succession, so he tacitly allows you to cause him trouble. You're helping the King stabilize the situation and also securing more power for the House Hightower. When your friend, Prince Viserys, ascends the throne, you'll be the chief minister."

Otto's face changed drastically. He slammed his hand on the table, making the candlelight flicker. "Bethany! You dare question me?"

"I'm not questioning you, I'm just stating the facts." Bethany stood up, straightened her skirt, and her tone returned to calm. "I won't be like my cousin Alicent, revealing family matters to outsiders. The bills I showed him weren't anything important, just profit information to prove my business acumen. I just wanted to tell you not to go too far—that guy isn't someone to be trifled with. He has the Dark Blade Guard, two dragons, and the support of the Reach and Stormlands. Pushing him too far won't do our House Hightower any good."

She walked to the door, turned back to look at Otto's ashen face, and a faint smile appeared on her lips, "Don't worry, I won't betray you. I will think of the House Hightower, and I will prove my worth for Prince Daemon. After all, it's better to stand on the side of the true dragon than on the side of the losers." With that, she gently closed the door, leaving Otto alone trembling with anger in the candlelight, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the hilt of his sword, his eyes filled with malice.

In the study of the highest tower in the Red Keep, the candlelight had burned down to almost nothing, and the wax dripped onto the stone table, forming irregular shapes.

King Jaehaerys sat behind his desk, with Daemon's intelligence report spread out in front of him. It detailed the recent movements of the Dark Blade Guard —they had cleared out three smuggling outposts and arrested more than a dozen merchants connected to the Triarchy. The handwriting was neat and the report was well-organized.

The door was pushed open, Vaegon Targaryen walked in carrying a copy of "A New Treatise on Stellar Orbits." His long, silver-gold hair hung down behind his grey robes, and his face, which usually had a harsh expression, now carried a hint of urgency.

He placed the book on the table, his voice unusually agitated. "Father, is it really okay for you to secretly condone Otto's targeting of Damon behind Baelon 'Daemon back?"

Jaehaerys didn't turn around, but simply sighed softly, his voice filled with weariness. "I didn't want to either."

He picked up the report, his fingertips tracing the words "Daemon subdues the Grey Ghost," his eyes filled with complex emotions. "Rhaenyra brought new evidence of his identity, Baelon said he's calm and collected, Jocelyn adopted him as her son, and even you don't think he's too stupid—but he's a bastard, Vaegon, that's an undeniable fact."

"So what if he's a bastard?" Vaegon stepped forward, raising his voice slightly. "He's more responsible than Viserys, more composed than Daemon Targaryen! You forged Baelon into the sharpest sword for Aemon's sake; now you see Aemon's son as a threat, even planting people around him to monitor him!"

He gripped the book tightly, his tone urgent. "Do you know how special he is? He can even attract dragons; even a timid wild dragon like Grey Ghost flew from Dragonstone to his the Gullet to follow him. Last time, he caught Grey Ghost's Dragonfire with his bare hands and wasn't hurt at all—he might be the Unburnt! Also, the astrological questions he asked in the Citadel were more profound than those of the noble scions—a person like him is a treasure for the Targaryen, not a threat!"

Jaehaerys finally turned around, his aged face full of wrinkles, his eyes filled with weighing options and helplessness. "Vaegon, you're very smart, but some things don't need to be said outright."

He paused, then pointed to the report's description of the "Dark Blade Guard being highly disciplined." "My appointment of him as Minister of Intelligence and his task of building the guard was both a sign of trust and a test. If he had ambition, he would have used his power to win over the feudal lords long ago; but he didn't. He's simply cracking down on smuggling, arresting pirates, and working for the Seven Kingdoms."

"A test?" Vaegon sneered, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "I heard that when he first returned to King's Landing, you wouldn't even let him travel alone, wouldn't let him ride his dragon alone, and allowed those ministers and nobles to impeach and win him over until he proved himself before allowing him to tour the Seven Kingdoms Seven Kingdoms and prove his identity to them—if he hadn't passed the test, would you have let him disappear into the night at the Red Keep?"

Jaehaerys stiffened, then gave a wry smile, "I am the king, and the patriarch of the Targaryen. I must protect the Iron Throne, and I must protect the future of my family. Little Daemon's position is a double-edged sword; used well, it can be the sharpest blade; used poorly, it can hurt our own people."

Vaegon's breathing gradually calmed. Looking at Jaehaerys's aged face, he suddenly asked, "Father, if I hadn't gone to the Citadel, but instead ridden a dragon and chosen to stay in King's Landing, would you have also forged me into a sword?"

Jaehaerys was stunned, then sighed, his voice tinged with guilt. "Vaegon, go back. I have my own plans."

Vaegon didn't say anything more, picked up the book, turned and left. As he reached the door, he whispered, "Father, you can be even more ruthless than I am sometimes."

Jaehaerys was alone in the study. He looked at Daemon's report, then gazed out the window towards the dragon's Dragonpit. Moonlight streamed through the high arched window, illuminating his aged figure. He picked up his scepter and tapped it lightly on the floor, his voice low and somber. "I hope—I haven't done anything wrong."

The candlelight flickered, casting a long shadow of the old king, like a silent barrier that concealed the weariness and worry in his eyes.

As night deepened, the bells of the Red Keep tolled, mingling with the distant murmurs of the Glutton, like a prelude to the future, carrying the weight of the unknown. Daemon, at this moment, already knew that since choosing to step into King's King's Landing again, he had been drawn into the old king's power struggles, becoming a pawn in the defense of the Iron Throne, and also a carefully guarded "Dark Blade."