Chapter 14: The Reform Plan
The morning sun poured through the tall, arched windows of the Red Keep's Council Chamber, lighting the golden scales of the table at its center. The Small Council was assembled.
King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, the Conciliator, sat upon his high-backed chair, serene and regal in his silver-embroidered robes. To his right was Maester Barth, the wise and steady Hand of the King. On his left sat Prince Daemon, now his official advisor, his silver hair gleaming beneath the sunlight.
Beside Daemon sat Queen Alysanne, her age-lined face still radiant with quiet strength. Across from them, Archmaester Elysar coughed into a linen cloth, his breath shallow and weak. The Citadel had sent Maester Arryll as his assistant — an unspoken admission that the Archmaester's final days were drawing near.
Also present were Lord Lyman Beesbury, the weary Master of Coin; Prince Baelon of Dragonstone; Ser Ryam Redwyne, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard; and Lord Corlys Velaryon, the famed Sea Snake. At the far end, Gael Targaryen stood quietly with a golden pitcher in her hands, serving wine to the assembled lords.
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The City's Disorder
King Jaehaerys's calm voice broke the silence.
"Let us begin. The first matter of the day concerns the peace—or rather, the lack of it—within King's Landing."
Ser Ryam Redwyne's expression was grave.
"Your Grace, according to Commander Raymont Royce, a band of thieves disguised as City Watchmen attacked the fish market outside the Mud Gate last night. A dozen injured, three merchants dead. By the time the Watch arrived, the culprits had vanished."
Queen Alysanne frowned.
"Impersonating the City Watch? How dare they? Have our guards fallen so low that outlaws wear their cloaks with ease?"
Daemon smirked faintly.
"Your Grace, perhaps because the Watch has no true cloak. They wear scraps—grey, brown, red, whatever cloth they find. Their weapons are rusted, their armor mismatched. No wonder the people mock them."
He spread a parchment across the table.
"I've designed something better."
The council members leaned forward as Daemon unrolled a detailed sketch — soldiers clad in dark scale mail and golden cloaks, armed with polished short swords, daggers, and truncheons.
"The City Watch should wear black armor, trimmed in gold," Daemon said smoothly. "Their cloaks will gleam like sunlight — so that the people of King's Landing know their protectors by sight."
Jaehaerys studied the blueprint with keen interest, then passed it around.
Maester Barth smiled approvingly. Even the cynical Sea Snake nodded.
Queen Alysanne clasped Daemon's hand, her eyes filled with quiet pride.
"The Gold Cloaks," she murmured. "It has a fine sound."
Jaehaerys's voice was warm.
"If all my councillors showed such diligence, the realm would be a paradise. I've changed a dozen commanders, yet none have done what Daemon has achieved in a day."
The Queen turned to her husband.
"Perhaps he should do more than advise, my love. Let Daemon serve as Commander Royce's deputy. Let him learn how the City Watch truly functions."
The King nodded in agreement.
"So be it. Daemon shall serve as deputy commander of the City Watch."
Daemon bowed his head slightly, concealing the triumphant glint in his violet eyes.
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Faith, Wealth, and Age
The council moved on.
"The Great Sept of Baelor," said Jaehaerys, "is ready to begin construction atop Visenya's Hill."
Lord Beesbury blinked in surprise.
"So soon? I had thought the plans would take longer."
Queen Alysanne gave a gentle, melancholy smile.
"At our age, Lord Beesbury, time is a rare gift. We wish to see the Sept complete before the Seven call us home."
She turned to Corlys.
"Lord Velaryon, is your fleet prepared?"
The Sea Snake inclined his head.
"My ships will sail today — to the North, the Vale, and the Stormlands — to bring timber and stone for the Great Sept."
Alysanne's smile softened.
"And there is other good news. Our son Vaegon has been named a Doctor by the Citadel. The youngest ever. His mask, his chain, and his scepter — all of gold."
Prince Baelon laughed heartily.
"Trust Vaegon to drown himself in books instead of dragons! Still, the first Maester of House Targaryen — perhaps the Conclave will make him Grand Maester someday."
King Jaehaerys shook his head.
"No. He detests the court, and the Citadel would never choose him. Knowledge he has, but no heart for service."
Archmaester Elysar managed a frail smile.
"The Conclave respects Vaegon's mind, but not his obedience. The Citadel values loyalty, not brilliance."
The meeting adjourned soon after, the lords filing out one by one. Elysar left last, coughing so hard that his footsteps echoed like dying bells down the marble hall.
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The King's Heir and the Dragon's Mind
Only Jaehaerys, Alysanne, Gael, and Daemon remained.
The Queen sighed softly.
"Archmaester Elysar has healed so many, yet none can heal him. The Gods can be cruel indeed."
Jaehaerys nodded solemnly.
"Age comes for all, my love. But at least the Citadel has sent Arryll to replace him."
Daemon chuckled lightly.
"Arryll? He looks even older than Elysar — a man one cough away from his own grave."
He leaned forward, his tone sharpening.
"Your Graces, the Citadel hoards its finest healers for Oldtown. The Crown relies too heavily upon them. The Maesters shape our children's minds, manage our letters, advise our lords. Through the Citadel, House Hightower pulls the strings of the entire realm."
Jaehaerys's eyes gleamed with interest.
"You believe the Citadel is a tool of Oldtown?"
"I know it," Daemon replied. "House Hightower wields three powers: the Faith, the Citadel, and their port. Together, they control Westeros more subtly than any sword could."
The King and Queen exchanged glances — admiration, surprise, and perhaps a flicker of unease.
Jaehaerys stroked his silver beard.
"You speak boldly, my grandson — and wisely. Barth himself could not have put it plainer."
Queen Alysanne clasped her hands.
"Thank the Gods that House Targaryen alone commands dragons. Without them, we might already kneel before Oldtown, or Driftmark, or even Casterly Rock."
Daemon's lips curved into a faint smile.
"Then let us use that gift wisely. Dragons are the trunk of the royal tree — the nobles, its branches. If the branches grow thicker than the trunk, the tree will crack. The Crown must strengthen itself — and prune the lords who overreach."
He rose from his seat, pacing.
"The City Watch must be reorganized, and the Dragonriders forged into a single elite force — a King's Dragon Guard, bound only to the Throne. Dragons and loyal soldiers together can keep every lord in check."
For a long moment, silence filled the chamber.
Then Jaehaerys rose slowly and placed a trembling hand upon Daemon's shoulder.
"My grandson… you are not only greater than your father and brother — you rival even my Hand, Maester Barth. Never has anyone so clearly seen the kingdom's sickness, nor offered such a cure."
Queen Alysanne smiled through tears.
"The Gods themselves must have sent you to us, Daemon. Your plan is perfect — save for one thing: an army needs coin."
Daemon met her gaze steadily.
"Coin will not be a problem. King's Landing has hundreds of thousands of hands and fertile land along the Blackwater Rush. With the right laws and reforms, wealth will flow to the Crown."
King Jaehaerys looked at him with pride and quiet awe — the pride of a king who, at last, saw his successor not merely in blood, but in brilliance.
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End of Chapter 14
The Dragon's mind begins to burn brighter than its fire.
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