Olenna Tyrell wanted to speak with Daeron, but the White Bull blocked her at the Red Keep gates.
Ser Gerold gave her nothing but polite stonewalling.
"Prince Daeron is occupied, my lady."
Olenna rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. The man had taken Rhaegar's coin once. Now he played the perfect loyalist.
Willas tugged her sleeve. "Grandmother, we should go."
She let herself be led away, muttering about visiting her useless little sister instead. Better to look like she was simply making family calls.
Willas walked beside her, thinking hard. The Tyrells should have stopped the plotting the moment it started. Now the crown had smashed Bitterbridge in one stroke. Any open plea for mercy would only make the family look complicit.
The smart play was to stay quiet and let the rebels surrender on their own.
---
Stannis reached New Barrel two days later.
The green-apple Fossoways and the Merryweathers of Longtable met him with their banners already furled.
Both houses offered immediate surrender.
Stannis accepted without a fight. He sent word north: Fruitwine Hall was next.
Inside Fruitwine Hall, Lord Dalbert Fossoway—the red apple—turned the color of week-old wine when he heard the news.
His maester advised surrender at once.
Dalbert exploded. "Surrender? To that black-hearted boy?"
The old maester sighed. "My lord, the crown just erased an entire noble house in a single day. Do you truly wish to test them?"
Dalbert deflated like a punctured wineskin.
He remembered what had happened to the Tullys, the Baratheons, the Arryns.
He ordered the gates opened and walked out with his hands bound.
---
New Barrel's Lord Gran Fossoway rode out to meet Stannis.
"Ser Stannis, the red apple is my cousin. Let me speak with him. I can convince him to yield without more bloodshed."
Stannis studied the man for a long moment.
"Convince him to open the gates. I give you my word he will not be harmed on the march back to King's Landing. After that, the prince decides."
Gran bowed deeply. "Thank you, ser."
Stannis's face stayed blank. "If I am wrong, I will answer for it myself."
That same afternoon the gates of Fruitwine Hall swung wide.
Lord Dalbert Fossoway surrendered.
By the time the news reached King's Landing, Lord Merryweather of Longtable had already sent his own surrender as well.
Daeron simply nodded when he heard. "Bring all three lords to the city. We'll question them together once Starpike falls."
Tywin offered to handle the prisoners. Daeron agreed.
---
Olenna tried the Red Keep again.
This time a thin, dark-haired man in fine but slightly ill-fitting clothes stopped her.
"Lady Olenna. The prince is busy. He asks that you wait."
Olenna looked him up and down like he was something unpleasant on her shoe.
"Black hair, black skin, dressed like a lord. You're no Dornishman. Summer Islands stock?"
"Hardly." The man gave a crooked smile. "Petyr Baelish, my lady. Formerly of the Fingers, lately of the Eyrie, currently Royal Advisor to Prince Daeron."
Olenna's eyes narrowed. "You're the one they call Littlefinger."
"At your service."
She tried to brush past him. Petyr simply stepped in front of her again, still smiling.
"The prince truly is occupied, my lady. I suggest you return home and enjoy the excellent weather."
Olenna stared at him for three full seconds, then turned on her heel without another word.
Petyr watched her go, then hurried off to report his small victory.
Daeron, deep in the dragon cave, laughed when Varys told him the story.
"Sometimes you really do need a proper little snake to handle an old thornbush."
---
In the dragon cave, Arthur Dayne practiced with Dawn.
Three ancient fruits had flooded his body with life force. He moved through forms while compressing his aura, pushing for the next rank.
Barristan and Jonothor Darry stood guard nearby.
Daeron watched from the shadows.
Arthur's breathing shifted. His greatsword slowed until it looked like it was moving through honey.
Then he struck.
The blade flashed with milky-white light and sheared through a thick iron chain embedded in the wall as if it were butter.
No sound. No resistance. The cut was mirror-smooth.
Arthur lowered Dawn and closed his eyes, feeling the new power settle in his bones.
Daeron smiled.
"Arthur just invented a new technique. He calls it Heavy Slash."
The Sword of the Morning had broken through to High Knight.
And the first thing he did was name his signature move like a five-year-old.
Classic Arthur.