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Chapter Fifty-Four: The New Lord of the Crossing
The morning air was crisp and cool, the distant sounds of the Northern army preparing for the march filling the camp.
Inside Daeron's tent, Rhaella Targaryen sat across from her grandson, sharing a quiet breakfast.
A meal together was a rare moment.
Her grandson, King Daeron Targaryen, was a man of many responsibilities.
She barely had time to speak with him alone, let alone sit together for a meal.
Even now, Ser Arthur Dayne stood nearby, ever watchful.
Rhaella picked at her food as she studied her grandson.
His raven black hair, his piercing grey eyes—but even with that he looked so much like her son Rhaegar.
And yet—
There was something different about him.
Something sharper, stronger.
Rhaegar had been a dreamer, lost in his prophecies and riddles.
But Daeron…
Daeron was a dragon.
Rhaella sighed internally.
Spending time with Daeron was difficult enough.
But for Viserys and Daenerys, it was even worse.
They were still adjusting to being in Westeros—
And they were surrounded by an army of Northmen.
Most of the Northern lords and soldiers were respectful—
But that didn't mean they trusted them.
Rhaella had seen it in their eyes, heard it in the whispers when they thought she wasn't listening.
The Targaryens were outsiders here.
Even though Daeron was their king, raised by Ned Stark himself—
There was still a barrier between them.
That, and the dragon hatchlings was why Viserys and Daenerys had barely had any time with their nephew.
Viserys, especially, had taken it poorly.
Rhaella sighed, setting down her fork.
She wanted to speak—
To ask her grandson how he was feeling, how he was truly handling all of this—
But before she could—
A servant entered the tent.
"Your Grace," the man bowed. "Ser Stevron Frey has arrived and seeks an audience with you."
Daeron set down his cup of tea and wiped his mouth with a cloth.
"I will see him."
A few minutes later, Ser Stevron Frey entered the tent.
The man looked uneasy, his hands twitching slightly as he stood before Daeron.
"Your Grace," Stevron began, bowing deeply.
Rhaella studied him carefully.
Stevron was nervous—but not just because he was standing before a king.
There was something else.
"Speak," Daeron commanded.
Stevron swallowed.
"My father… passed away last night," he said. "The Maester believes his heart gave out in his sleep."
Rhaella saw how Daeron's expression didn't change.
But she could see Stevron shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.
"Tragic," Daeron said, his voice empty of emotion.
Stevron flinched at Daeron's tone.
Even Rhaella noticed it.
There was no sincerity in Daeron's words—no true grief or pity for Walder Frey.
And Stevron knew it.
But neither man said anything.
Instead, Daeron leaned forward slightly.
"This means you are the new Lord Frey," Daeron continued smoothly. "I didn't like the last Lord of the Crossing. And unlike your father… I hope you last longer."
Rhaella's eyes narrowed.
What was Daeron doing?
But when she glanced at Stevron—
She saw fear in his face.
The man turned pale, nodding quickly.
"I—I will do my best, Your Grace," Stevron stammered.
Rhaella didn't understand.
But Stevron did.
There was something unsaid between them—something that only they knew.
Rhaella studied her grandson.
He was testing Stevron.
And Stevron was terrified to fail.
Stevron took a moment to gather himself before speaking again.
"Your Grace," he said, his voice steadier, "while I am now Lord of the Crossing, some of my brothers disagree."
Daeron remained silent.
Stevron hesitated before bowing his head.
"I would be grateful if Your Grace could help me solidify my position."
Daeron tilted his head slightly.
"I see," he mused.
For a moment, the tent was silent.
Then Daeron spoke.
"Your father raised four thousand men before his passing," he said.
Stevron nodded.
"Keep a small garrison loyal to you," Daeron continued. "And send all your brothers' men with the rest of the Frey army under my banner. I will make sure that the Frey men earn their share of glory beating the Lannister invaders from the Riverlands."
Stevron's lips parted slightly.
Rhaella immediately understood the implication.
Daeron would take all the men loyal to Stevron's brothers away from the Twins.
He would send them to war.
And while they were gone, Stevron would secure his rule over the Twins.
Stevron slowly nodded.
"I understand," he said quietly.
Daeron smiled.
"Good."
Stevron bowed deeply before quickly excusing himself.
As he left, Rhaella turned to Daeron, narrowing her violet eyes.
"You handled that quite well," she said.
Daeron took a sip of his tea.
"I still have much to learn, Grandmother."
Rhaella studied him.
She wanted to ask—
Did you have something to do with Walder Frey's death?
But she already knew the answer.
And if Daeron wanted to tell her, he would have.
Instead, she simply sighed and sipped her tea.
She had asked the gods for a strong king to lead House Targaryen back to glory.
It seemed her wish had been granted.
A few hours later, the gates of the Twins were opened.
The Northern army split into two forces:
Most of their cavalry, under the command of Robb Stark and Ser Brynden Tully, crossed the Green Fork to relieve Riverrun and break the siege.
The foot soldiers, under the command of Daeron Targaryen and Ned Stark, marched south along the Kingsroad to face Tywin Lannister at Ruby Ford.
Rhaella rode with Daeron's host, alongside Viserys and Daenerys.
As their horses rode down the kingsroad, she glanced up at the walls of the Twins.
The Frey banners still hung.
But Walder Frey was dead.
And his house now kneels to Daeron Targaryen.
Rhaella smiled.
Her grandson was truly a dragon.
And the world would soon know it.