Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 408: The Golden Age of King Darren
It was late autumn of that year.

Aerion Targaryen's breath was as faint as a candle in the wind.

He lay on a soft feather bed, covered with a blanket embroidered with the image of Sea Smoke, which Princess Naerish had put on him when he was seriously ill. Since the day that Irion did not really kill the brothers Rehogar and Baeron, Princess Naerish often used things with the image of Sea Smoke to dangle in front of him, and it was not known whether it was revenge or to remind her brother of her pain. Outside the window, the bells of the old town sounded low and distant, as if coming from another world.

The maesters withdrew, leaving only Naerish sitting by the bed. Her silver hair had turned completely white, but her violet eyes were still as sharp as a sword.

"Ilion," she said in a voice so calm it was almost icy, "do you have anything else to say?"

Ilion's lips trembled, and phlegm and blood rolled in his throat. He raised his hand with difficulty and pointed to a small wooden box on the bedside table. Narish opened it and found two faded rings inside, one inlaid with sea smoke scales and the other engraved with the names of Rehoga and Baelon.

"They are just children." Aerion's voice was so hoarse that it was almost inaudible. "Maegon and Elsa taught them bad things. They can't tell the difference between Blackfyre's lies."

Nailisi's knuckles were clenched white.

"Children?" She sneered. "Rehoga and Baelon are not children. I have seen Rehoga satisfy his needs with his hands, and I have seen Baelon blushing in the morning. They are already men, Ilion. When they stole the sea smoke, they knew what they were doing. And the bastards killed your Valis, and you are so willing to forgive them? I don't understand, I don't understand you, Ilion, I don't understand you!"

Ilion closed his eyes, tears falling from the corners.

"I apologize to you on their behalf. Don't let your anger torment your sister."

Nailish was silent for a long time, so long that the maesters thought she would never speak again.

"I do not accept it," she said at last, her voice as light as a knife across silk. "Seasmoke is dead, Aemon is dead, my womb is ruined by time, and two thieves, one living in the Sept, the other on the Wall. What is that punishment?"

Aerion's breathing quickened, and his hand dropped limply, the ring rolling to the ground.

"All mortals must die." He murmured, looking at the ceiling with a distracted gaze, as if there was a dragon passing by there, "But dragons. Should not die like this. The same goes for dragon bloodlines."

As his hand fell, a sharp dragon roar suddenly came from outside the window. It was the pain that Wormax felt as the fire of his master's life was extinguished.

Nailisi slowly stood up, picked up the Haiyan scale ring, and put it on her finger.

"No, Aerion," she whispered to the cold body, "some sins cannot be washed away even by death."

This year, Aerion Targaryen, Prince of Oldtown, died.

There were no male descendants in the line of Ilion, and there was no heir.

The Targaryen family of Oldtown was inherited by Maegon Targaryen. This prince, feeling guilty, rarely appeared in public and instead focused on raising his only remaining children.

Princess Naerys, unable to live with Maegon, chose to return to Dragonstone and spent her lonely old age in her family's ancient castle.

Let go of the pain and separation.

Daeron's reign was later called the "Golden Age".

In the middle and late reign of Daeron, prosperity ensued as the Long Summer was confirmed.

In King's Landing.

When the first rays of sunlight penetrated the mist of Blackwater Bay, gilding the towers of the Red Keep, the smoke from bakeries and the aroma of mead intertwined on Steel Street, and vendors pushed carts loaded with fruits, shouting "Fresh blood oranges - His Majesty the King's favorite flavor!"

Even in the new Flea Bottom, where the once dirty alleys were now paved with cobblestones, washerwomen beat their clothes at the public well built by Daeron II and sang the new ballads of the bards: "The good king sits in an iron chair, with a golden crown on his silver hair,
Blackfire's traitorous sword, buried in the mire~

The Prime Minister's grain cart, with its laurel leaves shining,

The children are well fed and are not afraid of the cold north wind~"

Even the beggars who once filled the streets admitted: "It is much harder to beg for food these days than in previous years. After all, there are fewer hungry people."

In the fertile riverlands.

In the territory of Duke Tyrell, the wheat waves roll like a golden ocean.

Thanks to the "Plowing Order" promoted by Prime Minister Ringol, the River Bay has had bumper harvests year after year, and heavy ears of wheat mature three or four times every year. Farmers even have enough surplus grain to brew a kind of light beer mixed with honey, which sells very well in the port of Old Town, and even as far as the North, you can see this kind of wine with the silhouettes of Daeron and Xirui printed on the bottle label.

"Try this, my lord!" Farmer Old Tom forced a can of home-brewed beer on Lord "Longthorn" Leo Tyrell, who was heading to Dragon's Nest to participate in the tournament. "My distant brother's daughter works in the kitchen of the Red Keep. She said the queen loves to drink the mead from the River Bend!"

The Duke looked at the irrigation canal being built in the distance with royal funds and supervised by the Vareses family, and suddenly said to his attendant: "Tell His Majesty and the Prime Minister that High Court will offer a thousand barrels of 'Golden Ear Honey Wine' for this year's harvest celebration. No, you ride fast to Bitter Bridge now and ask Caswell to take out two hundred barrels of three-year-old Golden Ear Honey Wine from the warehouse immediately and make sure to deliver it to Dragon's Nest before us."

In the slightly barren northern territory.

In the caves of Winterfell, the white-haired Lord Rickon Stark is leading people to expand the cellar.

"Store 50% more food," he said to the steward. "The letter from King's Landing said that the Citadel predicts that this long summer may last for twelve years, but only the gods know whether it will last that long. We cannot stop stockpiling food!"

In the courtyard, craftsmen from Dragon Nest City were instructing stonemasons to reinforce the city walls. A bold young apprentice even suggested: "What if we lay the hot spring pipes to the winter town?"

The maester of Winterfell almost choked to death when he heard this: "Gods! Do you want the northerners to be as squeamish as the southerners?"

But that night someone saw him secretly drawing a sketch of the pipeline. Winterfell's hot spring resources are abundant enough, and Stark has never been reluctant to spend money on things that can prevent people from freezing to death. In fact, Duke Cregan Stark was doing something similar last long summer. Winterfell's hot spring resources were integrated at that time, and some pipelines had been laid.

So during this long summer, Lord Rickon Stark continued his old father's great project.

Outside the Seven Kingdoms and the Conquests.

The Silent Sisters of the Seven wrote in their notebooks: "There are 40% fewer corpse collectors this year - may the gods bless King Daeron."

This is Darren's heyday.

Bakers in wealthy areas would hide lucky coins in their cakes, saying that it was to "bring back the good fortune of a wise king."

The prostitutes in King's Landing joked that "the masters from the Red Keep are now generous with their money", probably because the Red Keep was financially well-off and the courtiers' salaries were sufficient and paid on time.

Even the most stubborn conservatives and the most warlike knights and nobles had to admit: "Daeron is better at ruling with bread and laws than with swords."

This is a golden age.

The Golden Age was a period of recovery and continued rise, based on the prosperity built by Jacaerys I, Aegon II and Daeron I.

(End of this chapter)