The end of the year at Runestone was covered in a thin layer of snow. Ancient bronze armor reflected the cold skylight from the ramparts; the plates, etched with runes, seemed to whisper of the stubbornness and pride of the Vale.
Today, however, this castle known for its tenacity was forcibly injected with a touch of foreign vanity—the marriage of Targaryen and Royce caused the sky-blue banners and the three-headed dragon sigils to entwine awkwardly in the freezing wind.
King Jaehaerys stood with fine snow dusting his silver hair. He pulled his heavy sable cloak tighter, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly as he watched the couple before the altar.
Baelon stood by his side, his face colder than the bronze on the walls. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to aggravate the old injury beneath his ribs, causing him to occasionally press his hand against his side.
Daemon Blackfyre stood a little further away, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.
Rhaenys had indeed brought Laena and Laenor; the sea-blue cloaks of High Tide looked exceptionally bright against the white snow.
Six-year-old Laena had grown a bit; her features bore Rhaenys's boldness, and she was currently standing on tiptoe, curiously examining the altar. Three-year-old Laenor clutched his mother's hand tightly, his small face full of wariness toward the strange environment.
"Where is the Sea Snake?" Daemon whispered to Rhaenys beside him.
"Where else could he be?" Rhaenys chuckled lightly, her tone carrying helplessness and understanding for her husband. "There are new 'business opportunities' in the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea. He said he had to 'prepare for the next voyage' and expand the fleet by another thirty percent."
She deliberately emphasized the words "prepare for the voyage," clearly accustomed to Corlys throwing himself completely into navigation in the six months since resigning as Master of Ships.
The wedding ceremony began with the lengthy prayers of the septon.
Rhea Royce wore a deep blue wedding gown embellished with bronze sigils. A circlet of the same material crowned her ebony hair. There was no bridal shyness on her handsome face, only a solemn firmness.
When the septon asked, "Do you promise to love, honor, and obey him," her answer was as clear as a war axe splitting rock: "I promise to honor the alliance between Royce and Targaryen, just as I honor the runes of Runestone. As for obey—" she paused, her pale grey eyes looking directly at the groom beside her, "that depends on whether he is worthy." A suppressed gasp rippled through the crowd.
Daemon Targaryen's face instantly turned ugly. His iconic silver hair was messy in the wind, and offended anger burned in his purple eyes.
If not for the cold glare Prince Baelon cast his way, he probably would have stormed off right then. When it was his turn to vow, his voice was filled with undisguised mockery: "I promise... well, to introduce Caraxes to the taste of Runestone bronze."
The exchange of tokens was an even greater disaster.
Rhea offered a heavy bronze amulet carved with protective runes, weighty enough to kill a man if thrown;
Daemon reciprocated with a ruby ring brought from King's Landing, the gem's flashy red looking exceptionally frivolous against the bronze background.
When Rhea took the ring, her fingertips didn't even touch his skin. She held it delicately with two fingers, as if it were hot garbage.
"Seems this wedding is even 'livelier' than I imagined," Rhaenys whispered into Daemon Blackfyre's ear, her tone full of amusement. "Our little Daemon better keep his eyes open; don't learn from your namesake brother in the future." She paused, deliberately raising her volume. "Speaking of which, when will we see you in wedding robes? You can't let your sister wait too long, can you?"
Daemon Blackfyre shook his head helplessly. Just as he was about to reply, he saw Princess Gael blushing not far away, twisting the silk handkerchief in her hands into a knot.
Beside Gael, Alicent Hightower also stole a glance at him, then quickly lowered her head, the tips of her ears tinged with faint red.
The atmosphere at the wedding feast was even stiffer than the ceremony. Daemon Targaryen downed cup after cup of ale, glaring ferociously at any Vale knights who tried to offer a toast.
Rhea sat at another table with several elders of House Royce, whispering about the defensive deployments of the Vale, as if the groom nearby were merely an irrelevant decoration.
King Jaehaerys tried several times to soften the atmosphere, but was blocked by Rhea's impenetrable politeness and Daemon's deliberate ignoring.
Late into the night, the awkward wedding finally stumbled to an end amidst general silence.
As the attendants guided the newlyweds to the bedding chamber, Daemon Targaryen stumbled and was given a cold look by Rhea: "Does a Prince of Targaryen need help even to walk?" This taunt thoroughly ignited Daemon's anger. He flung off the attendant's hand and glared viciously at Rhea: "At least I'm not a lump of bronze that can't be warmed!"
The two began to argue in low voices at the door of the bridal chamber. Though not loud, it was enough for those waiting outside to hear curses mixed with "barbarian" and "rogue."
Finally, Lord Yorbert Royce lost his patience and coughed: "It is late; the couple should rest early." Only then was the farce forcibly ended.
Until the moment of parting the next day, Rhaenys held onto Daemon Blackfyre's arm, her tone half-joking, half-serious: "See? Never learn from Big Daemon. Marrying someone incompatible is living torture." She glanced at Gael and Alicent talking to Laena nearby and added, "Of course, don't marry someone too domineering either, or life will be impossible."
She suddenly changed her tone, her voice loud enough for everyone around to hear: "If worse comes to worst, if the Old Man forces you into a marriage, come to High Tide to find your sister! I'll decide for you! I think our Laena is quite good; in a few years, she'll be of age. You can cultivate feelings from childhood, know each other inside out—"
"Mother!" Six-year-old Laena instantly blushed crimson, hiding behind Rhaenys, her small hand clutching her mother's cloak tightly.
Hearing this nearby, Gael's face instantly turned pale. She lowered her head, fingers unconsciously picking at the tassels of her cloak, her eyes slightly red.
And Daemon Targaryen, who had just been coldly seen off by Rhea, heard these words and felt as if he had been stabbed again.
He rushed to Viserys and Aemma, wailing: "Brother! Sister-in-law! Look at her! Rhaenys is kicking me while I'm down! I don't want to stay here; this place is scarier than a dungeon!"
Viserys shrugged helplessly, while Aemma suppressed a laugh and patted his arm: "Endure it; marriage always requires adjustment."
Finally, Daemon turned desperately to Daemon Blackfyre—his namesake brother, his last hope—shouting: "Brother! Take me with you! Back to King's Landing! I'll even squeeze into the Dragonpit with The Cannibal!" Before he finished, he met the simultaneous icy glares of Jaehaerys and Baelon.
The old King's eyes held unquestionable majesty, while Baelon's gaze was like a dagger dipped in ice, instantly silencing Daemon, who shut his mouth resentfully. In the end, he could only watch helplessly as the royal procession departed, leaving him "trapped" in this bronze castle.
Life back in King's Landing was much quieter. One afternoon a few days later, the sun rarely managed to disperse the winter gloom. Daemon was helping Gael and Alicent look after Rhaenyra in the gardens of the Red Keep.
The precocious little princess had begun to crawl unsteadily, currently chasing a butterfly, her soft silver-gold hair shining in the sunlight.
Gael squatted on the ground, patiently teaching Rhaenyra to identify flowers; Alicent sat on a stone bench nearby, embroidering a baby cloak, occasionally looking up at Daemon playing with Rhaenyra, her eyes gentle.
Just then, a familiar dragon roar tore through the sky!
The sound was sharp and urgent, carrying a wild joy of liberation. Daemon Blackfyre jerked his head up to see a scarlet figure breaking through the clouds, diving toward the Red Keep—it was Caraxes!
The rider on the dragon's back had messy silver hair, his cloak dancing wildly in the wind. It was Daemon Targaryen, who was supposed to be at Runestone!
"I'm back!" His roar, accompanied by Caraxes's cry, spread throughout the Red Keep. "Whoever loves that wretched place can stay there!"
Gael covered her mouth in surprise, and Alicent stopped her work, looking up at the figure descending from the sky.
Daemon Blackfyre watched the familiar, rebellious posture, understanding in his heart—the inertia of history had ultimately led his "great-grandfather," the Rogue Prince, to make the exact same choice as recorded.
Caraxes circled once over the Dragonpit before landing steadily in the plaza. Daemon Targaryen vaulted off, stumbling a few steps, but grinning like a child who had successfully skipped school.
In the distance, the window of King Jaehaerys's solar slammed open, the old King's roar faintly audible: "Daemon! You bastard!"
But this time, Daemon Targaryen showed no fear. Instead, he made a face in the direction of the solar, then strode toward it in high spirits—he knew that with a dragon, no one could send him back to that cold bronze castle again.
In the garden, Daemon Blackfyre watched the figure disappear at the end of the corridor, then looked at Gael and Alicent, who were exchanging glances. He shook his head helplessly. It seemed the peaceful days in King's Landing were about to be turned upside down by this namesake "brother" once again.
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