Morning in the Red Keep usually began with the ringing of Maegor's bells, but today the commotion started three hours early. The heavy oak doors of the King's bedchamber were shut tight, but the argument raging inside was like dragonfire piercing stone walls, filling the entire castle with the scent of scorching tension.
"Jaehaerys Targaryen, how could you do this to my Daemon!" Queen Alysanne's voice was tearful, clutching her silver-embroidered nightgown into wrinkles. "His leg hasn't even fully healed, yet you lock him in the tower, away from even sunlight! Do you want to turn him into a second Maegor?"
"I am disciplining him!" Jaehaerys's roar followed closely, accompanied by the crisp sound of shattering porcelain. "That bastard turned Runestone upside down, and that wasn't enough? He came back and instigated you to oppose me! If I don't discipline him strictly now, he'll ride his dragon and burn down the Red Keep in the future!"
Baelon stood in the corridor, looking like a bronze shield wedged between two stone walls.
He was just about to knock when the Queen's scream came from inside: "It's all your fault! If you hadn't beaten him so hard he couldn't stand, would my heart ache for him?"
Then came the King's roar: "You have the nerve to say that! If you didn't always shield him, would he be so lawless?"
"Father, Mother..." Baelon tried to speak, his voice as thin as a silk thread.
"Shut up!" Two voices exploded simultaneously, startling Baelon into retracting his hand.
He scratched his head awkwardly, remembering yesterday when he tried to mediate by saying "Mother might be too indulgent," only to have Alysanne prick his hand with an embroidery needle. later, when he said "Father's punishment was indeed a bit harsh," Jaehaerys immediately threw a black stone paperweight at his feet.
He understood now. Between parents in a rage, any word was a spark that would set him on fire.
Meanwhile, the instigator of all this was leisurely lying in his tower bedroom, using a small silver spoon to eat honey-stewed pears Alysanne had specifically sent.
Daemon Targaryen's left leg was still in a cast, but that didn't stop him from winking at the handmaiden. "Say, do you think Grandfather will be so angry he'll seal up a few more secret passages in my room?"
The handmaiden turned pale with fright and hastily knelt on the floor.
Daemon scoffed and tossed the pear core out the window.
Of course he knew how big a mess he had made—when crying to Alysanne during the day, he deliberately described his wounds as if branded by hot irons, adding embellishments that Jaehaerys wanted to send him to the Wall as a Night's Watchman, and that Baelon planned to send him back to Runestone for Rhea Royce to chain up with bronze shackles.
"Grandmother, they just can't stand to see me happy." He had held Alysanne's hand then, the grievance in his purple eyes perfectly faked. "I just wanted to go to Flea Bottom for a cup of ale, and they guard against me like a thief. Tell me, is my life as a Prince worse than a stray dog's?"
Alysanne doted most on this grandson who dared to love and hate. Seeing him lying in bed with a lame leg, she naturally believed every word.
That very night, she took the "blood scab he secretly hid" to confront Jaehaerys, leading to the current chaos in the Red Keep.
In another bedroom, Daemon Blackfyre was fastening the dragon-buckle of his belt in front of a bronze mirror.
At first light tomorrow, he would depart with his guards, beginning a journey across the Seven Kingdoms that was nominally a "tour" but effectively a "matchmaking trip."
Otto Hightower's memorial was still on the bedside table, the old man's handwriting as neat as soldiers in formation: "...The Prince is nearing thirteen after the new year; a virtuous match should be selected to solidify the realm. Princess Gael also needs to plan early. A tour can both display royal majesty and visit talents everywhere. It is a strategy serving two purposes..."
"A strategy serving two purposes?" Daemon scoffed softly, tossing the memorial into the brazier. The charcoal licked the parchment, quickly turning Otto's "well-intentioned advice" into ash.
He glanced out the window. Moonlight spilled through the gauze curtains onto the carpet like a pool of cold water.
The door was pushed open gently, and Gael and Alicent walked in.
Gael wore a pink nightgown, her eyes red and swollen like ripe cherries. She held a sachet embroidered with The Cannibal's pattern. "Take... take this." She shoved the sachet into Daemon's hand, the coldness of her fingertips transmitting through the fabric. "The road through the Seven Kingdoms is long. Remember... remember to write to me every full moon."
"I will." Daemon ruffled her hair, suddenly realizing the little princess only reached his chest now. "When I return, I'll bring you furs from the North, gold ornaments from the West, flower seeds from the Reach..."
Gael nodded, tears rolling down like broken pearls.
Alicent quickly handed her a handkerchief, speaking softly, "Prince Daemon, rest assured, I will take good care of the Princess." She wore a grey-green handmaiden's dress, cuffs embroidered with the ivy of House Hightower. Her lapis lazuli eyes shone with complex light in the candlelight. "As for the Master of Laws... I will keep an eye out too." Daemon knew she meant Otto might plant spies along the tour route.
He looked at Alicent gratefully. These past few days, whenever Gael ran to him crying late at night, Alicent was always with her, carefully guarding the door to give them space while preventing the Princess's loss of composure from reaching outside ears.
"You should rest early too." He saw them to the door, watching Gael look back three times with every step as she left with Alicent. His heart felt heavy and stuffy, like it was stuffed with water-soaked cotton.
Just as he took off his outer coat to lie down, a creaking sound of wood friction came from behind him.
Daemon spun around. The stone wall beside the fireplace slowly moved aside, revealing the entrance to a secret passage just big enough for one person.
A dark figure crawled out, limping. A cane thumped on the floor. It was Daemon Targaryen, who was supposed to be "grounded" in the tower.
"Brother, you're finally going to sleep." He dusted himself off and grinned, revealing sharp canine teeth, though the smile was a bit forced. "I nearly broke my other leg crawling through that passage. You have to compensate me."
Daemon Blackfyre frowned at the cast on his leg. "How did you get out? Where are the guards?"
"Those useless fools?" Daemon Targaryen scoffed, sitting on the bed. "I told them Grandmother was sending medicine and sent them away long ago." His face suddenly fell, putting on a verge-of-tears expression. "Brother, I'm really fed up lately. Broken leg aside, I'm locked in that wretched tower; even a fly is freer than me. Today the Old Man sealed three more passages in my room; I had to borrow yours."
Then he grabbed Daemon Blackfyre's hand and shook it vigorously. "Come walk with me. Just to Flea Bottom for an ale, or the Street of Silk to see the new dancers. You know, I used to love going with Viserys..."
Daemon Blackfyre pulled his hand back, his eyes saying, Are you kidding? Why not go yourself?
Daemon Targaryen rolled his eyes, pointing at his leg. "Look at my leg. Can I fight alone? I need you, brother."
"Then why not ask Viserys to accompany you?" Daemon Blackfyre lay back down.
"He revolves around Aemma and Rhaenyra all day now. Aemma is in low spirits, so he has to coax her daily. And Rhaenyra, that little thing is clingy; she has to hold his hair to sleep..."
He suddenly lowered his voice, a trace of sincerity flashing in his purple eyes. "And... brother, you're leaving tomorrow."
This sentence was like a fine needle, gently piercing the hard shell around Daemon Blackfyre's heart.
He looked at his great-grandfather, this "brother" who was a scoundrel but always treated him as family at critical moments, looked at his casted leg and his feigned pitiful expression, and finally sighed.
"Only for an hour." He refastened his belt and grabbed the cloak hanging on the wall. "And no trouble."
Daemon Targaryen beamed instantly, patting his chest in guarantee. "Don't worry, with me here, absolutely..." He was glared into silence by Daemon Blackfyre and quickly corrected himself, "I mean, with you here, absolutely nothing will go wrong."
The two squeezed into the secret passage one after another. The tunnel smelled of damp mold. The stone steps were steep and narrow. Daemon Targaryen leaned on his cane, grimacing in pain with every step, but didn't utter a sound.
Daemon Blackfyre walked in front, lighting the oil lamps on the wall with a flint. In the dim halo, he suddenly remembered Baelon saying this passage was dug by Jaehaerys in his youth to meet Alysanne privately. Unexpectedly, it had now become Daemon Targaryen's "prison break tunnel."
Unknown to them, shortly after they entered the passage, Gael and Alicent peeked out from the shadows at the end of the corridor.
They had just walked to the stairs when they heard strange noises from Daemon's room. Worried, Gael pulled Alicent back, just in time to see the stone wall moving.
"Where... where are they going?" Gael's voice was tearful, her small hand clutching Alicent's sleeve tightly.
Alicent's face was also a bit pale, but she quickly calmed down. "Don't worry, Princess. They shouldn't be in danger."
Gael's eyes reddened, and a bold idea suddenly surged in her heart. "Alicent, how about we..."
---
The night of King's Landing was like a massive black velvet cloth, wrapping the Red Keep, the Sept, and the docks within it.
The bright moon hung high above the castle. Silver light spilled onto the Blackwater Rush, the rippling surface looking paved with crushed diamonds.
Rowdy songs drifted from the taverns of the Street of Silk, mixing with the smell of cheap ale from Flea Bottom, composing the unique breath of this city.
Deep in the Dragonpit, a long dragon roar suddenly sounded.
The Cannibal seemed to sense his master's departure. The low growl vibrated the ground slightly. Immediately after, Caraxes, Dreamfyre, Vermithor, Silverwing, and others responded in succession. Different tones of dragon roars interwove in the night sky like a nocturne belonging to House Targaryen.
Daemon Blackfyre and Daemon Targaryen heard this roar just as they emerged from the secret passage exit. Daemon Targaryen looked up toward the Dragonpit, a trace of longing flashing in his purple eyes. "Say, if we rode our dragons now and flew straight to Lannisport, would Grandfather faint from anger?"
Daemon Blackfyre ignored him, just pulling up his hood. "Can you ride a dragon with that leg? Hurry up, we must be back before dawn."
The two merged into the crowd on the Street of Silk. Though limping, Daemon Targaryen was still a focal point. He took off his hood, silver hair shining in the moonlight, drawing flirtatious glances from the women on the roadside.
He didn't shy away either, smiling and whistling at them until Daemon Blackfyre yanked him to be more restrained.
In the tower of the Red Keep, the argument between Jaehaerys and Alysanne finally ceased.
The old King leaned back tiredly on his chair. Alysanne sat beside him, twisting her handkerchief, eyes red.
Baelon carefully offered a cup of wine. "Father, Mother, it is late. You should rest."
Jaehaerys took the cup but didn't drink, simply looking at the bright moon outside the window. "Tell me, am I too strict with Big Daemon?"
Alysanne answered immediately, "More than strict! You're driving him mad!"
Baelon smiled wryly. Just as he was about to speak, dragon roars came from the distance. He looked up toward the Dragonpit, frowning slightly. "Strange. Why are the dragons suddenly restless at this hour?"
Jaehaerys stood up and walked to the window. Moonlight illuminated his aged face. Watching the night mist swirling above the Dragonpit, he suddenly snorted coldly. "I bet a certain bastard is up to something again."
On the Street of Silk, Daemon Blackfyre sighed helplessly, looking up at the moon.
Under the moonlight, he suddenly felt that this unexpected "night escape" might not be a bad thing.
At least before leaving King's Landing, he could act like a real teenager and go crazy once with this troublesome great-grandfather "brother."
The night in King's Landing was still long, and their story had only just begun.
---
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caveleather