The air in the Small Council chamber of the Red Keep felt solidified into obsidian, heavy enough that every breath carried a metallic chill.
Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen stood in the center of the hall. Mysaria had been led by handmaidens to wait in the antechamber, leaving him to face the core of the royal family sitting on the dais alone.
Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting dappled shadows on the floor and cutting everyone's expressions into contrasting light and dark.
King Jaehaerys sat on the highest oak chair, his fingers rhythmically tapping the armrest, the sound marking time like an hourglass in the silence.
His gaze fell first on Daemon, carrying scrutiny but lacking the expected rage. "It seems our 'Black Dragon' knight can not only tame The Cannibal but also follow his namesake brother to experience the 'charms' of the Street of Silk." The old King's voice wasn't loud, but it held an all-knowing mockery. "How did the 'Fledgling's Wine' taste?"
Daemon's cheeks warmed slightly. Just as he was about to explain, he caught a glimpse of Jocelyn Baratheon standing in the shadow of a screen.
Today she wore a plain linen gown, shedding her usual finery, which made her figure look even thinner.
Those dark eyes were locked firmly on him, like two deep pools—containing undisguised worry, like a mother beast seeing her cub in trouble;
An unspeakable tenderness, as if seeing another person's shadow through him;
Yet also a clear trace of reproach, like a silent question: How could you let yourself fall into such a situation?
That gaze tightened his heart more than Jaehaerys's scrutiny.
He subconsciously straightened his back, as if wanting to prove to this "father's" lawful wife that he was not an out-of-control rogue.
Daemon's cheeks turned even "rosier," rendering him speechless. Just as he steadied his mind and resolved to speak, he was stopped by Prince Baelon raising a hand.
Baelon stood beside the King. His face remained serious, but there wasn't much anger in his eyes, rather a helpless "as expected" look. "His Grace asked you," he turned to Daemon, his tone softening slightly, "but before that, we must clarify another matter—how did Dreamfyre appear on the Street of Silk?"
This question was like a stone thrown into still water. Daemon's gaze subconsciously drifted toward the side door.
Gael and Alicent had just been led in. Upon returning, Gael needed to take Dreamfyre back to the Dragonpit, and Alicent was responsible for accompanying her.
Gael's sky-blue hem was still stained with sulfur ash from the pit. Alicent's fingers nervously twisted her dress, her lapis lazuli eyes downcast.
"I asked Dreamfyre to go." Gael spoke suddenly, her voice not loud but unusually clear. She raised her head, her pale violet eyes looking straight at Jaehaerys. "I was worried something happened to Daemon. I couldn't find any guards, so... so I sneaked into the Dragonpit."
"Sneaked into the Dragonpit?" Jaehaerys's fingers stopped tapping abruptly, his brow furrowing deeply. "Do you know how long it has been since Dreamfyre was ridden? Since Rhaena passed, she has been like a cold stone! Do you think taming a dragon is like fetching pastries from the kitchen?"
Queen Alysanne quickly took her husband's hand, persuading gently: "Gael acted out of worry. A young girl unable to find anyone in the middle of the night—it's inevitable she'd be impulsive in her anxiety."
She looked at Gael, affection and pity in her eyes. "But dragging Alicent with you was indeed a bit reckless."
Alicent quickly curtsied. "Your Grace, Your Grace the Queen, do not blame the Princess. I volunteered to go. Prince Daemon treats us very well; we couldn't just watch and do nothing when he might be in trouble."
Viserys stood to the side and couldn't help speaking up for them: "Grandfather, Aunt Gael acted out of concern. Besides, since Dreamfyre was willing to carry them, it means she accepted a rider. Perhaps this is a good thing?"
Jaehaerys hmphed coldly, his gaze sweeping over the young people present before finally landing on Daemon Targaryen—who had sneaked into the hall at some point and was leaning against a pillar, secretly stuffing candied fruit into his mouth. Hearing the commotion, he panicked and shoved the last piece up his sleeve.
"You have the nerve to show your face?" The old King's voice rose steeply. "As an older brother, taking your younger brother to such a place is bad enough, but you dare drug him? If Gael hadn't found him in time, how long did you plan to let him stay on the Street of Silk?"
Daemon Targaryen immediately straightened up, his playful expression instantly replaced by "deep remorse." "Grandfather, quell your anger! I was wrong. I shouldn't have taken Little Daemon to the Hall of Joy, and certainly shouldn't have let him drink the Fledgling's Wine..." He stole a glance at Daemon Blackfyre and winked. "But I did it for his own good! Think about it, he's going to marry eventually. He needs to know what women are about, right? He can't be like some people, blushing at his bride on his wedding night..."
"Daemon!" Baelon interrupted sharply, though his ears turned slightly red.
Viserys coughed awkwardly, and Aemma's laughter came from behind the screen, carrying a bit of teasing. The atmosphere in the hall instantly relaxed.
Jaehaerys looked at his second grandson's comical appearance, the tight corners of his mouth twitching imperceptibly. "The men of our House are famous for being rogues," he said suddenly, a trace of vicissitude in his voice. "In my youth, I went to Flea Bottom with your great-uncle. And your father's first visit to the Street of Silk... I took him personally."
These words stunned everyone. Baelon's face turned beet red instantly. Queen Alysanne slapped her husband reprovingly: "Jaehaerys! The children are still here! Why are you saying everything out loud!"
"But rules cannot be broken." Jaehaerys quickly turned his head to avoid the glares, changing the subject, his eyes becoming sharp again. "Taking your brother to 'broaden his horizons' is fine, but drugging him is bastard behavior! Daemon Targaryen, your punishment is to clean Caraxes's dung in the Dragonpit. You are not to leave your tower for one month!"
Daemon Targaryen wailed but dared not retort, accepting with a bitter face.
The old King's gaze finally returned to Daemon Blackfyre. "And you? You've tasted the Fledgling's Wine; isn't it time to do something proper?" He picked up a scroll from the table. "I've read Otto's memorial. The tour of the Seven Kingdoms was supposed to be today, but after this farce, today won't do. Let's set it for three days from now!"
Daemon paused. "So soon?"
"How can it not be soon?" Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow. "Your 'good brother' has made this matter known to everyone. If you stay in King's Landing, who knows what bad habits he'll teach you next. Go walk the Seven Kingdoms, see the roses of the Reach, the snow of the North. Meeting some proper girls is better than messing around on the Street of Silk."
Baelon added, "I have the retinue prepared. The Cannibal will go with you—both as protection and to display royal majesty. The nobles along the way will host you. As for marriage... handle it as you see fit. Don't force it, but at least let us see that you have the intention."
Daemon looked at the expectation in their eyes and suddenly understood the true purpose of this "trial"—they weren't trying to punish him, but to gently pull him back from Daemon Targaryen's "crooked path."
He remembered Mysaria's tears last night, remembered Gael's determination to ride a dragon to find him. His heart felt warmed by something. "I understand." He bowed. "I will conduct the tour well, and I will... seriously consider marriage."
Jaehaerys nodded with satisfaction, waving for everyone to leave.
As Gael passed Daemon, she quietly slipped a small cloth pouch into his hand, the warmth of her fingertips transmitting through the fabric. "It's soothing grass inside; you'll need it on the road. And..." she lowered her voice, the tips of her ears red as cherries, "don't forget to write to me."
Alicent followed with a curtsy, whispering, "Safe travels, Your Highness. I will take good care of the Princess, and keep an eye on... the movements of the Master of Laws."
Daemon watched their retreating figures, then looked at Daemon Targaryen being dragged out by the ear by Baelon. He suddenly felt this storm might not have been a bad thing.
At least he saw his family's hearts clearly and understood the path he should take.
Three days later, in the early morning, the docks of King's Landing were crowded. When Daemon circled in mid-air on The Cannibal, the black dragon's shadow covered a small part of the harbor.
Below, Viserys and Aemma held Rhaenyra and waved goodbye. Jaehaerys and Alysanne stood at the front, Baelon and Jocelyn stood on either side, while Gael, Alicent, and Mysaria stood at the very back, looking up silently—Gael still clutching that sachet embroidered with a black dragon.
"Remember to bring gifts for Rhaenyra!" Viserys's shout was scattered by the wind.
Daemon looked down. In the morning light, the towers of the Red Keep looked like swords piercing the sky. He knew this departure wasn't just for a tour, but to find his own place—within the Targaryen bloodline, within the conflicts of the Seven Kingdoms, and within the torrent of history.
The Cannibal let out a long roar, spreading his wings and charging toward the bay.
Daemon looked back. The outline of King's Landing gradually shrank, finally becoming a silhouette on the horizon. He tightened his grip on the hilt of Blackfyre, the warmth of the solar seemingly still lingering on the handle.
The road through the Seven Kingdoms was long. The future story had only just begun.
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