The roar of The Cannibal's wings faded over the Narrow Sea, finally turning into a blurry dragon cry dispersing in the morning mist.
On the docks of King's Landing, the lingering scent of sulfur intertwined with the salty tang of the sea like a forgotten cup of bitter wine.
King Jaehaerys's silver hair was plastered messily to his sweat-dampened forehead. He watched the direction Daemon Blackfyre had vanished, the dragon crest atop his scepter glinting coldly in the sunlight, as if silently accusing something.
"Baelon." Looking at the harbor where only he and Baelon remained, the old King's voice suddenly broke the silence of the docks.
He turned, his deep purple eyes sweeping over Rhaenys's Hill, where the Dragonpit stood—shrouded in sulfur mist, the shadows of resting dragons faintly visible inside. "Pass my order. From today on, double the guards at the Dragonpit and Dragonstone. Not only must we prevent hatchlings from becoming wild, but no outsiders are to approach, especially those 'dragonseeds' in the city and on the island."
Prince Baelon paused, then bowed. "Yes, Father." His hand unconsciously pressed the old injury under his ribs, the dull pain seeming exceptionally clear in such solemn moments. "I will have the most reliable Dragonkeepers and knights stand guard. Anyone not of royal blood who steps within a hundred paces will be killed without question."
"Not enough." Jaehaerys shook his head, his scepter striking the flagstones heavily. "Little Daemon taming The Cannibal is a warning, not a miracle." His gaze swept over the awed commoners in the distance, his voice lowering further. "Do you think those Targaryen bastards scattered outside won't covet the power in the Dragonpit? Do you think the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea aren't eyeing our dragon eggs?"
Baelon fell silent. The heroic figure of Daemon Blackfyre piloting The Cannibal was still vivid before his eyes, but the hidden risk behind it was like a sword hanging over their heads.
"Little Daemon is different from them," Baelon said, a trace of imperceptible defensiveness in his tone. "He is Aemon's son, our family. His loyalty to the House is no less than any Targaryen."
Jaehaerys laughed suddenly, the sound heavy with exhaustion, like wind blowing through dry branches. "Precisely because he is Aemon's son, we must be more cautious."
The old King's fingers rubbed the scale patterns on his scepter. "Count them. How many bastards does our House have? From Aegon the Conqueror onward, those scattered bloodlines we can name are few. But how many of them are like Little Daemon—educated, understanding duty and honor?"
He paused, looking toward the Red Keep, its towers standing like a row of silent tombstones in the morning light. "We don't even know who his mother is. Aemon was always the most sensible child growing up; how could he leave me such a difficult problem on this matter?"
Baelon thought of the black dragon brand on Daemon's shoulder and his words at the Gates of the Moon—"Blood and fire from the same source"—and suddenly felt his throat tighten. "Perhaps... his mother was also of Valyrian descent. Those other ancient dragonlord families always have some unknown secrets."
"Then let's make this secret 'reasonable'." Jaehaerys's tone suddenly became firm. "Pass my word. From now on, Daemon Blackfyre's background must be rewritten—his mother was a Valyrian noble lady from across the Narrow Sea, lawfully married to Aemon in Myr. But the lady died of illness after giving birth, and Aemon fostered the child on Dragonstone to protect him."
Baelon's pupils contracted sharply. "Father, won't this hurt Jocelyn..."
"I know." Jaehaerys's voice lowered, carrying a rare fragility. "She is my sister by the same mother, Aemon's lawfully wedded wife. But look at Little Daemon, look at him fighting bloody battles for this family. Do we let him carry the brand of 'bastard' all his life?" His scepter struck the ground again, sending stone chips flying. "I will speak to Jocelyn personally. Tell her this is not a betrayal of Aemon, but to protect the bloodline Aemon left behind."
Just then, a clear, bright dragon roar suddenly tore through the sky!
The sound was unlike The Cannibal's low rumble or Caraxes's wild arrogance; it carried a maiden-like agility and resolve—it was Dreamfyre!
Baelon jerked his head up to see a magnificent pale blue giant dragon diving from the direction of the Dragonpit. Her scales flowed with gold and silver luster in the sunlight, like a gem kissed by the gods.
And on her broad back sat two figures—Princess Gael in a sky-blue dress, and Mysaria in a grey-green handmaiden's uniform!
"Gael?!" Baelon cried out in shock, the old injury under his ribs throbbing violently from the surprise.
Jaehaerys's face turned iron-grey instantly, his scepter nearly crushed in his grip. "Has the girl gone mad?!"
In the tower on the west side of the Red Keep, Daemon Targaryen was clinging to the windowsill. Though the cast on his left leg wasn't removed, it didn't stop him from shouting at the sky: "Aunt Gael! Take me with you! This wretched tower is driving me crazy!" His silver hair was messy in the wind like burning dry grass. "Caraxes is still in the Dragonpit; we can go find Little Daemon together!"
Dreamfyre seemed to hear his shout. Her massive wings beat violently, sending a hurricane-like airflow sweeping over. Daemon Targaryen felt a massive force hit his chest, and he fell backward like a leaf, hitting the stone floor with a thud, his shout turning into a grunt.
"Fool." Watching the blurry figure in the distant tower window, Jaehaerys cursed under his breath, but had no mind to care for that disheveled grandson.
His gaze was fixed dead on Dreamfyre, watching the giant dragon carry his most beloved youngest daughter over the docks.
Gael's sky-blue skirt snapped in the wind. She even looked back and waved toward the docks, her face wearing an almost innocent excitement.
"Stop her! Stop her quickly!" The old King's roar echoed on the docks. Guards hurriedly drew swords, but could only watch helplessly as Dreamfyre flew further away, like a shooting star breaking free of its bindings.
Watching the dragon disappear, Baelon suddenly remembered many years ago, when he was young, his aunt Rhaena had ridden Dreamfyre just like this, sweeping over the Red Keep to fly to Harrenhal in pursuit of her own freedom.
History was always startlingly similar, only this time, sitting on the dragon's back was his most fragile sister.
"Damn you, Aemon!" Jaehaerys's roar carried a sob. His scepter smashed heavily onto the ground, cracking a fine line. "Leaving one trouble wasn't enough; now even Gael has been led astray! How do I explain this to Alysanne?!"
His gaze swept over the royal family members who had returned upon hearing the commotion: Viserys holding Rhaenyra, face pale; Aemma subconsciously protecting her belly, eyes full of worry; Jocelyn Baratheon standing in the shadows, face calm as deep water, only her clenched fists revealing her emotions.
"Baelon," Jaehaerys's voice suddenly calmed, calm enough to chill the heart. "Pass my order. Close all gates of King's Landing. Send riders to notify lords along the route. If Dreamfyre's trail is found, report immediately—remember, 'invite' the Princess back, do not 'capture'."
Baelon bowed to accept the order, but knew in his heart that since Gael dared to fly away on Dreamfyre, she wouldn't return easily.
That "Winter Child" who always shyly hid behind Queen Alysanne had grown her own claws the moment she donned the crown of a dragonrider.
The crowd on the docks gradually dispersed, leaving a mess behind. Sunlight pierced through the clouds, casting dappled shadows on the flagstones like a torn tapestry.
King Jaehaerys stood alone, watching the direction Dreamfyre had vanished, fine tears clinging to his silver-white lashes.
He suddenly remembered when Aemon was small, how he would secretly climb onto Caraxes's back, saying he wanted to see the world across the Narrow Sea.
Back then, he had laughed and spanked his son, saying he'd take him when he was older. But now, Aemon was gone, the son he left behind rode a wild dragon across the Seven Kingdoms, and his most beloved youngest daughter had gone mad with him.
"The dragons of Targaryen never know how to obey," the old King murmured, the scepter slipping from his trembling hand. "Never..."
From the direction of the Dragonpit came another dragon roar—this time Caraxes's bellow, carrying the anger of being left behind.
Immediately after, the roars of Vhagar, Vermithor, and Silverwing sounded in succession, like a chaotic elegy echoing long over King's Landing.
Baelon picked up the scepter from the ground, looking at his father's stooped back. He suddenly felt that this storm triggered by Daemon Blackfyre had only just begun.
Those covered secrets, those suppressed desires, those forgotten bloodlines—all would ride the wings of dragons to whip up an unprecedented frenzy in the skies of the Seven Kingdoms.
And at this moment, riding on Dreamfyre's back, Gael looked down at the shrinking King's Landing. Mysaria clung tightly to her dress, platinum-blonde curls flying in the wind.
"Princess, where are we going?" Mysaria's voice trembled but held a trace of excitement.
Gael looked back, a light never seen before shining in her pale violet eyes. "To catch Daemon." Her voice was crisp as a silver bell, carried far by the wind. "Tell him, even if he runs to the ends of the world, I can find him."
Dreamfyre let out a joyful roar, flapping her wings to soar higher into the sky, leaving the noise of the Red Keep and the King's rage far behind.
Sunlight bathed them like a layer of golden armor, guarding this secret about courage, love, and rebellion.
The docks of King's Landing gradually returned to peace, leaving only King Jaehaerys's sigh and the distant dragon roars weaving in the sea breeze, like a sad song no one could understand.
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