The sunset over Blackwater Bay always carried a gentle, amber hue.
As the blue and white sails of the Redwyne fleet sliced through the shimmering waves, Daemon sat on a wooden crate by the gunwale, holding a simple fishing rod, his line trailing into the gold-flecked water.
Cullen Celtigar squatted beside him, deftly baiting a hook with a small fish. His dark face was full of pride. "Trust me, my Prince! The groupers in Blackwater Bay are the fattest. When I was a boy out at sea with my father, we could fill a whole basket in a day!"
Alyn Redwyne leaned in, shaking a fishing net in his hand. "Don't listen to this old crab, he's all talk! Last time we were on the Narrow Sea, he fished for half the day and only caught a rotten boot!"
Cullen bristled immediately, reaching out to snatch the net. "That was because the waves were too high! I'll catch a big one this time, just you wait! You're just jealous!"
The two scuffled playfully, drawing laughter from Rayford Rosby, Rupert Crabb, and the others nearby.
Daemon watched them, the corners of his mouth lifting. Compared to the last time he had left King's Landing—flying alone on the Cannibal to begin his tour of the Seven Kingdoms—his return was incredibly lively.
Not far away, Gael sat on soft cushions, chatting with Mysaria and Johanna, her pale violet dress fluttering gently in the sea breeze. Behind them stood Brienne, straight and tall as a pine, her right hand resting on the pommel of her sword as she vigilantly scanned the surroundings. At the stern, Larys Strong and his father, Lyonel, were in a low discussion, Larys's cane tapping a rhythmic beat against the deck.
"My Prince! You've got a bite!" Cullen suddenly shouted.
Daemon snapped out of his thoughts to see the rod tip dip violently. He tightened his grip, feeling a distinct, heavy pull on his arm—clearly, this was no small fish.
Alyn immediately dropped his net and rushed over. "Come help the Prince pull! Don't let it get away!"
The surrounding followers gathered around. Tybolt Crakehall even raised his warhammer, bellowing, "If it's too big, I'll stun it with one blow!"
Daemon shook his head with a smile, applying pressure with his wrist as he reeled the line in inch by inch.
The sunset bathed his silver-gold hair in light. As the sleeve of his thin shirt slipped down his right shoulder, the three-headed dragon brand shimmered faintly in the afterglow, seemingly subduing the struggling grouper.
Splash!
A grouper as long as a man's forearm broke the surface, its scales flashing silver-red in the dying light. Cullen pounced with excitement, scooping the fish up in the net. "I told you! We were bound to catch a big one today! It's fish stew for supper tonight!"
Daemon was about to speak when he heard a chirping sound behind him. He turned to see Grey Ghost trailing the fleet. The pale grey-white dragon was gliding low over the water, its golden eyes locked onto the fish in Cullen's hand.
Laughing, Alyn tossed a small fish he had just caught off the stern. Grey Ghost caught it with precision, swallowed it in one gulp, and chirped twice more at them, clearly begging for seconds.
"That cowardly little beast... he's getting better at begging every day," Daemon chuckled helplessly, signaling Cullen to toss a few more fish over.
Grey Ghost let out a satisfied low growl and leisurely followed the wake of the ship, his wings beating rhythmically and leaving shallow ripples on the sea's surface.
Just then, Rayford Rosby pointed into the distance, his voice trembling with excitement. "My Prince! Look! King's Landing!"
Daemon followed his finger. At the end of the sunset, the silhouette of the capital was sharpening. The towers of the Red Keep glowed a dull crimson in the fading light, the dome of the Dragonpit looked like a slumbering beast, and the harbor lights were beginning to ignite, scattered like stars across the coming night.
He took a deep breath. The air was thick with the unique scent of King's Landing—salt water, baking bread, distant bells, and the faint, underlying reek of the city.
---
As the fleet slowly pulled into the harbor, Daemon finally saw the crowd gathered on the docks.
Standing at the very front were King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne.
The Old King wore a black robe embroidered with the three-headed dragon. Though his hair was white, he stood spirited and strong, a scepter in his hand. Queen Alysanne wore a gown of pale white with a white fox fur shawl over her shoulders. Her face wore a gentle smile as her handmaid, Alicent Hightower, carefully supported her arm. Alicent's hair was neatly combed, her eyes filled with respectful deference.
Beside them stood the Crown Prince and Hand of the King, Prince Baelon. He wore dark grey scale armor, the dragon sigil on his chest glinting coldly. His hand rested lightly on the pommel of the sword at his waist, his face bearing an iron-blooded majesty—though when his eyes landed on Daemon, the sternness instantly softened.
Behind Baelon stood his son Viserys and daughter-in-law Aemma. Viserys wore a silver-grey doublet and held a swaddled bundle in his arms—our "Light of the Realm," the baby Princess Rhaenyra. Aemma, in a pale blue dress, leaned gently against her husband, occasionally looking down to coo at their daughter.
Further back were the members of the Small Council. Master of Laws Otto Hightower wore a green tunic, the burning tower of House Hightower conspicuous on his chest. Master of Coin Lyman Beesbury held a ledger, still seemingly checking figures. Grand Maester Allar clutched a scroll of parchment, his spectacles slipping down his nose as he studied it intently.
Guarding the royals were the Kingsguard. Lord Commander Ryam Redwyne stood in his white cloak, sword at his hip, his silver-grey hair groomed meticulously. Behind him were Clement Crabb, Robin Shaw, and other white cloaks, shimmering in the sunset, their posture rigid and eyes sharp as hawks.
Maintaining order was a detachment of men in gold cloaks. They wore black ringmail and held long spears, keeping the commoners back to ensure the safety of the nobility. This familiar, forward-thinking uniform reminded Daemon of the future City Watch—the "Gold Cloaks."
Daemon's gaze fell upon the leader of these men. He wore black armor draped in a more exquisite gold cloak, with Dark Sister at his hip. His silver-gold hair shone in the sunset. It was Daemon Targaryen—the Rogue Prince!
As if sensing the gaze, the Rogue Prince looked over, waving from a distance with a familiar, roguish smirk curling his lips.
Daemon couldn't help but smile. It seemed the storm whipped up by his own wings—this "future Black Dragon"—had indeed caused his "cousin" (and great-grandfather), the Rogue Prince, to take up the post of Commander of the City Watch earlier than history dictated.
The moment the ship docked, the pier erupted into activity.
Gael was the first to rush down the gangplank, throwing herself into Queen Alysanne's arms. "Mother! I missed you so much!"
Alysanne embraced her tightly, stroking her hair with heartache. "My little daughter, my little Gael... you've lost so much weight. You must have suffered out there."
Gael shook her head vigorously. "Not at all! Little Daemon took great care of me, and with Little Mys and Hannah there, I had a wonderful time!"
Jaehaerys and Baelon walked toward Vaegon. The Old King patted Vaegon on the shoulder, his voice filled with relief. "Vaegon... was life at the Citadel hard? It is good you are back. Good to have you back."
Our scholar, Vaegon, for once dropped his usual expression of disdain for all things living and bowed to his father. "Father. All is well."
Baelon smiled too. "Brother, stay a while this time. We have much to catch up on."
Viserys, spotting his friend Lyonel Strong, rushed over excitedly and hugged him. "Lyonel! Old friend, you're finally back! I have to tell you, my daughter Rhaenyra grew another tooth recently, she is the cutest thing!"
Lyonel laughed, patting his back. "Prince Viserys, I missed you too. And, of course, that fellow Otto and Lady Aemma."
Otto Hightower had intended to approach, but his daughter Alicent held him back. She pointed to Bethany and Ormund on the ship, whispering, "Father, Cousin Bethany and Cousin Ormund are here too."
Otto nodded, understanding immediately. He turned with his son Gwayne Hightower to greet them, asking his niece Bethany with concern, "Was the journey peaceful? How could Hobart rest easy letting you two travel alone?"
Bethany smiled, pulling Ormund forward. "Uncle is too kind. We were safe following Prince Daemon's fleet."
Ser Horace "The Horror" Redwyne took his nephews Alyn and "The Slobberer" to see their great-uncle, Ryam Redwyne. Three generations of Redwynes met with laughter and joy.
Clement Crabb walked toward Rupert. Before he could speak, Rupert lunged forward and hugged him. "Uncle! I missed you! I learned so much on this tour!"
Clement paused, looking at his nephew who seemed much more open and cheerful, then smiled and patted his back. "It seems you have indeed grown."
Under the gaze of the crowd, Dreamfyre spread her pale blue wings and flew toward the Dragonpit. The Cannibal gave a low growl to Daemon, and upon receiving permission, flew toward that familiar hill in King's Landing—his "territory."
Daemon was the last to disembark, followed by Rayford, Cullen, Mys, Jarman, and the rest.
The moment his boots touched the dock, Daemon Targaryen grabbed him in a bear hug. "Little Daemon! You're finally back!"
The Rogue Prince's voice was full of excitement, and the scabbard of Dark Sister clinked crisply against Blackfyre. "I tell you, after I got back from delivering that letter to Riverrun, the Old Man and our Crown Prince thought I was too idle, so they shoved this City Watch Commander job on me! From now on, inside King's Landing, I've got your back!"
Daemon laughed, patting him on the back. "Congratulations on the important 'idle position.' I knew you could do it."
The surrounding nobles smiled enviously. The royal family was harmonious, the princes like brothers. Someone even whispered, "The two princes are so close, just like Prince Aemon and Prince Baelon were back in the day."
Daemon Targaryen let go, moving to greet Rayford, Cullen, and the others.
Daemon, meanwhile, scanned the crowd for the owner of a gaze he had once feared—the widow of his "father" Prince Aemon, and the mother of his "sister" Rhaenys—Jocelyn Baratheon.
Finally, he saw her standing beside Aemma. Jocelyn wore a black gown, the stag sigil of House Baratheon prominent on her chest. her dark hair was neatly pinned, and her eyes held a complex mix of emotions—anticipation, nervousness, and a trace of concealed concern.
Daemon took a deep breath and walked toward her step by step. Aemma assumed he wanted to see his "niece," the little Princess Rhaenyra, and smilingly held out the bundle. "Daemon, look, Rhaenyra has grown so much. She was smiling just a moment ago."
Helplessly, Daemon took Rhaenyra. The little thing blinked her round eyes, her tiny hand grabbing his finger and shaking it gently. He looked at his "niece" (great-grandmother), and the emotions he had prepared were scattered, leaving him momentarily speechless.
But just then, Jocelyn spoke first, her voice trembling ever so slightly. "You came back?"
Daemon looked up, meeting her gaze. Those dark eyes were misty, like the morning fog of the Stormlands.
He took a deep breath, as if summoning all his strength. He gently handed Rhaenyra back to Aemma, then opened his arms slightly and spoke softly: "Yes. I am back... Mother."
A phrase, barely a whisper—"Mother." Yet coming from this "Conqueror Reborn," this "Warrior Incarnate," the Black Dragon who had lived a life of fire and blood, it was spoken with a near-tremble. The word was light as a feather, yet it stirred a tidal wave on the pier.
The crowd fell silent instantly. All eyes focused on them. Tears instantly streamed down Jocelyn's face. She reached out, carefully touching Daemon's cheek, her voice choked with sobs. "Can you... say it again?"
"Of course... Mother." The second time was clearly easier than the first. This time, Daemon's voice was firmer, though still laced with emotion.
Jocelyn could hold back no longer. She threw her arms around Daemon, burying her face in his shoulder, and wept openly. "In my dreams... I always wanted a son like you."
"Now, you have one, Mother..." Daemon gently patted her back, his own eyes rimmed with red. Reborn, across a hundred years of time, he finally had a "Mother" again.
Jaehaerys, Alysanne, and Baelon all smiled with relief; clearly, they had known of Jocelyn's feelings from the letters sent by Rhaenys and Boremund.
Just then, our little Princess Rhaenyra suddenly started crying. Perhaps the little one was frightened by the commotion, or perhaps it was something else, but she waved her small hands, tears streaming.
The royals immediately fell into a panic. They took turns holding her, trying to coax her. Viserys quickly took his daughter from his friend, cooing, "Rhaenyra, be good, don't cry." Aemma tried to amuse her, but the baby wouldn't stop wailing.
"Here, let me try," Daemon said, reaching out to take Rhaenyra from Viserys.
Miraculously, the little creature who had been inconsolable just a moment ago stopped crying as soon as she touched Daemon's hands. She reached out a tiny fist, grabbed a lock of his silver-gold hair, and giggled.
Viserys and Aemma, the parents, were stunned, then smiled helplessly. Viserys feigned anger. "You little rascal, you pick your favorites! You cry when Father holds you, but laugh for Uncle Daemon!"
Aemma tapped Rhaenyra's little nose. "Exactly. No honey-milk for you later, you little crybaby."
Daemon held Rhaenyra, shaking his head with a smile, then looked apologetically at Viserys, Aemma, Gael, and Jocelyn. Jocelyn, having shed her usual "stay away" expression, looked at Daemon with pure motherly love, waving her hand with a smile that said she understood completely.
The moon began to rise, casting a silvery glow over the docks. Jaehaerys patted Daemon on the shoulder, his voice authoritative but warm. "Alright, everyone is tired. Let us return to the castle. Tonight, we feast in the Red Keep to welcome our Little Daemon home."
The crowd murmured their agreement. Alysanne took Jocelyn's hand. "Jocelyn, stay with me tonight. We have much to talk about." Jocelyn nodded, her eyes still fixed on Daemon, overflowing with affection.
Gael and Alicent, the best of friends reunited, held hands and chatted excitedly. Gael introduced Johanna, Brienne, and Alys Rivers. "Alicent, you know Little Mys, but this is Hannah—Johanna Swann. This is Brienne Tarth, and that is Alys Rivers. They are the playmates that bad boy Little Daemon found for me on the road."
Alicent nodded politely at the Princess's unconscious display of affection. "It is a pleasure to meet you all."
Viserys, accompanied by his friends Otto and Lyonel, surrounded Vaegon, respectfully asking his uncle about the Citadel. Though Vaegon remained sharp-tongued, he looked at the figures of Baelon and Jaehaerys ahead and answered his nephew's questions with rare patience.
Daemon Targaryen found their conversation boring. He pulled Larys Strong—the "Clubfoot" leaning on his cane—aside and whispered, "Larys, tell me. That short assistant of Uncle Vaegon's, Maester Bernard... what's his story? He follows Uncle everywhere and seems quite capable."
Larys smiled, lowering his voice. "Well, I'm not entirely sure, but I hear he is quite famous at the Citadel, particularly skilled in reading the stars."
As for Daemon's followers, they walked behind the Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks, chatting and laughing as they headed toward the Red Keep. Mys and Tybolt, the two gluttons, discussed the evening feast with anticipation, while Cullen and Alyn planned to go fishing in Blackwater Bay again tomorrow.
Silver moonlight spilled into the pitch-black night of King's Landing, illuminating the path ahead for the royal procession.
But no one noticed that at the stern of the Redwyne flagship—which should have been silent by now—a pale grey-white silhouette sensed the crowd dispersing and quietly took flight, melting into the night.
It was Grey Ghost. The timid dragon trailed carefully behind the group, golden eyes full of curiosity, wings beating softly to avoid making a sound. The shy creature ultimately couldn't resist the "temptation" of Daemon and had quietly followed him, perfectly infiltrating the night of King's Landing.
The lights of the Red Keep twinkled ahead. Daemon walked in the center of the crowd, holding Rhaenyra, feeling the warmth and life around him.
He knew that this journey across a century had only just begun. And King's Landing, the place where he had grown up in his past life, had finally transformed from the city of loathing and longing in his memories into his true home and harbor in this life.