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The banquet hall of the Red Keep was awash in the warm, amber glow of topaz. Candlelight danced upon bronze sconces, gilding the long tables in soft gold. The fat from roasting boars dripped onto charcoal, the sizzling sound mingling with the rich aroma of mead to fill every inch of the stone walls.
At the head of the high table sat our "Old King," His Grace Jaehaerys I, wearing a black robe embroidered with the three-headed dragon, undeniably claiming the seat of honor. Beside him sat the "Good Queen" Alysanne, her white fox fur shawl brushing against the tablecloth. On the King's other side sat the Hand of the King and Crown Prince, the "Spring Prince," Baelon. The other lords and ladies were seated respectively below the Prince and the Queen.
Further down the table from Baelon sat his brother Vaegon and his son Viserys. Next came Viserys's close friend, the Master of Laws, Lord Otto Hightower, and Lord Lyonel Strong, who had been nominated by the former Master of Ships, Tymond Lannister, to succeed him. Our "Rogue Prince," Daemon Targaryen, however, sat alone at the far end of the table, next to Larys Strong and Jarman Vikary, seemingly uninterested in his brother's companions.
On the Queen's side, Viserys's wife, Aemma Arryn, took the lead. As for why our Princess Gael or Lady Jocelyn were not in the prime seats beside her, that was because they had pulled the guest of honor—our Prince Daemon Blackfyre—to sit sandwiched between them.
Jocelyn Baratheon sat by Daemon's side. Her black gown was embroidered with the silver stag of her house. Holding a silver spoon, she carefully ladled roast venison onto Daemon's plate, her voice as light as a feather. "Did you eat nothing but dry rations on the road? This venison was sent from Storm's End. Boremund said you like it with a bit of a char, so I had the kitchen roast it a little longer."
Daemon looked at the mound of meat on his plate, and his nose stung. In his past life, before he died on the Redgrass Field, his last meal had been cold, hard oatcakes. There had been no warmth, no one to care for his tastes like this.
He was about to offer his thanks when Queen Alysanne smiled and passed him a dish of honeyed peaches. "Little Daemon, these are sweet, good for cutting the grease. Gael said you ate quite a few on the Arbor, so I had the kitchens prepare them especially."
"Mother, I want some too!" Gael leaned in, her pale violet dress brushing Daemon's arm as she reached for the peaches on the Queen's plate. Alysanne laughed and swatted her hand. "Child, you just said you wanted to maintain your poise, and now you're snatching food."
Viserys, holding Rhaenyra across the table, saw the little princess staring at the meat in Daemon's bowl and couldn't help but tease her. "Rhaenyra, do you want a bite from your Little Uncle? He dotes on you so."
Aemma smiled and signaled a servant to gently restrain his hand. "Don't tease. The babe just fed; she'll get sick if she eats more." But Rhaenyra reached out her tiny hand, scratching the air toward Daemon and babbling, drawing laughter from the whole table.
Baelon set down his goblet, his gaze sweeping the room. His voice was majestic yet full of warmth. "I need not say much of Little Daemon's deeds on his tour of the Seven Kingdoms. In the Crackclaw Point, he helped the Crabbs retake Whispers; in the Vale, he led the coalition to crush the mountain clans and relieve the siege of the Gates of the Moon; in the Riverlands, he mediated the dispute between Blackwood and Bracken, burning Ironborn longships twice to save Seagard and Lannisport; in Highgarden, he exposed treason and saved the Reach lords; in the Stormlands, he rescued hundreds of smallfolk sold by Lyseni slavers. He even convinced Vaegon to return from the Citadel. This sense of duty... it surpasses even what Aemon and I had in our youth."
Otto Hightower, with ulterior motives, immediately chimed in, the cuffs of his green tunic brushing the table. " The Crown Prince speaks true. I received a letter from my brother, Lord Hobart, in King's Landing just days ago. He said that when Prince Daemon was in Oldtown, even the maesters of the Citadel admired his ability. And House Redwyne sent their fleet to escort him—the first time since the Old King's tour that the Reach has shown such dedication to a royal vessel."
Lyonel Strong nodded sincerely, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight. "When the Prince captured the slavers in the Stepstones, even the other ships of the Triarchy dared not approach. That is the deterrence of a true dragon. In the future, anyone who dares to cause trouble in the Narrow Sea will have to weigh themselves against the Prince's Black Dragon."
Vaegon Targaryen, sitting in the corner with a cup of fruit wine, was uncharacteristically devoid of snark. He simply added indifferently, "When he was at the Citadel, he didn't complain about the dullness of academia like other highborn sons. He even asked a few decent questions. Not too stupid."
Coming from Vaegon, whose eyes were usually fixed on the ceiling in disdain, this was more effective than any praise. Even King Jaehaerys laughed. "It seems our Little Daemon can not only fight wars but also discuss scholarship with maesters. Good, very good."
Just then, Daemon Targaryen suddenly raised his goblet, his silver-gold hair shining in the candlelight. His tone was full of teasing. "Father, Uncle, you speak only of his deeds, but why no mention of his... romantic fortunes on the road? I heard that Lady Margery of the Arbor went to the docks every day just to see him; Lord Cameron of Tarth pushed his daughter Brienne on him as a guard; and isn't Lady Johanna Swann here also one he rescued from a slaver ship?"
He winked at Daemon. "Little Daemon, tell us. Did you hide any secrets on the road? Perhaps a token of affection from some lady?"
Gael's face flushed red with anger. She reached out to pinch her "rebellious nephew," Daemon Targaryen's arm. "Big Daemon! Don't talk nonsense! Little Daemon isn't like that!"
Johanna lowered her head, her black hair hiding her face. She gripped her handkerchief so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Daemon rubbed his forehead helplessly. "Cousin, listen less to tavern gossip. Lady Margery wanted to see Little Aunt's Dreamfyre, and she accompanied Gael and Mys touring the Arbor. Brienne was sent by the Lord of Tarth himself and is now Little Aunt's sworn shield. Hannah is now Little Aunt's handmaiden. Where is this 'romantic fortune' you speak of?"
"None?" Daemon Targaryen raised an eyebrow. He was clearly teasing Daemon because, after his confinement was lifted, he had gone to the Street of Silk only to discover the "surprise" Daemon and Gael had left him—Mysaria's ransom debt had been put under the Rogue Prince's name.
He pointed to the balcony outside the window. "Then what is that hiding out there? I thought I saw a pale grey shadow when I came in. Is it some 'little lover' you abducted?"
Everyone looked where he pointed but saw nothing—Grey Ghost had long since shrunk behind a pillar in fear, only his small head poking out, golden eyes full of terror.
Daemon quickly changed the subject. "That is Grey Ghost, a wild dragon from Dragonstone. He followed the fleet here. He's timid and afraid of people."
"A wild dragon following you? You don't call that charm?" Daemon Targaryen wouldn't let up. Gael picked up a peach pit and threw it at him, which he dodged with a laugh.
Amidst the noise, no one noticed the undercurrents in the corner of the banquet hall.
A minor lord in brown robes tugged quietly at his neighbor's sleeve, lowering his voice. "Look at Prince Daemon's power now—two dragons, Cannibal and Dreamfyre, and now a wild one. The Redwynes of the Reach, the Baratheons of the Stormlands, Tarth... even those savages in the North are said to be close to him. He might overshadow Prince Viserys in the future."
The neighbor waved his hand immediately, though his eyes darted toward the King at the head of the table. "Don't speak so loosely. The Old King is still here. And Prince Viserys has many friends, like Lord Otto and the new Lord Lyonel. But truth be told, the Westerlands have likely made a deal with Prince Viserys; otherwise, Tymond wouldn't have recommended this Lord Lyonel, who looks so hard to get along with."
"True. Even if they compare, Prince Viserys was the last rider of the Black Dread. He may yet claim another dragon. Plus, he has the Crownlands, the Westerlands, the Riverlands, and Lady Aemma's kin in the Vale. And the Crown Prince is still here. Not to mention Big Daemon will have three dragons in the future—Vhagar and Caraxes are both battle-tested."
Otto Hightower was whispering to Lyonel Strong, but his eyes periodically swept over Daemon. His fingers unconsciously stroked the pommel of his sword. "Three dragons... too many. King Jaehaerys is old. Prince Baelon is steady, but Daemon is too young. If his power grows too great, he may burn himself."
Lyonel frowned. "The Prince is not ambitious. His tour was for the peace of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Ambition is not about the now, but the future." Otto's voice dropped lower. "Wait and see. Before long, someone will be whispering about him to the King."
Larys Strong stood in the shadows, leaning on his cane. A sharp glint flashed in his dark eyes as he took it all in.
He said nothing, only tapped his cane softly against the floor. A servant in the distance understood immediately and turned to leave the hall, clearly sent to deliver a message.
By the time the feast ended, the moon had climbed over the towers of the Red Keep.
Daemon had just returned to his room when he heard a hiss from behind the door. He was about to draw his sword when Gael walked out with Mysaria, Johanna, Brienne, and Alys Rivers. She held a wooden tray with freshly baked oatcakes.
"What are you doing here?" Daemon sighed in relief, looking at the cakes. "Didn't get enough at the feast?"
"Hardly!" Gael set the tray on the table, hands on her hips. "I'm here to settle accounts! What is going on with Grey Ghost? Why didn't you discuss it with me before bringing him back? What if he causes trouble in the castle?"
Mysaria smiled and pulled Gael close. "The Princess is just worried about you. She's afraid Grey Ghost will cause you trouble. She even had the kitchens make these oatcakes, thinking the dragon might be hungry."
Johanna stepped up to Daemon, holding a folded piece of linen in both hands. "My Prince, Mys and I sewed this. It has a lining to prevent wear. You can use it to wipe Blackfyre; it's more convenient than your cloak."
Brienne stood at the door, her six-foot frame blocking the moonlight. She bowed to Daemon. "My Prince, I have spoken to the Gold Cloaks. They will keep an eye on Grey Ghost so he causes no mischief."
Alys Rivers leaned against the window, her green eyes reflecting the moonlight, a mysterious smile on her lips. "Don't misunderstand, my Prince. The Princess dragged me here. I saw Grey Ghost on the balcony just now. He's hiding behind a pillar, very shy. But... there seems to be something hanging around his neck. It looks like a small scale."
Daemon was about to speak when he heard a chirp from the balcony. He went over and pushed open the window. Sure enough, Grey Ghost was huddled in the corner, his pale grey-white scales shimmering in the moonlight. Hanging from his neck was indeed a small black scale—one shed by the Cannibal, likely snagged during a scuffle. A token from his big brother.
"You certainly know how to find a hiding spot." Daemon smiled and held out his hand. Grey Ghost hesitated, then inched over and nuzzled his palm.
Gael leaned in, looking at Grey Ghost, her tone softening. "Fine. Since he's so timid, it's fine to keep him close. But you must watch him. Don't let him steal dried fish from the kitchens."
"I know." Daemon nodded. He watched the girls gathered around the dragon—Mysaria stroking him as if grooming a pet, Johanna whispering to him, Brienne standing guard at the door, and Gael discussing with Alys Rivers how to make Grey Ghost like her as much as he liked Daemon. His heart was full of warmth.
Moonlight spilled into the room, falling on everyone, and on Grey Ghost's pale scales.
Daemon leaned against the window, watching the scene. Suddenly, he felt that all the hardships of this journey across a century were worth it. With kin by his side, friends for company, and a timid but loyal dragon guarding the balcony, perhaps this was the home he had always longed for.
The bells of the distant sept rang out. The night was deepening, but the laughter in the room danced like candlelight, warm and bright, unswallowed by the dark.