The morning light over the Blackwater Rush was thinner than the day before. A sheer mist wrapped the docks of King's Landing, and the dew on the cobblestones had not yet dried, leaving a cool dampness underfoot.
The clamor of yesterday's farewells had faded, leaving only the scattered clip-clop of hooves, the shouts of sailors weighing anchor, and the snap of canvas in the wind. Mingled with the faint scent of sulfur from the Dragonpit, it formed a unique melody of departure.
Daemon stood midway down the pier, holding Gael's hand. Around him gathered his followers: Colin Celtigar, Rupert Crabb, and Lyonel Corbray.
Colin clutched a seashell—a parting gift from his uncle and cousin yesterday, a reminder of Claw Isle.
Rupert fiddled with a newly polished scabbard.
Lyonel glanced frequently toward the remaining Vale lords, clearly attuned to the departures that would come in the next few days.
Grey Ghost hovered above Daemon's head, his pale scales damp with dew. Occasionally, he would swoop down to land and nuzzle Gael's skirt, prompting her to bend down and stroke his head.
The first to depart today was Lord Jason Mallister. His ship, the Silver Eagle, cast off its lines, the eagle figurehead gleaming coldly in the morning light.
He stood on the deck, shouting to Daemon, "Your Highness! Seagard's defenses are reinforced as you ordered. Once the United Fleet arrives, the mouth of the Narrow Sea will be secure!"
Daemon waved back. "Rest assured, Lord Mallister. The fleet arrives next month!"
Lord Farmman's Fair Lady followed. His daughter, Lilianne, leaned over the railing, holding up a small wooden placard for Daemon to see.
It bore a crooked drawing of The Cannibal—earnest, if unskilled. Daemon smiled and nodded to her, remembering the summer after the burning of Lannisport when he had toured Fair Isle, and this girl had played with Gael and Mysaria.
Other ships followed. There were no rowdy farewells, only deep bows from the lords as they passed the pier—a mixture of awe for the royal family's current strength and expectation for the United Fleet.
As their sails faded, the eastern side of the docks grew lively. The remaining Westerlands and Reach lords were finally ready. A dozen ships lined up, the Golden Lion and the Golden Rose fluttering side by side in the wind, a striking sight.
Viserys walked slowly onto the pier with Aemma and Rhaenyra, followed by Lyonel Strong and Otto Hightower.
Aemma held Viserys's arm. Rhaenyra rested on her father's shoulder, clutching a honey cake and stuffing it into her mouth. Seeing Daemon, she immediately waved a sticky hand and squealed.
In the Westerlands contingent, Lord Tymond Lannister stood on the deck of the Golden Lion, flanked by Jason and Tyland Lannister and their guards.
Soren Reyne, hand on his sword, walked over to Daemon and bowed. "Your Highness. The three warships from Castamere are ready. We will muster in Blackwater Bay at the start of next year without fail."
Daemon patted his shoulder. "Your greatsword is excellent. When you join the fleet, learn some spear techniques from Colin."
Soren nodded vigorously, eyes shining with excitement.
On the other side, Tymond raised a goblet to Viserys. "Your Highness. The West remains eternally loyal to the Iron Throne."
Viserys raised his cup in return. "Rest assured, Lord Lannister. The United Fleet will guard the Sunset Sea well."
Otto Hightower stood nearby, smiling at Mathos Tyrell. "Lord Tyrell, with the fleet escorting the Reach's many merchant ships, this year's vintage will surely sell even better."
Mathos smiled and nodded. Though he had no great love for the second son of House Hightower, he was happy to accept the flattery.
In the Reach contingent, Mathos and Garlan Tyrell stood on the Rose.
Lucas Tyrell ran over to Daemon, scratching his head. "Your Highness, I spoke to my family. I want to be part of the United Fleet too. Me and Meryn..."
Daemon laughed, cutting off any potentially dangerous vows of loyalty. "Good. It will be a perfect chance for you to learn fleet logistics."
Meryn Florent quietly approached, slipping a scroll into Daemon's hand and whispering, "Your Highness, this is the trade route map for the Reach this year. My uncle marked the high-risk areas. Combined with Allan's charts, it might be useful for the fleet."
Daemon took the map, tucking it away carefully. "Thank you, Meryn."
Lia Osgrey walked up to Gael, holding her ivory-hilted dagger. "Princess Gael, is the sheath ready? I'm waiting to embroider the Chequy Lion on it."
Gael smiled. "Almost. Once it's done, I'll send a servant to bring it to you. Go say goodbye to your family."
Lia's eyes lit up, and she nodded hard.
Daemon had little interest in the formal farewells over by Viserys—Otto's gaze kept circling him, calculating and uncomfortable.
After a few words with Garlan Tyrell about fleet training, he took Gael's hand and led Colin, Rupert, and Lyonel toward the western side of the docks.
There, the Redwyne fleet waited. Allan Redwyne and young Horas were seeing off their uncle, Ser Horas the Elder.
The sails of the Arbor Queen were pale blue, embroidered with grapevines—fresh and distinct.
Ser Horas stood on deck, hand on his sword, speaking to Allan.
Young Horas stood by his brother, hugging a cask of wine—a gift from their father, delivered by their uncle.
Seeing Daemon, young Horas immediately set the cask down and waved. "Prince Daemon!"
Allan turned, smiling as he hurried over. "Your Highness, why did you come personally?"
Myles Rivers, following Daemon, slapped Allan's shoulder. "The Prince came to see off your fleet and Ser Horas, of course. We're riding your ships back to the city, after all."
Ser Horas saw them approaching and bowed to Daemon. "Your Highness. The five warships from the Arbor are ready. I will personally lead them to Blackwater Bay early next year. I leave Allan and young Horas in your care."
Daemon nodded. "Rest assured, Ser. I trust Allan's ability; he will be useful in the fleet."
Allan scratched his head. "Your Highness, I promised young Horas I'd teach him swordplay when I get back from the fleet."
Young Horas chimed in, "Brother better not be lying!" The group laughed.
Just then, steady footsteps approached. Ser Ryam Redwyne, in his white Kingsguard armor, walked briskly toward them.
As the uncle of Lord Redwyne and Ser Horas, and great-uncle to Allan and young Horas, he had come from the Red Keep to see them off.
"Horas," Ryam patted his nephew's shoulder. "If the fleet needs anything, tell me. I will coordinate with Prince Baelon."
He turned to the boys. "Serve Prince Daemon well. Don't shame House Redwyne."
Allan nodded solemnly. "Yes, Great-Uncle!"
The horn blew. The Redwyne fleet cast off.
Ser Horas waved. "See you next year!"
Allan and young Horas waved back until the Arbor Queen faded into the mist.
They watched the horizon until the sails were gone, reluctant to look away.
Ser Ryam patted the boys' shoulders. "Don't be sad. You'll see them after the New Year."
Gael leaned against Daemon. "Watching them leave today reminds me of sending Rhaenys off yesterday."
Daemon tightened his grip on her hand, scanning the crowd.
Viserys was leading Lyonel and Otto back to the Red Keep. Tymond Lannister's fleet was underway. Mathos Tyrell's ships followed, the golden lion and rose sails striking in the sun.
"It's different," Daemon said softly. "This parting is for a better reunion. For the United Fleet, for the seas of the Seven Kingdoms... and perhaps, for our wedding next year?"
Gael's face turned red. She looked up at him, eyes full of shy expectation.
Grey Ghost suddenly trotted over with a dried fish in his mouth, offering it to Daemon. The group burst into laughter.
Allan teased, "Your Highness, looks like Grey Ghost wants to follow the Redwyne fleet to eat fish at sea!"
Daemon took the fish and rubbed the dragon's head. "Don't worry. Once the fleet training is done, I'll take you to the Narrow Sea."
From high above, The Cannibal roared. His black wings swept past the masts, as if answering Daemon.
Daemon held Gael's hand, watching the vanishing sails. His heart was firm. This departure was not an end, but the starting point of the United Fleet guarding the realm. It was the beginning of the storm he, the Black Dragon from the future, had stirred—to protect this peace alongside Gael, Mysaria, Johanna, and all his followers.
"Let's go," Daemon smiled at everyone. "Go back and prepare. Once the United Fleet arrives in a few months, we'll have plenty to do."
Allan, young Horas, and the others nodded, escorting Daemon and Gael back toward the Red Keep.
Grey Ghost followed, nuzzling their cloaks. The Cannibal circled above, an aerial escort.
The afternoon sun was warm on their backs. The sea breeze still blew, but today it carried no sorrow of parting—only hope and expectation for the future.