The morning light of King's Landing was still cold with sulfur drifting from the Dragonpit, but the Iron Gate and the Gate of the Gods were already bustling with two distinct kinds of energy.
One was the clanging bronze of the Vale procession led by House Royce; the other was the fluttering silver trout banners of the Riverlands Tullys. The two retinues were like crossed swords, carving marks of departure and expectation into the morning wind.
Dew still clung to the bronze knocker of the Iron Gate. Lord Regent Yorbert Royce had his runic greatsword slung across his saddle.
Inside the carriage, Jeyne Arryn, wrapped in a white fox fur cloak, pressed her face against the window, her small head bobbing as she stared toward the Gate of the Gods.
Last night, she had snuck out to make a pinky promise with Gael: Little Daemon would finish seeing off the Tullys, then ride The Cannibal over to say goodbye to her.
But now, the sun was over the lintel, and the black figure had yet to appear.
"Lady Jeyne, it is time to depart." William Royce tightened his reins, the silver corbies of House Corbray on his armor gleaming faintly. He looked at the pouting little Lady of the Vale and sighed.
According to his cousin Rhea, the girl had been fussing since last night. Now she was declaring she wouldn't leave the carriage until she saw Little Daemon. Even Lord Yorbert's persuasion had only earned him a stubborn, "It only counts if we pinky promise!"
As they waited, the steady clip-clop of hooves approached from the Red Keep. Prince Baelon Targaryen's deep crimson robe swept over the cobblestones. In the distance, Vhagar let out a low rumble by the Blackwater, as if anchoring the farewell.
Behind him rode a disgruntled Daemon Targaryen. His black cloak whipped wildly in the wind, and he clutched a half-eaten oatcake—clearly dragged out of bed, his hair uncombed.
"Lord Yorbert." Baelon dismounted, hand resting on his dragon-pommel sword. His old rib injury slowed him slightly, but his presence remained that of the Crown Prince. "The Falcons of the Vale have always been the spine of the Seven Kingdoms. The bronze steadfastness of House Royce commands my respect. Should the mountain clans dare trouble you upon your return, know that the dragonfire of House Targaryen and the Iron Throne will light the skies above the Gates of the Moon for you."
Yorbert bowed. His gaze flicked to Daemon Targaryen behind Baelon, his expression complicated.
During the welcome, the Rogue Prince had snubbed the Vale to greet the Tullys in front of half the nobility. He had even mocked Rhea's armor as "a rusty iron plate." If not for Viserys and Daemon Blackfyre intervening, House Royce swords might have been drawn then and there.
"Rest assured, Your Highness," Yorbert said, his voice steady as Vale granite. "I will guard Lady Jeyne with the honor of House Royce. However..."
He glanced at Rhea. She gripped the hilt of her runic sword, staring coldly at her husband. "Regarding the marriage between my niece Rhea and Prince Daemon... we ask Your Highness to intervene."
Baelon's face darkened instantly. He turned and glared at his son. "Did you hear that? Rhea is your wife. She returns to Runestone for a time. I forbid you to act as recklessly as you have in King's Landing. If I hear of you sleeping on the Street of Silk or disrespecting Rhea again, I will tie you to Vhagar's claws and have her fly you three laps around Crackclaw Point!"
Daemon Targaryen pouted, stuffing the rest of the oatcake into his mouth and mumbling, "I know, I know. It's just a few days at Runestone. Big deal. After the New Year, if I want to go, I'll just fly Caraxes over..."
Thwack. Baelon rapped him on the back of the head. Daemon yelped, rubbing the spot.
Rhea let out a short, sharp laugh. The harsh lines of her bronze armor seemed to soften in the morning light.
"I intended to force you into the Vale retinue and make you go with her," Baelon hissed, voice low with frustration. "But if your mother were watching, seeing you this useless, she'd climb out of her grave to beat you herself."
Daemon Targaryen shrank. He scratched his head, sneaking a glance at Rhea. Seeing she was talking to Yorbert, he whispered back, "I just watched a melee with Lady Lysa. I didn't do anything..."
"You dare mention Lysa!" Baelon's voice rose, drawing looks from the Vale knights. "If Viserys and Little Daemon hadn't stopped it that day, your grandfather and I would have disciplined you right there and locked you in a cell!"
That shut Daemon up. He kicked his horse idly, looking at Jeyne's carriage. His eyes lit up. "Hey, why isn't the little Lady getting out? Is she waiting for Little Daemon?"
Yorbert nodded helplessly. "Last night, Lady Jeyne told Princess Gael she wouldn't leave until Prince Daemon sent her off with a pinky promise."
Baelon relaxed slightly, looking toward the Gate of the Gods. "The boy should be here soon. He knows propriety; he won't disappoint Jeyne."
As he spoke, rapid hoofbeats approached from the east. The black shadow of The Cannibal swept over the walls. Daemon Blackfyre, clad in black dragonscale armor, rode into the light. Behind him, Gael rode Dreamfyre, her pale violet dress fluttering like a flower in the wind.
"Little Daemon!" Jeyne's voice rang from the carriage. She waved frantically from the window, her grievance vanishing instantly.
Daemon dismounted and walked quickly to the carriage, ruffling her hair through the window. "Why haven't you come out? Lord Yorbert is waiting."
"I was waiting for the promise!" Jeyne extended her pinky finger, eyes shining. "I told Gael last night. If you don't send me off, I'm not going."
Daemon smiled and hooked his pinky around hers. Her hand was cold, so he wrapped his palm around it to warm her. "Alright. A promise. During the United Fleet training, I'll take the chance to fly The Cannibal to the Eyrie to see you. I'll take you to see the snow in the Mountains of the Moon. Deal?"
Jeyne nodded vigorously. Only then did she allow William Royce to lift her out of the carriage.
She walked up to Rhea, looking up and whispering, "Sister Rhea, will you manage Uncle Big Daemon properly this time? Don't let him make you angry again."
Rhea paused, then smiled. She crouched down and patted Jeyne's head. "I will. I'll make him chop wood and feed the horses. If he dares slack off, I'll hit him with the rune sword."
Daemon Targaryen grimaced but didn't dare object—he feared Baelon would actually tie him to Vhagar.
Baelon watched the scene with relief. He hugged Yorbert briefly. "Safe travels. If anything happens, send a raven immediately."
Yorbert bowed and turned to his men. "Move out!"
Bronze armor flashed in the sun. Jeyne clung to Rhea's saddle, waving back at Daemon. "Little Daemon! You have to come to the Eyrie!"
Daemon waved until the bronze figures vanished beyond the Iron Gate.
Gael walked up to him, handing him an oatcake. "Good thing you made it. At the Gate of the Gods just now, Lord Grover Tully asked why you seemed distracted."
Daemon took a bite. The sweetness spread on his tongue.
He had been distracted, but not because of Jeyne. He had been worried Daemon Targaryen might pull another stunt. Fortunately, Lyonel and Harlan were sharp enough to distract the Tully boys with talk of the fleet, so Lord Grover hadn't noticed.
---
Earlier, at the Gate of the Gods:
The silver trout banner of House Tully flew from the carriage. Lysa Tully stood by her father, glancing toward the Iron Gate. She had heard the Rogue Prince was seeing off the Vale party, and despite her father's urging, she felt a pang of disappointment.
"Prince Daemon," Lord Grover said warmly, grasping Daemon Blackfyre's hand. "Your tour of the Riverlands was a blessing. Thanks to your mediation between the Blackwoods and Brackens, the Riverlands remain peaceful. We owe you."
Daemon smiled. "You are too kind, My Lord. I only did my duty. Once the United Fleet is formed, the Riverlands' coast will be secure. Rest assured."
He glanced at Lysa. Seeing her head bowed, clutching a handkerchief embroidered with trout, he spoke gently. "Lady Lysa. Regarding my cousin Big Daemon's joke at the melee... please do not take it to heart. He is reckless but not malicious. When I have the chance, I will advise him to handle matters with Lady Rhea properly, so no trouble comes between the Vale and the Riverlands."
Lysa blushed furiously. She looked up, surprise in her eyes, then looked down again. "Your Highness is kind. I... I just think Lady Rhea is very brave."
Grover smiled helplessly at his daughter. He handed a scroll to Daemon from the carriage. "This is a map of the river channels in the Trident, marking shallows where Ironborn might hide. It may be useful for the fleet. The Riverlands houses have also sent twenty archers each; they will muster at Blackwater Bay next month under Prince Baelon's command."
Daemon took the map. "Thank you, My Lord. I will deliver it to Uncle Baelon."
Rayford Rosby and Myles Rivers approached. "Your Highness," Rayford said, holding a list. "The Tully retinue is ready. Colin is briefing the Blackwood boys. If you need to hurry to see Lady Jeyne off, leave this to us."
Daemon nodded. He waved to Grover. "Safe travels, My Lord. We will meet again with the fleet."
Grover bowed. As Daemon flew off on The Cannibal toward the Iron Gate, Grover turned to Lysa. "Come, daughter. Back to Riverrun."
Lysa took one last look toward the Iron Gate before entering the carriage. The trout banner fluttered, disappearing down the tree-lined road.
Rayford watched them go. "The Prince really cares for Lady Jeyne. Last night she tried to 'infiltrate' his room, and Princess Gael actually took her there. They pinky-promised at the door until midnight."
Myles laughed. "Our Prince has a soft spot for children. Last time at the Eyrie, when Lady Jeyne wanted to ride The Cannibal, he actually put her on the dragon's back. Lord Yorbert nearly fainted."
Their laughter echoed in the gateway. The morning light erased the traces of the Riverlands party, leaving only the faint scent of river water to mark the departure.
---
Daemon switched to a horse to return to the Red Keep. The Cannibal circled high above, his black shadow sweeping the city walls, drawing the gaze of the smallfolk.
Gael rode Dreamfyre beside him, her dress fluttering like a flower.
"Jeyne's eyes lit up when you promised," Gael laughed. "She told me she wants to show you the Sky Cells at the Eyrie. She says the prisoners shake when they see The Cannibal."
Daemon chuckled. "That girl is bolder than Lord Yorbert. Last time she tried to touch The Cannibal's scales, Yorbert nearly collapsed."
They approached the Red Keep. Baelon and Daemon Targaryen were waiting by the gate. Baelon looked much happier; Daemon Targaryen looked aggrieved, clearly freshly scolded.
"Back?" Baelon smiled. "Jeyne asked again when you'd visit. Yorbert says the best room in the Eyrie is reserved for you."
Daemon nodded. "I'll go as soon as I can. After the fleet training, I want to inspect the defenses of the Vale and Crackclaw Point again."
Baelon nodded approvingly. "Good. I support you. You understand military matters better than Viserys and propriety better than Big Daemon. The family needs you."
Daemon Targaryen muttered, "I understand military matters too. I killed three pirates on my mission to Tyrosh..."
Baelon glared, and he shut up, but winked at Daemon Blackfyre as if to say, Next time, we go to the Narrow Sea together.
"By the way," Daemon realized, "why didn't Viserys and Aemma come to see Jeyne off? They usually bring Rhaenyra."
As soon as he said it, he saw Baelon beaming and Daemon Targaryen wiggling his eyebrows.
"We might be uncles again," the Rogue Prince announced, skipping over himself and Rhea to tease Daemon and Gael. "You and Little Aunt Gael better hurry up too!"
Gael turned crimson and chased him, hitting his arm. Daemon Targaryen fled laughing.
Daemon shook his head, smiling. He looked up at The Cannibal in the distance. The black silhouette was majestic against the sun.
He knew this departure wasn't an end. It was the beginning of the United Fleet guarding the realm. It was the beginning of him, Gael, Jeyne, and his followers protecting this peace together.
The wind carried the roar of dragons and the toll of the Red Keep's bells—a war song for the future. Daemon gripped Blackfyre. The cold steel in his palm felt reassuring.
He would stop the Dance. He would fight the Others. And he would keep the promises he made with a hooked pinky finger, guarding the warmth and peace of this century.