The morning mist over the Blackwater Rush had not yet fully dispersed when it was shattered by the horn blasts of the approaching fleet.
The black-and-red three-headed dragon banners of House Targaryen unfurled in the wind, interweaving with the sigils of the houses arriving by ship to pay homage to the capital: the red crab of House Celtigar, the white-red-green-blue triple spiral of House Massey, and the silver fretwork swordfish of House Bar Emmon. It looked like a scroll of the Seven Kingdoms' heraldry unrolled along the shore.
On the docks, the black cloaks of the Darkblade Guard and the polished armor of the Gold Cloaks stood in formation on either side. Rayford Rosby held a scroll, checking names against the roster. Colin Celtigar stood at the forefront today, the blue crab on his silver armor gilded by the morning sun. He seemed far steadier than he had been on Claw Isle half a year ago; even the way he rested his hand on his sword hilt carried a new composure.
Daemon stood on the welcoming pier, holding Rhaenyra. The little one was dressed in pale pink, her tiny fist clutching a lock of his silver hair as she stared curiously at the Celtigar fleet sailing into view.
The figurehead of the lead ship was carved into a massive red crab, and the sails, embroidered with countless small crabs, drifted in and out of the mist. Even without looking closely, one knew: Lord Bartimos Celtigar, the "Old Crab" of Claw Isle, had arrived.
"The Old Crab is early this time." Daemon Targaryen leaned in, his gold cloak pauldron brushing against Daemon's arm. He glanced at the fleet, a teasing smirk on his lips. "I heard that ever since you left Claw Isle, he's been boasting all over the shipping lanes of the Narrow Sea. Practically every noble in the Seven Kingdoms has heard the rumor: you're going to ride The Cannibal across the water to Essos, conquer the Free Cities, and become a 'Conqueror Reborn,' the Master of Essos."
Daemon smiled helplessly, looking down at Rhaenyra—she was reaching for the scabbard of Blackfyre at his waist, babbling happily.
"He exaggerates," Daemon said, gently catching Rhaenyra's hand. "I merely mentioned while guesting at Claw Isle that I had thoughts of venturing across the Narrow Sea—Westeros is vast, but the world is larger. He turned a passing remark into a storm that swept the continent."
Just then, the Celtigar fleet docked. Lord Bartimos Celtigar, dressed in a blue robe embroidered with pearls and wearing a gold chain of crab claws, walked down the gangplank supported by his eldest son, Clement Celtigar.
The Old Crab looked even more "high-spirited" than six months ago. His eyes swept the pier, briefly greeting Viserys and the others before locking onto Daemon. He immediately piled on a sycophantic smile. "Prince Daemon! My True Dragon! You have made this old vassal wait too long!"
He hurried forward, nearly tripping on the gangplank, forcing Clement to steady him.
Bartimos ignored the stumble, bowing deeply to Daemon, the pearls on his chain clinking. "Your Highness, this old vassal has heard every detail of your tour! Leading the Vale forces to lift the siege of the Gates of the Moon, burning the Ironborn longships twice, exposing treason at Highgarden—every deed earth-shattering! I told my old friends: our Prince Daemon is destined to surpass Aegon the Conqueror!"
Before Daemon could speak, Colin stepped forward quickly, grabbing Clement's arm with a grin. "Uncle, Cousin, the journey must have been tiring. I've prepared fresh crabs from Claw Isle in the Red Keep. Shall we go inside and eat while we talk?"
He shot Bartimos a look as he spoke—clearly wanting to stop the old earl from continuing his "exaggerations" on the dock.
Bartimos, shrewd as ever, caught the hint immediately. He laughed and patted Colin's shoulder. "My good nephew is so sensible! Half a year with the Prince, and you're much steadier than before."
He bowed to Daemon again. "Your Highness, this old vassal will catch up with my nephew inside. I will pay my respects at the Red Keep later."
Daemon nodded, watching Colin drag Clement and Bartimos toward the city gates.
After a few steps, the Old Crab turned back and shouted to the other lords on the dock, "You don't know! Prince Daemon's dragon, The Cannibal, can burn through three ironborn ships with one breath! When he goes to Essos, those Free Cities will be bowing to our Prince!"
The surrounding lords looked sideways. Daemon Targaryen couldn't help but laugh. "That Old Crab really is your chief herald."
Daemon shook his head, resigned. Yet he knew Bartimos's "big mouth," though exaggerated, had saved him trouble. In the six months since his tour began, the schemers trying to push him toward the Iron Throne had quieted down upon hearing rumors of his "ambitions in Essos." After all, few were willing to stake their fortunes and lives on a prince whose heart was set overseas.
Not long after, the ships behind the Celtigar fleet pulled into the harbor.
It seemed that because of the black dragon's influence, relations between House Celtigar—self-proclaimed Protectors of Crackclaw Point—and the other lords of the peninsula had thawed.
The banners on the following ships bore the sigils of Crackclaw Point nobility: the white field with brown bear claws of House Brune, the swamp marigolds of House Crabb, and the flags of several petty lords, all snapping in the wind.
When the lead ship docked, Lord Crabb walked down with his eldest son, Renfred. The old lord wore black armor. He looked weather-beaten compared to six months ago, but still spirited. Seeing Rupert standing in the ranks of the Darkblade Guard, he immediately strode over and embraced him. "Rupert! You lad! Following the Prince all this way... you've brought honor to House Crabb!"
Rupert's eyes reddened instantly, his voice choking up. "Father. I've been well in King's Landing. The Prince and the brothers treat me well. Sometimes the Prince even teaches us swordsmanship himself."
Renfred walked over and patted his younger brother's shoulder. "Brother, Father reads the letters you send every day. He says you're a squad leader in the Darkblade Guard now—more promising than me, the heir."
Ser Clement Crabb of the Kingsguard also walked over, his white cloak gleaming in the morning light. He bowed to Lord Crabb. "Brother. It has been another half year."
The old lord patted his shoulder, eyes full of pride, joking, "You are in the Kingsguard; you must serve the King well. Don't learn the manners of your nephew's youngest daughter and shame House Crabb."
Just then, a young man in brown armor walked down the gangplank.
He was tall and broad, with faint scars on his face. It was Bennard Brune, who had succeeded to the lordship of House Brune.
Half a year had stripped away his greenness. His eyes held a new gravity, but the excitement upon seeing Daemon could not be hidden.
He did not go to greet Viserys first, as was custom. Instead, he strode straight through the crowd to Daemon.
Thump.
He dropped to one knee, hand over his heart, bowing respectfully. "My Lord, Prince Daemon! Bennard Brune reports to you with the results of Crackclaw Point's governance!"
The dock fell instantly silent. Viserys, chatting with Lord Massey, nearly dropped his wine cup.
Daemon Targaryen paused in the middle of wiping Dark Sister, his gold pauldron bumping a squire.
Lyonel Strong frowned, his bald head shining in the sun.
Otto Hightower's face turned iron-grey with rage. He pointed a shaking finger at Bennard. "What is this behavior! The official envoy, Prince Viserys, is standing right here, yet you dare call Prince Daemon 'My Lord'? Have you no respect for hierarchy or the laws of the Iron Throne?"
Lord Crabb panicked, rushing over to pull Bennard up. "Bennard! Are you confused? Get up and bow to Prince Viserys!"
But Bennard refused to rise. He looked up at Daemon, his voice steady. "My Lord, since you pacified Crackclaw Point, I swore my loyalty to you. For half a year, I have worked with Lord Crabb to restore the fields, pardon the wildlings, and establish the Crackclaw Guard. Now, the peninsula is safe from wildling raids, and the smallfolk can farm and reclaim the land in peace."
He stepped aside, revealing a young man in grey armor behind him. "This is my cousin, Lothor Brune, heir to the Brunes of Brownhollow. He comes with me today, wishing to pledge his loyalty to you as well."
Daemon, holding Rhaenyra, was surprised. Though startled by the bold move, he quickly composed himself. He gently patted Rhaenyra's back and extended a hand to Bennard. "Bennard, please rise and speak."
Only then did Bennard stand, though he kept his head bowed.
Daemon looked at the shocked gazes of the surrounding lords and spoke slowly. "My lords, Bennard is not being rude; he is honoring a promise. Half a year ago, the old Lord Brune entrusted Bennard to me on his deathbed, asking me to 'protect the people of Crackclaw Point.' I fought alongside Bennard to clear the wildlings from Whispers. He took three wounds to protect the smallfolk but refused to retreat. After pacifying the peninsula, he volunteered to accept the Crown's appointment to govern the land, swearing to give Crackclaw Point a good life."
Though there was a touch of embellishment to praise him, to the ears of the crowd, it sounded like heartfelt truth.
Daemon paused, his gaze sweeping over Otto. His tone was calm but carried an undeniable weight. "Bennard pledges loyalty to me, not to Daemon Blackfyre the individual, but to the man who promised to protect Crackclaw Point. Now that the peninsula is stable and the people are safe, is this loyalty not exactly what the Seven Kingdoms need?"
The surrounding lords nodded. Lord Massey smiled. "The Prince speaks true. Lord Bennard honors his word; he is a rare and good lord."
Lord Bar Emmon chimed in, "Indeed. Loyalty that protects the common people is more important than anything."
Otto's face remained ugly, but he said nothing more. Daemon's words were reasonable and supported by the lords. To object further would only make him seem petty.
Viserys walked over and patted Bennard on the shoulder. "Lord Bennard, you have done well. The stability of Crackclaw Point is to your credit, and to Daemon's."
He smiled at Daemon. "Little Daemon, you always know what to say."
Daemon smiled and shook his head, looking down at Rhaenyra. The little one had woken up and was staring at Bennard with round eyes, waving her small hand at him.
Bennard saw Rhaenyra and a gentle smile broke across his face. He bowed to the little princess. "Greetings, Princess Rhaenyra."
---
The sun gradually chased away the morning mist, bathing the pier in light. The black cloaks of the Darkblade Guard and the bright armor of the Gold Cloaks remained orderly. The lords began to walk toward the city in groups of two and three. Bennard was talking to Lothor about Crackclaw Point, with Lord Crabb adding details, while Rupert leaned in to hear his brother talk about life in the Kingsguard.
Daemon stood on the pier holding Rhaenyra, looking at the Red Keep in the distance. The morning breeze blew past, carrying the salt of Blackwater Bay and a hint of warmth.
He knew Bennard's loyalty wasn't just trust in him personally, but an endorsement of the ideal of "protecting the people." And that endorsement felt more precious than any title or power.
Rhaenyra reached out a tiny hand and gently touched his cheek. Daemon looked down, meeting her clear eyes, and the corners of his mouth lifted.
Perhaps the future of House Targaryen didn't need to rely on dragonfire and war to rule. Perhaps by cultivating this belief in "protection" deep within people's hearts, the Seven Kingdoms could be stabilized, and the realm made secure.
The bells of the Red Keep rang out in the distance, interweaving with the horns of the fleet, drawing a warm conclusion to this reunion on the banks of the Blackwater.