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The Narrow Sea wind carried the warm promise of summer today, filling the united fleet's sails until they billowed like great seabirds stretching their wings.
Velaryon silver ships gleamed with cold white seahorse sigils. Stormlands vessels flew crowned-stag banners that snapped proudly. Northern longships bore the ice-wolf of House Stark, while Westerlands heavy galleys showed roaring golden lions. All of them wove together across the blue water into a living tapestry of color.
Daemon stood at the prow of the Blackfyre, fingertips brushing over the last scattered shards of dragonglass still embedded in the deck—remnants from the final battle at Tyrosh that the sea wind had not yet worn smooth.
The Cannibal sprawled across the open stern deck, obsidian scales catching the sunlight with a dull golden sheen. Every so often he lifted his head toward King's Landing in the distance and gave a low, rumbling purr, as if he too could already smell home.
Grey Ghost wound around Daemon's ankles, a colorful seashell from Tyrosh still clamped in his jaws. The little pale dragon kept nudging Daemon's hand, clearly demanding attention.
"Little Daemon! Tymond's victory feast is starting!" Daemon Targaryen's voice rang from the gangplank. He wore loose black-and-red riding leathers, a small Caraxes badge pinned at his collar, and carried two wineskins he had clearly just "liberated" from the Golden Lion. "If you don't hurry, Borros will drink all the good Westerlands ale!"
Daemon chuckled and gently took the seashell from Grey Ghost, tucking it into his tunic. It was meant for Gael—one of the purple-veined shells unique to Tyrosh that matched the color of her eyes perfectly.
"What's the rush? Lord Tymond's cellars are deep enough for all of us," he replied, though he still followed his cousin toward the Golden Lion. Grey Ghost hopped along behind them, drawing amused smiles from passing sailors who stepped aside to let the little dragon through.
Crossing the boarding plank onto the Golden Lion, they found the deck already transformed into a feast. Westerlands cooks turned spits of wild boar over open fires, fat hissing as it dripped. The rich scent of roasted meat mingled with the deep aroma of barley ale—the perfect perfume of victory on the homeward voyage.
Tymond Lannister sat at the head table, golden lion ring turning slowly on his finger. When he saw the two Daemons, a rare genuine smile broke across his face. "The princes arrive at the perfect moment. My men just brought up the newest vintage from Lannisport. Care to try it?"
Borros Baratheon was already tearing into a roasted leg of pork, Stormlands brothers crowded around him. Spotting Daemon, he raised his cup with a roar. "Little Daemon! That fight at Tyrosh was glorious! Next time any of those Triarchy bastards show their faces, I'm charging right beside you!"
Ser Thurgood Fell and Ser Willis Fell raised their cups in agreement, as did Eric Dondarrion and Criston Cole. Roland Connington and Byron Swann joined in, while the ever-sleepy Lorent Grandison leaned against a mast, yawning but still managing to stuff a honey cake into his mouth.
Daemon accepted the cup Lancel Lannister personally handed him. The Westerlands ale was rich with malt—stronger and warmer than the sweet wines of Tyrosh. He glanced toward the silver Velaryon ships where Corlys still stood in the crow's nest, spyglass trained on the horizon, ever watchful now that Racallio's pirate fleet had sailed south.
"Your Highness, a raven from King's Landing!" Rayford Rosby hurried over, holding a rolled parchment still dusted with feathers. He lowered his voice. "It's from Princess Gael… and another scroll from Larys with the latest intelligence."
Daemon took the letter at once. The familiar Dreamfyre embroidery on the seal made his pulse quicken.
He broke it open. Gael's elegant handwriting filled the page, warm and full of anticipation:
"The gardens at the Red Keep are blooming beautifully. I heard you would stop at Dragonstone on the way home, so I had Brienne and Lia deliver your favorite honey cakes there in advance. Mother and Father have already chosen a good day for the betrothal once you return, and the wedding will be on Dragonstone. Vaegon says the stars this season are perfect for an Old Valyrian ceremony—dragonfire will bless us.
"I finished your new charm with Little May, Hannah, and Alicent. We used the Lyseni silk you sent back, along with some other materials. There are even a few jewels Grey Ghost would love. I embroidered a picture of The Cannibal and Dreamfyre flying together. Grey Ghost will adore it."
At the bottom she had drawn a tiny, adorable Cannibal with a honey cake under one claw and Grey Ghost beside him. The simple sketch made Daemon smile so wide it almost hurt.
Grey Ghost, sensing his name, trotted over and nudged the letter with his snout, drawing laughter from everyone nearby.
"What did Larys's report say?" Daemon asked quietly, glancing at the second scroll.
Rayford lowered his voice. "Larys says the envoys from Lys and Myr have already reached King's Landing and are waiting for final confirmation of the peace terms. Also, Lord Commander Karlon Karstark's letter from the Wall finally arrived. He reports the northern lights have been brighter than usual. Some wildlings who chose to settle south of the Wall have started farming the land near it, while others are hunting for the lords in exchange for supplies. He asks if we can gather more provisions to send north."
Rayford's tone dropped even lower. "He also mentions that Otto Hightower has brought up the future command of the united fleet several times in Small Council meetings, suggesting Lord Lyonel take more responsibility. But His Grace seems inclined to let the Sea Snake remain Master of Ships and serve as governor of the Stepstones. The question of who will command the royal and united fleets remains… unclear."
Daemon frowned. Otto Hightower's ambitions were no surprise. The man had been maneuvering to weaken the direct Targaryen line since the war began. Still, with Baelon and Corlys in place, Otto would not cause too much trouble for now.
All Daemon truly wanted was to reach King's Landing and fulfill his promise to Gael.
Days passed in a blur of wind and waves. Then, one golden evening, the united fleet finally passed the Gullet and entered Blackwater Bay.
King's Landing rose on the horizon, the Red Keep's battlements catching the last rays of sunset like a crown of fire. Harbor torches already burned, scattered across the docks like fallen stars.
From the direction of the Red Keep, Gael appeared on Dreamfyre. Her pale violet gown fluttered like a flower in the wind. The moment she spotted the Blackfyre's sails, she urged the beautiful blue dragon forward. Dreamfyre's wings brushed the waves, sending a playful gust that lifted the edge of Daemon's cloak.
"Little Daemon!" Gael's voice rang with laughter as Dreamfyre circled once and landed lightly on the open deck.
She slid from the saddle and hurried to him, a small food box in her hands. "I heard from Brienne and Lia that you would stop at Dragonstone, so I've been counting the days and flying out with Dreamfyre every afternoon. I brought warm honey cakes—they stayed hot against my heart the whole way."
Daemon took the box. The cakes were still steaming, each wrapped in paper printed with tiny Cannibals.
He broke one in half and offered the other piece to Gael, then gave a small corner to Grey Ghost. The little dragon curled up happily and began to eat.
High above, The Cannibal descended, black wings sweeping gently over the deck as if greeting Dreamfyre. For some reason, the great black beast had always been gentler with Gael than with almost anyone else.
Baelon landed Vhagar on the familiar hill outside King's Landing. The bronze-green dragon gave a long, triumphant roar that rolled across the bay, announcing their return.
By the time the fleet reached the docks, King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne were already waiting at the Red Keep gates. The Old King's silver hair caught the twilight, and his face wore the deepest smile Daemon had ever seen.
"My children," Jaehaerys said softly as the princes approached, "you have come home."
Viserys held Rhaenyra, Aemma at his side. The little princess reached for Daemon the moment she saw him, babbling excitedly and clutching the small wooden dragon he had given her long ago.
Jocelyn stood with Rhaenys, Laena and Laenor waving excitedly at The Cannibal. The children shouted for "Uncle Daemon," though it was unclear which one they meant—both cousins had grown equally dear to them.
Daemon stepped forward and took Rhaenyra into his arms. The little girl immediately wrapped herself around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder.
He turned to Gael. Her violet eyes sparkled with quiet joy.
In that moment, every battle, every sleepless night, every mile sailed across the Narrow Sea felt worth it.
The feast hall in the Red Keep glowed with torchlight late into the night. Songs of victory and laughter spilled through the windows, mingling with the distant crash of waves and the low rumble of dragons.
Daemon held Gael's hand, looking at the family and friends gathered around them. He thought back to waking alone in the Dragonstone dungeons three years earlier, to the long tour of the Seven Kingdoms, to the bloody fights in the Stepstones and Tyrosh.
All of it had led to this.
There would be new challenges ahead—Otto's schemes, the growing shadows beyond the Wall, the lingering ambitions of the Free Cities. But with his dragons, his brothers, and the woman beside him, he knew he could face anything.
Outside, The Cannibal and Dreamfyre rested side by side on the broad square. Grey Ghost curled contentedly between them, their breathing slow and peaceful in the night.
Daemon touched the letter in his tunic once more and looked at Gael's smiling face.
One thought filled his heart:
When the time came for their Valyrian wedding on Dragonstone, it would be a ceremony no one in Westeros would ever forget.
The lights of King's Landing burned bright through the night, guiding the heroes home and lighting the first peaceful chapter of a new era for the realm.