Welcoming kin on Blackwater's shore, childish chatter disturbs the peace
The mornings at Red Keep are always filled with a faint scent of paper and ink. Daemon leans back in the soft chair in his study, his fingertips holding a crumpled intelligence report, his long silver-gold hair hanging down over his dark red brocade robe, the Dragon Mark on his right shoulder pressing against the fabric and radiating a faint heat.
On the table was a pile of parchment scrolls half a person's height, the top scroll still stained with ink—it was the news of the movements of the Crownlands states that Larys had just sent that morning, the densely packed small characters making his eyes dizzy. And that was it; there were also intelligence reports on the unusual activities of the vassal states of the Reach Riverlands the Reach over the years waiting for him.
"Jarman, have Larys and the others double-check this report on the Narrow Sea pirates," Daemon tossed the briefing to Jarman Waters, who was standing to the side. The one-eyed captain of the guard caught it deftly. "Also, have Colin and Alyn keep an eye on the Dark Blade Guard's patrol routes. Make sure the Gold Cloaks don't clash with our men."
Jarman bowed in acknowledgment, his black boots treading over the crumpled paper on the ground. "Your Highness, rest assured, Lord Larys is already checking, and Colin and the others have also sent word that nothing unusual happened this morning." He paused, then added, "By the way, this morning His Highness Big Daemon Targaryen also sent someone to say that the Gold Cloaks will avoid the Dark Blade's patrol area and won't cause any trouble."
Daemon breathed a sigh of relief, leaned back in his chair, and rubbed his temples.
Since assuming the role of Intelligence Minister, he has truly played the role of a "hands-off manager" to the extreme, making the best use of resources and talents—letting the future "Master of Whisperers" Larys handle document organization and intelligence analysis, the astute and loyal Jarman manage the dispatch and training of the Dark Blade Guard, Rayford, who manages the logistics of the troops during the tour, help check the list of lords of the Seven Kingdoms, and even Mace Florent, the oldest of the followers who joined not long ago, and Mund Hightower, who was not yet considered one of them but just joining in the fun, were all pulled in by Daemon to classify and number the intelligence outposts.
He only needed to report his decisions to his "Grandpa King" Jaehaerys and his "Prime Minister and Hand of the King Prince Uncle" Baelon on a regular basis. Even so, when he was forced to stay up all night a few days ago due to the backlog of documents, he couldn't help but miss the days he spent hunting in the Stormlands.
"Finally, a day of peace and quiet." Daemon stood up, picked up his Blackfyre, the Valyrian steel patterns on the scabbard gleaming coldly in the morning light. "Let's go, don't keep Grandfather and the others waiting in Blackwater Bay." He stood up and reminded Gary, who was already "incredibly skilled" at "spying" Gael him at the door, and her maid squad of Alicent, Mysaria, Johanna, and Brienne, who was guarding them, that he was about to open the door.
The morning light at Blackwater Bay always carries a gentle amber hue. The lawn on the pier is gilded by the rising sun, and the sea breeze carries a salty scent, permeating every corner.
King Jaehaerys, dressed in a black robe embroidered with gold, held a scepter in his hand. This scepter was actually commissioned by Daemon when he was in the Citadel and sent back ahead of time. Queen Alysanne accompanied him, draped with a white fox fur shawl that had been sent by the merchant ship from White Harbor as a gift from Daemon's travels in the the North. The shawl swept across the grass, and the two occasionally spoke in hushed tones, their gazes constantly glancing toward the Narrow Sea —to see the distinguished guests they were waiting for today, none other than our "The Queen Who Never Was," Princess Rhaenys, and her family.
Prince Baelon stood to one side, his dark gray scales gleaming in the light. Viserys held Rhaenyra in his arms, Aemma leaned against him, and the little princess, dressed in a pale blue dress, clutched her father's silver chain in her tiny hand, which, even in her sleep, would occasionally reach towards Daemon, making "ee-yah" sounds.
Gael sat on a cushion to the side, surrounded by Alicent, Mysaria, and Johanna. The roses embroidered on her pale purple skirt swayed gently in the wind. Her gaze fell on Daemon, with a hint of barely perceptible reproach— Daemon had been so busy with his writing these past few days that he hadn't even had time to accompany her for a walk in the garden.
"They're here!" Little Horas Redwyne Jr., who was serving as Daemon's bodyguard for the day, suddenly pointed to the sky, his voice tinged with excitement.
Having practiced archery since childhood and grown up by the sea on Arbor, he naturally had excellent eyesight and was the first to spot the red dragon shadow in the sky.
Everyone looked up and saw a red figure appear at the end of the Narrow Sea. Its dragon wings, when spread, resembled a burning flame. As they drew closer, the outline of "Red Queen" Meleys gradually became clear.
The bright red scales gleamed in the sunlight, and three figures sat on the dragon's back. At the front was Princess Rhaenys, dressed in black and red riding clothes, her silver hair fluttering in the wind. Behind her were two small figures, her two children with "Sea Snake" Corlys: four-year-old Laenor and seven-year-old Laena.
Meleys circled once above the dock, the white steam from his dragon breath falling onto the sea, creating tiny splashes, before slowly descending.
Rhaenys was the first to dismount from the dragon's back, Jocelyn Baratheon immediately went to greet her. The mother and daughter embraced tightly, Jocelyn's hand stroking her daughter's silver hair, her eyes reddening. "My daughter Rhaenys, you're finally back. You didn't suffer any mistreatment on Tidehead Island, did you?"
"Mother, I'm fine." Rhaenys smiled and shook her head, taking Laena's hand as she held Laenor, and then pushed the two children in front of her. "Look, Laena and Laenor have both grown taller."
After a long and pleasant chat, Rhaenys mother and daughter had completely forgotten about their own children. Laenor seized the opportunity to break free from her mother's grasp and ran towards Daemon. Laena hurriedly followed. Four-year-old Laenor, dressed in a silver-white suit with curly hair, looked like a little knight and reached out to Daemon's legs, crying, "Uncle Daemon! Hug me! I told you, I was with my sister on Tidehead Island!"
Daemon crouched down, looking into Laenor's bright eyes, a complex feeling swept through him—he recalled his "nephew's" innocent words, "Uncle, you're so beautiful," during his tour of Tidehead Island, and then thought about Laenor's future orientation as recorded in history books.
Instead of reaching out to hug Laenor, who had run over on his own initiative, he turned to Laena, who was still worried about her younger brother, and asked, "Laena, do you want your uncle to hug you?"
Seven-year-old Laena, dressed in a light blue dress, her soft hair clinging to her cheeks, brightened at the words but then became a little shy, twisting her skirt with her little hands and nodding gently.
Daemon chuckled and picked her up. Laena immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. The heat seeped through his clothes, making Daemon laugh. "Why are you shy? Did you miss your uncle on Tidehead Island?"
Laena, who was only six years younger than Daemon's body, gave a soft "hmm" and blushed even more.
Laenor, seeing that his uncle wasn't holding him, pouted and was about to throw a tantrum when Daemon reached out and handed him to the side—right into the arms of Daemon Targaryen, who had just walked over, wearing Gold Cloaks and maintaining order as he joined the fun.
"Brother, hold me for a bit." In order to push away this "good nephew" whose sexual orientation was questionable, Daemon Blackfyre called out "brother" to his great-grandfather, who shared the same name.
Daemon Targaryen, dressed in a golden robe with the "Dark Sister" hanging at his waist, caught Laenor, whom Daemon was passing the buck to, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. However, upon hearing his younger brother call him "brother," he couldn't help but smile, "Yo, isn't this our little knight from Tidehead Island? Come tell your uncle, has anything interesting happened on Tidehead Island lately?"
Laenor, however, had no interest in answering. His little head darted back and forth, glancing between Uncle Laena holding Daemon and his cousin Daemon in his arms. Daemon's cousin had shorter silver-gold hair than Uncle Daemon, and his eyes held a wild and wicked charm, completely different from Uncle Daemon's composure. Lannino tilted his head, lost in thought, even forgetting to swing the small sword in his hand.
Daemon Targaryen looked down at the absent-minded little guy in his arms, a barely perceptible hint of disgust flashing in his eyes as if he sensed something, but he still patiently patted the boy's back. "Why aren't you saying anything? Are you afraid your uncle is more powerful than you?"
Laenor still didn't react, which made everyone around laugh. King Jaehaerys pointed at Laenor and said to Alysanne, "Look at this child, just like Little Daemon when he was young, he can't take his eyes off a real dragon." Baelon also shook his head with a smile, "Laenor will probably be a good dragon rider in the future."
Just then, a loud cry suddenly rang out— Rhaenyra, who was in Viserys' arms, had woken up at some point. The little princess opened her round eyes, saw Daemon holding Laena, her little mouth pursed, tears rolled down her cheeks, and she stretched out her little hands, crying domineeringly in Daemon's direction.
Aemma quickly patted her back and coaxed, "Rhaenyra, be good. Uncle will hold you after he holds Laena." But our spoiled little princess wouldn't listen at all. Her crying grew louder and louder, and she squirmed in Viserys' arms, insisting on being held by Daemon.
Hearing the crying, Laena quickly sat up from Daemon's arms and whispered in his ear, "Uncle, please put me down, Rhaenyra is crying." Her voice was soft and slightly flustered, and her cheeks were still flushed.
Daemon smiled helplessly, gently put Laena down, walked to Viserys' side, and reached out to take Rhaenyra from him.
The moment the one-year-old touched his hand, the crying stopped immediately. The little one grabbed his silver hair tightly, buried his face in the crook of his neck, and seemed to be muttering something.
The surrounding royal family members burst into teasing laughter. Gael seized the opportunity to walk over, gently pinching Rhaenyra's cheek, her tone slightly teasing. "You little rascal, you're so bossy! Your uncle won't even let anyone else hold him."
Her gaze swept over Daemon, the hint of reproach in her eyes long since replaced by a smile—she had just been thinking of "teaching" Daemon a lesson for hugging another girl, but Rhaenyra's crying interrupted her "spellcasting."
Rhaenys walked over, looked at Rhaenyra being held in Daemon's arms, and said with a smile, "This child is really close to Little Daemon, even closer than to her father."
Daemon Targaryen finally managed to find some time today to nod and joke, "I'm afraid I'll be pestering Little Daemon every day from now on."
Daemon, holding Rhaenyra, shook his head helplessly at his great-grandmother "niece," patted her back, and coaxed her in the same way he had seen Viserys comfort her, "Okay, don't cry. Uncle will only hold you from now on, okay?"
Rhaenyra immediately looked up, tears still clinging to her cheeks, but she smiled at him and nodded her head like a rattle drum, as if she understood.
As dawn broke, the docks grew busier. King Jaehaerys stepped forward first. "Alright, enough of this huddling around. Let's get back to the Red Keep and have a proper chat."
Everyone echoed in agreement. Daemon carried Rhaenyra in the middle, Gael cautiously led Laena beside him, tugging at his clothes from time to time. Laenor was still dazed in Daemon Targaryen's arms, while Jocelyn and Rhaenys walked behind, whispering about the interesting things that happened on Tidehead Island.
The sea breeze carried laughter across the surface of Blackwater Bay, and the sunlight bathed everyone, so warm that no one wanted to leave.
Daemon looked down at Rhaenyra in his arms, then at Gael and Laena beside him, and suddenly felt that the worries of being the Minister of Intelligence didn't seem so troublesome in this warm atmosphere—perhaps this was the kind of "home" he wanted to protect after traveling through a century.