The Sea Snake's Return Stirs the Waters, the Great Lords Gather for the Tourney

As the morning light of King's Landing's Landing had just touched the butterflies of the Red Keep, the sand and gravel of the tournament arena had already been repeatedly raked smooth by the Gold Cloaks, revealing the dark brown soil beneath—soil still mixed with the bloodstains of knights pried off by lances during last year's tournament in King's Landing's Landing. Now, mingled with the newly laid hay, it had become the most distinctive "trademark."

The stands were already packed with the flags of the Seven Kingdoms: the Direwolf banners of the the North fluttered in the northernmost corner, their wolf-fur borders glistening with morning dew, as if they had just been pulled from the snow beneath the the Wall;

The Crowned Stag banner of Stormlands stood beside it, its black and gold fabric billowing in the sea breeze. Borros Baratheon's battle axe leaned against the bannerpost, the blade still bearing the dent from his sparring with Brandon the day before.

The red lion banner of the Westerlands swaggered proudly on the western stands, where Taimond Lannister's nephew Eowyn, stood atop it, boasting to the noble lads of the Reach that "the iron mines of the Westerlands can forge swords that can cut through anything," prompting a Tyrell lad beside him to retort, "The wines of Highgarden can intoxicate even dragons."

Daemon held Rhaenyra on the high platform at the edge of the arena. The little one had just woken up, her little hand still clutching the seashell, occasionally putting it in her mouth. Aemma had specifically told her last night, "Don't let her touch the sand," but the little princess wouldn't behave. She kicked Daemon's arm and insisted on jumping into the sand below the platform.

"If you keep acting up, Uncle Borros will take you to keep his battle axe company later." Daemon gently pinched her little nose, but Rhaenyra giggled and reached out to grab the black three-headed dragon brand on his shoulder and neck. Her fingertips had just touched the fabric when Gael arm.

"Aren't you going to do anything about Little Daemon?!" Gael with her hands on her hips, her pale blue rose cloak lightly brushing against the wooden cups on the table. "She just got mud on the new dress Johanna sewed for her yesterday. If she falls into the sand today, Aemma will be furious with me!"

Even the good-natured Mysaria nodded helplessly, holding a handful of honey cakes she had just brought from the kitchen, her platinum curls dusted with flour. "Princess, don't worry, I brought some honey cakes. Let Rhaenyra try some, and she'll definitely stop making a fuss."

Johanna stood behind, clutching the clean hem of the dress she had changed Rhaenyra for, her gaze drifting towards Blackwater Bay in the distance.

Before dawn this morning, scouts from the Dark Blade Guard reported that "a large fleet is approaching the Narrow Sea." Judging from its size and audacity, it is most likely the "Sea Snake" Corlys House Velaryon, who is returning late from the other side.

Daemon also did not forget her and Little Mei's talents in history, and shared a lot of information with them, enabling them to work together and develop their abilities.

"They're here!" Alyn's voice suddenly came from behind the crowd. He was in charge of the operation today, and the list of lords in his hand rustled in the wind as he pointed towards Blackwater Bay. "Is this Lord Corlys's fleet? That flagship—my goodness, it's even bigger than our House Redwyne's largest ship, the ' Arbor '!"

Everyone looked in the direction he pointed, and saw a silver sail appear at the end of the Narrow Sea, like a knife cleaving through the morning mist.

As the distance closed, the silver seahorse pattern of the House Velaryon on the sails gradually became clearer. The flagship's prow was carved with a Sea Snake with its mouth wide open, its scales made of gilded metal that shone dazzlingly in the sunlight. A dozen fast ships were also hanging on both sides of the ship, each with House Velaryon in silver armor standing on it, the tips of their spears gleaming coldly.

"This is the real Sea Snake!" Boremund Baratheon stood beside Daemon, the stag emblem on his dark gray armor gleaming. "Corlys sailed this ship around the Jade Sea back then, and even the Queen of the Summer Isles presented him with pearls. Seeing him today, his charisma remains undiminished, his spirit still high. This is truly the man he once was!"

Jocelyn unconsciously tightened her grip on Daemon's arm, the hem of her black dress sweeping across the table. "He's finally back. Laena and Laenor were asking yesterday when their father would arrive," she said. "Now the whole family is finally together."

As they spoke, the fleet slowly entered Blackwater Bay. The Gold Cloaks and the Dark Blade Guard on the dock immediately lined up in two rows. Colin Celtigar, accompanied by several attendants from Crab Island, rushed over. He had studied navigation with Corlys on Tidehead Island last year, and seeing an old acquaintance now, he was more excited than anyone else, shouting from afar, "Lord Corlys! You've added a new ram to your ship again?"

Corlys House Velaryon naturally led the way, stepping off the ramp first. He wore a silver and blue brocade robe, with a sapphire-encrusted dagger hanging at his waist. Although his hair had a few more strands of white than last year, he was still vigorous. His gaze swept over the crowd, finally landing on Rhaenys and the children. His sharp eyes softened instantly. "Laena, Laenor, come here and let your father see you."

Laenor was the first to rush over, still clutching the Glutton and Grey Ghost he had drawn yesterday, and held it up to Corlys: "Father! My sister and I drew a dragon! Uncle Daemon said it looks very much like one!"

Laena walked much slower, carrying a seashell box filled with various gifts and treasures she had recently acquired since the Sea Snake left home. She whispered, "Father, this is for you."

Rhaenys walked over to Corlys, the hem of her black and red riding outfit sweeping across the stone steps, and gently patted his shoulder. "If you had come a few days later, the tournament would have started. How did things go in Braavos?"

"It went fairly smoothly." Corlys nodded with a smile, but his gaze turned to Daemon, gesturing with his hand. "Little Daemon, it's been a while." As he approached, Daemon could smell the faint scent of sea salt on him. "I heard you burned the Lys slave ships at the Stepstones and subdued the Three Sisters? Well done."

"It's all part of the job." Daemon, holding Rhaenyra, bowed slightly, marveling at the Sea Snake's extensive intelligence network. "I wonder if you've made any gains in Braavos this time? The Dark Blade Guard's intelligence reports that the Triarchy has been quite active in the Narrow Sea recently."

Corlys's smile faded slightly as he picked up on the implication and warning. His voice lowered as well. "It's worse than you think. The House Pero of Lys has stockpiled ballistae on Bloodstone Island and nearby islands, and Tyrosh's fleet has even made contact with Dorne's patrol ships. It seems they intend to join forces and seize control of the Narrow Sea. I returned this time to propose to His Majesty the King that the fleets of the House Velaryon, Celtigar Tarth, and the Three Sisters patrol the Narrow Sea together to prevent them from causing trouble."

Daemon's heart skipped a beat— the Triarchy was moving faster than he had anticipated. If they truly joined forces with Dorne, Narrow Sea route was controlled, maritime trade between the Seven Kingdoms would be cut in half. He was about to speak when he heard a commotion behind him.

Looking back, they saw Borros Baratheon, carrying a battle axe, arguing heatedly with Brandon Stark, while Daemon Targaryen, trying to mediate, stood between them, the hem of his golden robes fluttering in the wind.

"I made a deal with Little Daemon! We're having a battle axe contest today!" Borros slammed his axe on the ground, sending sand and gravel flying. "You barbarian from the the North, what right do you have to compete with me?"

Brandon rolled up his sleeves, revealing scars on his arms—scars from a fight with Wildlings last year. "I'm better than you! I heard you couldn't even beat a boar at Griffin's Roost last time you hunted, and you think you can compare to Little Daemon?"

Daemon Targaryen, swirling his flask, slowly interjected, "You two stop arguing. My Little Daemon is definitely closest to his cousin with the same name! I even took him to Silk Street the other day."

Before he could finish speaking, Gael grabbed his ear, her pale blue skirt brushing against his golden robe. "How dare you say that! Last time you took him out for a drunken night, and he had to be carried back by that Gold Cloaks. He vomited all over my skirt, and now you dare mention Silk Street? It's a good thing it was just drinking!"

Mysaria, while joining her princess in a group fight, added insult to injury, "And Miss Lysa's hairband, you said you'd keep it safe for her, but you lost it, and she was crying to me yesterday!"

Daemon Targaryen's face flushed instantly. He shook off his aunt Gael's hand, muttering, "What do you women know?" He turned and walked to the center of the arena, drawing his Dark Sister from his waist, pointing them straight up to the sky, and waving them at the air. "Who dares to duel me? If they beat me, I'll treat them to this year's new royal wine from Arbor!"

The surrounding noblemen burst into laughter. The House Marbrand lad, holding up a silver spoon, shouted, "Lord Daemon! I'll compete with you! But I won't use a sword, I'll use this!" He brandished the silver spoon in his hand—it was the "silver spoon sword-picking" technique that Daemon had demonstrated during his tour of Ashemark last year. Now, it became the focus of everyone's attention.

Daemon Targaryen raised an eyebrow, pointing his sword at him. "Fine! If you can beat me with a silver spoon, I'll treat you to a jug of wine! I just wonder how your martial arts compare to your uncle Lorent!"

Just as the two were about to spar, they heard the sound of hooves—Duke Ellard Stark was being pushed in a wheelchair by William Dustin, followed by Yobert House Royce and Lady Rhea on horseback, along with William and Gonsor as their guards. They were clearly attracted by the commotion.

"What a lively scene," Duke Ellard said with a smile, his gaze fixed on the center of the arena. "It seems tomorrow's tournament is sure to be very exciting."

Taimond Lannister nodded, his red and gold boots crunching on the gravel. "Those lads of ours in the Westerlands have been waiting for this day, especially House Marbrand's. They've been talking to me every day about wanting to spar with Lord Daemon."

Yobert House Royce then looked at Daemon, stroking the "Lamentation" sword at his waist. "Little Daemon, my sons William and Gonsor would also like to learn a few moves from you in tomorrow's spear duel. What do you think—"

"Of course." Daemon nodded with a smile, glancing down at Rhaenyra in his arms. The little one had somehow snatched the honey cake from Mysaria's hand and was stuffing it into her mouth, her lips covered in icing. "But Gonsor, you'd better go easy on me. I've been carrying the baby a lot lately, and my arms aren't as strong as they used to be."

Everyone burst into laughter, and Yobert joined in, saying, "Your Highness is too modest. At the beginning of the year, during the battle at Moon Gate Keep in the Vale, your heroic figure, splitting the Wildlings shields with a single sword strike, drawing your Blackfyre, changing horses and dismounting—under your sharp edge, the Wildlings defenses crumbled in an instant. Who in our Vale doesn't know this now?"

Just then, Jocelyn walked over, holding a black cloak. One half of it was embroidered with the House Baratheon stag's crest, and the other half with the Targaryen three-headed dragon. "Little Daemon," she said, "The weather's getting chilly. Wear this. Half of it is the cloak your grandfather wore in battle, and the other half was your father's favorite cloak when he was still alive. He always said that wearing it before a duel would bring good luck."

Daemon took the cloak, his fingertips brushing against the silk threads—the fabric was somewhat old, yet still soft, with a faint scent of cedar. Originally two different cloaks, they had been seamlessly merged into one by the skillful hands of an unknown artist, becoming a perfect whole.

He couldn't help but recall what Jocelyn had said before: that "Father" Aemon met her at the tournament arena in Storm's End. He must have been wearing half of this cloak when he won the spear duel and captured her heart, right?

"Thank you, Mother," Daemon said softly, draping the cloak over his shoulders, just covering the brand on his neck and shoulders. Jocelyn's eyes instantly reddened, and she reached out to touch his cheek. "Silly child, why are you being so polite with your mother? If your grandfather and father were still alive, they would be so proud to see you like this. May this cloak make you as fearless as your grandfather and as invincible as your father."

Jeyne House Arryn ran over, tugged at the hem of Daemon's cloak (his silver fox cloak was stained with some dry grass), and said, "Little Daemon! Can you take me for a dragon ride tomorrow for your tournament or the opening ceremony? I want to sit on the Glutton's back and watch!"

"Of course." Daemon bent down and picked her up with his other arm. Jeyne immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder, and coaxed the child, "But you have to be good and not move around. Although the Glutton docile now, if you get scared, it might fly very high."

Jeyne nodded vigorously, her eyes shining like stars. "I'll be good! And I can cheer you on during the fight!"

As evening fell, the setting sun bathed the arena in a golden-red hue. King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, accompanied by Baelon, ascended the high platform in the center of the arena.

The old king, dressed in a black robe embroidered with gold and leaning on his scepter, spoke with a voice carried on the wind throughout the arena, "Tomorrow is the martial arts tournament to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of my reign over the Seven Kingdoms. I hope that this tournament will not only be a stage for you all to display your martial skills, but also a symbol of the unity of the Seven Kingdoms."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the lords, his tone becoming more somber. "The Narrow Sea has been turbulent lately. Dorne and the Triarchy are stirring, and the Wildlings of the the North are also making occasional disturbances. I know that peace among the Seven Kingdoms is as thin as ice, but as long as we, the True Dragon, and the lords are of one mind, there is no obstacle we cannot overcome."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a dragon's roar suddenly echoed from the sky. A Glutton black figure flew from the direction of the hill, its enormous, dragon-wing-like form obscuring half of the setting sun. The little follower, Grey Ghost, and Dreamfyre, who had been outside the Dragonpit earlier that day, followed closely behind. The pale gray and light blue dragon breath condensed into white vapor in the air, causing the lords to look up and exclaim in amazement.

At the same time, Vhagar outside the city, Vermithor in the Dragonpit, Silverwing, Caraxes, and Meleys all roared and resonated together.

Daemon stood below the platform, gazing at the three dragons in the sky, the brand on his right shoulder slightly burning.

He recalled Alys Rivers that night at the Citadel, "The White Walkers have awakened prematurely because of your journey," and Corlys's earlier statement about "the Triarchy and Dorne's collusion." He felt even more strongly that this tournament might not just be a celebration, but rather the calm before the storm.

Corlys walked to his side, his gaze also fixed on the dragon in the sky, and said in a low voice, "Little Daemon, after the tournament tomorrow, I'd like to talk to you about the Narrow Sea. Some things are more complicated than His Majesty the King knows."

Daemon nodded, understanding that the Sea Snake's return brought not only family reunion but also the undercurrents of the Narrow Sea. He had to stop the Dance of the Dragons while dealing with this sudden threat.

As night fell, the torches in the arena lit up like stars scattered on the sand. The lords made their way to the Red Keep in twos and threes. Borros was still making an appointment with Brandon to "fight with axes tomorrow," while Daemon Targaryen was being pestered by the House Marbrand boys to "fight with silver spoons." Laena and Laenor surrounded Corlys, chattering about the amusing things that had happened since their reunion.

Daemon carried Rhaenyra, with Gael, Jocelyn, and Jeyne following beside him, and slowly walked back.

Rhaenyra was already asleep, her little head resting on his shoulder, still clutching half a piece of honey cake in her hand;

Jeyne held onto his cloak, following him step by step;

Gael helped him straighten the wrinkles in his cloak, muttering, "Don't forget to bring Rhaenyra a clean dress tomorrow."

Jocelyn walked at the back, looking at them with tender eyes, as if she were guarding the world's most precious treasure.

The distant Red Keep's bells tolled, mingling with the dragon's roar in the air, like a prelude to tomorrow's tournament.

Daemon knew that tomorrow's arena would not only be filled with the clash of swords, but also with unseen undercurrents; not only with glory and cheers, but also with heavy responsibilities.

But at this moment, looking at the people around him and feeling the warmth in his arms, he still felt the same way as before: no matter how many storms the future held, as long as they were there, there was nothing to fear.

After all, he is not only Daemon Blackfyre who has traveled through a century, but also a true dragon who rode on the back of Glutton dragon in this life. He is a guardian recognized by most of the lords and "Little Daemon" in the eyes of his family. This bond is sometimes more powerful than any weapon.