Victory decided, a night of feasting, wild songs, and drunken revelry in King's Landing
As soon as the horn sounded announcing the start of the sword duel finals, both Daemon attacked simultaneously.
Daemon Targaryen's sword remained as swift as a shooting star, and the Dark Sister moved like shadows in his hands, constantly seeking out Daemon's weaknesses;
Daemon's sword, however, remained as steady as a mountain. He wielded the Blackfyre with composure, each move precisely deflecting the Dark Sister ' attacks.
The sharp clanging sounds made people's eardrums vibrate, and the audience in the stands held their breath. Even King Jaehaerys and Crown Prince Baelon leaned forward, staring intently at the scene.
"Excellent move!" Queen Alysanne couldn't help but murmur her praise. Looking at her two grandsons clashing on the field, she couldn't help but think of Aemon and Baelon when they were young, her eyes filled with satisfaction.
Viserys held Rhaenyra in his arms, Aemma leaned against him, and the little princess quieted down, resting her head on her father's shoulder, her eyes fixed on the field.
After dozens of rounds, Daemon Targaryen gradually ran out of energy. He was already struggling to keep up with his "cousin's" attacks, which were beyond his years. However, as his opponent's offensive intensified, our "Rogue Prince" Daemon Targaryen found himself increasingly exhausted in his defense.
In a split second of carelessness, Daemon seized the opportunity, skillfully wielding his sword and stopping just short of Daemon Targaryen's throat, thus avenging Rupert.
"I lost." Daemon Targaryen smiled as he sheathed his sword, his voice devoid of any disappointment.
Daemon walked over, reached out to help him up, and gently nudged the Dark Sister with the scabbard of the Blackfyre: "Looks like I won, cousin, but it was a narrow victory today."
Daemon Targaryen patted him on the shoulder. "Don't be modest, you're even better than last year."
The two stood side by side on the stage, bowing to the King and Queen in the stands, which drew thunderous cheers from the entire audience.
King Jaehaerys rose to his feet, his hand holding the scepter trembling slightly, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Good! Good! You are all the pride of the Targaryen!"
Queen Alysanne smiled and clapped, her eyes glistening with tears—this was naturally the scene she most wanted to see: harmony within the royal family and unity among relatives.
As soon as the match ended, Borros Baratheon and Brandon Stark rushed onto the field, grabbing Daemon's arms and shouting, "Little Daemon! We won! Come with us!"
Daemon Targaryen was also surrounded by Rupert Crabb and Colin Celtigar, and the group laughed as they lifted the two Daemon up and tossed them into the air.
"One more time!" Borros shouted, and the crowd cheered, tossing the two Daemon even higher. The cheers shook the flags in the arena.
Daemon Targaryen, dizzy from being tossed around, laughed and shouted, "Alright, alright! I'm going to throw up if you keep tossing me like that! Tonight it's my treat, to the best tavern in King's Landing! If that's not enough, we'll go to Silk Street for the party! We're drinking until we drop!"
The crowd then stopped, put Daemon Targaryen down, and cheered and jumped for joy around him.
But just then, Borros suddenly realized something was wrong. "Hey? Where's Little Daemon? He was just here!" Everyone looked around and saw a bustling crowd, but Daemon was nowhere to be seen.
"Could it be that some blind fool tossed our Black Dragon Prince too high and failed to catch him, causing him to fall into the crowd?" Brandon scratched his head, his face full of worry.
Roland Clinton frowned, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "Impossible, his black cloak is very conspicuous, keep looking."
Just as everyone was anxiously searching, a "whoosh" of a dragon suddenly came from afar—it was the Grey Ghost!
Following the sound, everyone looked and saw a light gray dragon silhouette appearing and disappearing in the mist on the Blackwater Rush, with what seemed to be a person sitting on its back.
"It must be Little Daemon!" Lorent Grandson was the first to react, pointing at the Grey Ghost and shouting.
It turned out that when everyone was throwing Daemon, Grey Ghost had curiously taken advantage of the darkness and fog to sneak into the air above the crowd. When Daemon saw it coming, it quickly and gently gestured for it to come down. Then, while everyone was cheering, Grey Ghost grabbed its foot and hid in the reeds by the Blackwater Rush.
At that moment, Daemon was sitting on Grey Ghost's back, holding a piece of honey cake—a "championship victory cake" that Gael had specially prepared for him. He broke off a piece and handed it to Grey Ghost, smiling as he said, "Eat slowly, no one's going to take it from you."
The Grey Ghost, with a honey cake dangling from its mouth, made a satisfied "snoring" sound, which was particularly clear in the quiet night, directly giving away Daemon's location.
Daemon Targaryen chuckled and shook his head. "This kid, why does he like to hide so much lately?"
He led the way towards the Grey Ghost, with Borros and Brandon following behind, and the group marched in a large procession toward the reeds.
Seeing that there was no escaping it, Daemon smiled helplessly and patted Grey Ghost's neck, "Let's go, it seems we can't avoid this drinking tonight."
When the group found Daemon, he was leaning against Grey Ghost, holding half a honey cake in his hand. "Daemon! How long do you intend to hide!"
Borros grabbed his arm, a broad smile on his face. Daemon Targaryen walked over and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't hide, you have to drink tonight."
Daemon nodded helplessly. "Fine, I'll drink, but don't force me to."
The crowd thronged around, "helping" Daemon walk towards the tavern. Seeing this, Daemon's followers joined in, with the House Royce twins flanking Daemon on either side, saying, "Your Highness's swordsmanship today was amazing!"
Myles walked behind with Tybolt Crakehall, discussing the final match with Lucas Tyrell;
Harlan Hunter and Lyonel Corbray were chatting animatedly with Rupert Crabb, Colin Celtigar, Alyn Redwyne, and Mace Florent. Harlan laughed and said, "Rupert, you've got His Big Daemon on his toes today, you can brag about that for half a year. But shouldn't we keep an eye on His Highness?"
Rupert blushed and smiled sheepishly.
At this moment, "Chief of the Interior" Rayford walked over and said to the crowd, "Everyone, slow down. His Highness has been working so hard lately, receiving lords, reviewing intelligence, and handling government affairs. Let's take advantage of the martial arts tournament to let His Highness rest for a while and not drink too much."
Everyone nodded in agreement, Borros, who was at the front, laughed and said, "Don't worry, we'll only have a little."
"The leader of the Shadow Guards," Jarman, also spoke up, "We'll go with you to keep an eye on Prince Big Daemon Gael, to prevent him from leading our prince in any mischief. We'll also get to relax a bit. As for the rest, we'll leave it to the brothers on duty today. Let's give Larys a little more hardship."
Everyone burst into laughter, clearly aware that Larys had been busy handling intelligence for Daemon at the Red Keep, barely having time to breathe.
At this moment, in the intelligence room of the Red Keep, Larys Strong sat at his desk, holding a piece of intelligence in his hand, his brows slightly furrowed. Beside him was the gray donkey that had followed him all the way from Harrenhal to Daemon's tour—"Mr. Longlegs," a name he had secretly brought in to accompany him in his work, a name he had given Daemon and the others as a joke.
Suddenly, "Mr. Longlegs" sneezed. Larys paused, reached out and touched its head, and whispered, "What's wrong? Did you catch a cold?"
Just then, Larys himself sneezed. He rubbed his nose and muttered to himself, completely unaware that his best friend had betrayed him. "Who's talking about me? It couldn't be His Highness, could it? I hope he understands how hard I've worked these past few days and doesn't give me any more work."
Unbeknownst to him, Daemon was currently in a tavern, laughing and drinking with everyone, while Jarman and the others were jokingly urging him to handle more intelligence so that Daemon could get some more rest.
The atmosphere in the tavern grew increasingly lively. Borros raised his glass and shouted, "To our two Daemon Damon! Cheers!" Everyone raised their glasses in response, the clinking of glasses mingling with laughter.
Daemon Targaryen walked up to Daemon and handed him a glass of wine. "Next year, let's have another match, brothers. Whether it's spear or swordsmanship, I will beat you."
Daemon smiled and took the glass. "Okay, I'll be waiting."
As night deepened outside the window, the sound of waves from Blackwater Bay mingled with the laughter from the tavern, like a hymn to peace and unity.
Daemon looked at the people around him, feeling the warmth of the wine in his glass. He was filled with gratitude that after traveling through a hundred years, he had not only found his family, but also gained so many friends and followers. This bond was more powerful than Dragonfire.
He knew that the future might hold more storms; the undercurrents of the Triarchy, the threat of the White Walkers, or the hidden dangers of the Dance of the Dragons all awaited him.
But at this moment, all he wanted was to put aside all his worries and enjoy this hard-won liveliness and peace with the people around him. After all, with them by his side, he could weather any storm.