The hour of farewell and departure

As the morning light dyed the waves of Blackwater Bay into shattered gold, the sails of the Joint Fleet formed a vast net stretching across the sea and sky. The House Velaryon silver ships resembled swimming white whales, the Redwyne green sails were like cascading waterfalls, the Lannister golden lion banners fluttered in the wind, and the oak prows of the the North longships gleamed with the cold light of the icefield.

Daemon Blackfyre stood at the Blackfyre, the hilt of his Blackfyre burning hot in his grip. The dragon pattern on the scabbard reflected tiny specks of light in the morning light, the light refracted by the dragon scales as the Glutton skimmed low over the sails.

"Check the Dragonglass Plates again!" Daemon shouted to Rayford on the deck.

The Dragonglass plates that the Smith installed on the ship's side last night gleamed with a dark blue luster, their edges secured with bronze nails; they could withstand crossbow bolts from the Triarchy.

The secret letter from Larys specifically noted that the crossbow bolts were coated with a poison produced by Lys, which would cause flesh to rot upon contact.

Rayford led Daemon's newly recruited sons of the Crab Claw Peninsula, hammering away one by one. The clanging of metal, mixed with the sound of waves crashing against the boat, became the final prelude before their departure.

Not far away, above the "Royal Standard," Prince Baelon was bending over to adjust the dragon saddle of his Vhagar.

A giant, turquoise dragon soared above the ship's side, its breath falling onto the water's surface. The rising white mist, carrying the smell of sulfur, surprisingly overpowered the salty, fishy smell of the Narrow Sea.

Today he wore a black armor inlaid with red gold, the shoulder armor was shaped like the skull of Vhagar, the fangs were slightly curved, exuding a calm and resolute air of someone who had been through many battles.

Seeing Daemon looking over, he raised his hand in greeting, his knuckles turning white from the force—a sign of an old injury throbbing again—but he deliberately concealed it beneath his composed expression.

"Little Daemon! You and the Glutton better not fall asleep halfway through!" Daemon Targaryen's voice suddenly came from the right.

He rode Caraxes to the edge of the deck of the "Blackfyre," the crimson dragon's claws lightly touching the Dragonglass plate, leaving faint scratches.

Today he was unusually dressed in a proper black and red riding outfit, with the silhouette of Caraxes embroidered on the lining of his cape, but he still didn't fasten his belt properly, revealing a silk shirt embroidered with dragon patterns underneath.

"I've already arranged with Taimond that once we take the Stepstones, he'll treat us to the best wine in the Westerlands. Don't be late."

Daemon chuckled and shook his head, reaching out to adjust his cloak for him. "Worry about yourself first. Don't let Caraxes treat the firebreak ship like a toy." Even so, he pulled a cloth bag from his pocket, inside were honey cakes that Gael had made herself at dawn. "Take this, it'll fill your stomach on the road."

Daemon Targaryen's eyes lit up, and he snatched it away, tucking it into his arms with unusual gentleness—he thought it was something Daemon had specially left for him, but in fact, it was something Gael had deliberately added, saying, "Even though Big Daemon is a bit of a rascal, he still needs to eat his fill before he goes to war."

A sudden commotion arose on the western flank of the fleet. On the Golden Lion, the Duke of Taimond Lannister 'Taimond cousin Lancel Lannister, was commanding the Westerlands Heavy Infantry in formation; the clanging of armor could be heard across the waves.

Cyren Reynes stood at the front, his greatsword "Red Lion" slung across his waist. Seeing Daemon looking over, he raised his hand in a sword salute.

Those were the "Breaking the Ballista Formation" hand gestures that Corlys had taught the young people yesterday, now a silent promise.

"It's time to say goodbye formally," Corlys House Velaryon's voice came from the Sea Snake.

He stood atop the Watchtower, the seahorse patterns on the silver sails unfurling in the wind. His wife, Rhaenys, was leading Laena and Laenor toward him, the two children holding a nautical chart prepared for Corlys— a chart Laena had drawn up late into the night, marked with colored pens the reefs of the Narrow Sea, and the note beside it. "Father, come back safely."

As Daemon followed Baelon toward the royal barge, Glutton and Grey Ghost followed closely behind.

The light gray dragon rubbed against the back of his hand, half a dried fish dangling from its mouth.

That was Gael asked her to bring to Daemon, saying, "Let Grey Ghost accompany you, just as if I were by your side."

He bent down and touched the Grey Ghost's head, his fingertips brushing against its cool scales. He suddenly remembered the cliffs of Dragonstone three years ago, when the little dragon was hiding behind the rocks, trembling. Now, however, it was able to accompany him on his expedition to the Narrow Sea.

On the royal barge, King Jaehaerys's black robe billowed in the wind, his long silver hair bound with a golden crown. Queen Alysanne supported his arm, clutching a silk handkerchief embroidered with Silverwing, which she had embroidered overnight, saying, "Let the shadow of the Silverwing accompany you."

Viserys stood to one side, holding Rhaenyra in his arms, with Aemma leaning against him. The little princess was wrapped in a white fox fur cloak today, her tiny fist clutching a piece of honey cake, crumbs of which clung to her chin like tiny pearls.

When she saw Daemon coming over, she stretched out her little hands and babbled, wanting him to hold her.

"Hold her for a while," Aemma said softly, her eyes filled with worry. "This child cried until midnight last night, as if she wanted to go 'fight the bad guys' with her Uncle Little Daemon."

Daemon took Rhaenyra from him, and the little one immediately hugged his neck, resting her head on his shoulder, murmuring "Longlong"—

She was referring to the Glutton, who yesterday Daemon had secretly touched the Black Dragon's scales while holding her, and was so frightened that she hid behind Gael. But now she dared to clap her hands at the dragon's shadow high in the sky.

Jaehaerys grasped Baelon's hand, his fingertips tracing the dragon emblem on his armor. "In my youth, I followed you and Aemon as we swept across Dorne on Vermithor. Now you lead your son and Aemon's son to the Stepstones, but as your father, the grandfather of your children, and the king of the Iron Throne, I must remind you. My heir, my valiant Baelon, in my youth I thought war was the exhilarating sight of Dragonfire burning the enemy, only to later learn that war is about bringing your followers home safely."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the two Daemon in the crowd. "Baelon, you are the future heir to the Iron Throne. You must protect the fleet, but even more so, you must protect these two children—one is too steady, easily keeping his thoughts to himself; the other is too impulsive, easily forgetting the danger."

Baelon bowed respectfully, his voice as steady as a mountain. "Father, rest assured, I will bring them back safely, and bring back news of victory from the Stepstones."

As if sensing his resolve, Vhagar let out a long dragon roar, and emerald green Dragonfire fell on the sea around the barge, the splashing water forming a barrier that completely dispelled the morning mist.

Queen Alysanne approached Gael and handed her a silk handkerchief. "This is for you, embroidered with the pattern of Dreamfyre. Gael, my Child of Winter, King's Landing is entrusted to you. Your father and I are getting old, Viserys is assisting your father in handling state affairs in Baelon's place. Please take good care of us."

Gael took the silk handkerchief, her fingertips touching the warmth of the Queen's palm, and suddenly her eyes reddened. "Mother, I will. When they return, I will embroider a new one for you, one with a flock of dragons flying together."

Amidst the farewells, Rhaenys led Laena and Laenor over. Today she wore a dark, fitted outfit, with a House Velaryon dagger at her waist—a gift from Corlys— and the crimson dragon shadow of Meleys hovered above her.

"Corlys," she grasped her husband's hand, her voice filled with reluctance but even more so with determination, "I will arrange the defenses of Dragonstone. Meleys will patrol day and night. The ten ships left behind in Blackwater Bay will be there. With me here, I guarantee the Triarchy won't be able to launch a surprise attack on our rear."

Corlys nodded and reached out to pat Laenor's head. "Take good care of Mom and your sister. When Father comes back, he'll take you to Tidehead Island to see the whales."

However, the usually composed Laena suddenly hugged Corlys's leg, her voice trembling with tears, "Father, please come back soon. I still want to learn how to steer from you."

Laenor nodded in agreement, clutching Corlys's cloak in her small hand, her eyes full of dependence.

Rhaenys gently wiped away her daughter's tears. "Good girl, Father will come back. We're waiting to celebrate their victory."

As the first rays of sunlight rose over the summit of Dragonstone, Baelon finally gave the order, "Set sail!"

The anchors of the Joint Fleet were raised one after another, and the sails billowed in the wind like a flowing rainbow.

House Velaryon's silver ship was the first to move, with Corlys standing at the bow of the "Sea Snake," his brass telescope aimed at the Stepstones;

Redwyne's green sails followed closely behind, and Alyn Redwyne directed the archers to nock their arrows; the green feathers gleamed coldly in the morning light.

The Lannister's golden lion banner swept across the crest of the waves. Taimond Lannister stood atop the Golden Lion's Watchtower, and as the golden flag waved, the fire-resistant ships of the Westerlands emerged from their flanks, their ignition systems already checked.

As Daemon ascended into the air on his Glutton, Gael suddenly ran over, holding a cloth bag in her hand. "This is for you!"

She jumped up and shoved the cloth bag into his hand. Inside was an amulet embroidered with the Blackfyre and the Glutton, its edges stitched with dragon scales. "I made this with scales we found in the Glutton's Dragonpit on Dragonstone last year. I hope it will protect you. Little Daemon, you must come back safely. I'll be waiting for you in King's Landing, waiting for you to tell me the story of the Stepstones."

Daemon gripped the amulet, his fingertips touching her slightly cool hand. "Don't worry, I will. When I return, we'll go to Dragonstone and have our wedding according to ancient Old Valyria tradition, with the Glutton and Dreamfyre as our witnesses."

Gael's cheeks flushed instantly, but she nodded vigorously, her light purple eyes filled with anticipation.

Brienne of Tarth approached Daemon, knelt on one knee, and placed her right hand on the hilt of his sword. "Your Highness, I will protect Princess Gael and King's Landing. If there is any disturbance, I will use this sword to shield everyone."

Lia Osgre, standing behind her, also bowed, holding the ivory-hilted dagger in her hand. "I will also help, Your Highness. I will train the princess's guards with Sister Brienne, so that they too can take up a sword to protect themselves."

Rhea House Royce stood a little further away, clutching the scabbard of her rune sword.

Seeing Daemon looking over, she hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and handed him a bronze rune. "This is the House Royce's protective rune; it can ward off evil. You may not believe in these things, but—"

She paused, a hint of awkwardness in her voice, "Tell that guy with the same name for me not to die on the Stepstones."

Daemon accepted the rune and solemnly bowed to her on behalf of Big Daemon: "Thank you."

As the fleet sailed further away, the bells of King's Landing suddenly rang out, their deep melody carried by the east wind, mingling with the roar of dragons and the fluttering of sails.

King Jaehaerys stood on the barge, gazing at the sail that stretched across the Narrow Sea. Queen Alysanne held his hand, her fingertips trembling as she felt the tremor in his palm.

That's not weakness; it's concern for future generations and an expectation for peace.

Viserys held Rhaenyra in his arms, Aemma leaning against him. The little princess had stopped crying and was now resting on her father's shoulder, gazing in the direction the fleet had gone, her little hand still clutching the wooden dragon Daemon had given her.

"They will win," Viserys said softly, his voice firm. "Father is experienced, Little Daemon is steady, and although Big Daemon is mischievous, he has real skills. Plus, Lord Corlys has seafaring experience. They will definitely take the Stepstones."

Gael leaned against Brienne, watching the sail disappear into the distance, clutching the silk handkerchief tightly in her hand.

Mysaria walked to her side and handed her a cup of hot tea. "Princess, have some to warm yourself up. His Highness and the others will return safely. Look, the Glutton is still circling high in the sky; it will protect His Highness."

Gael took the hot tea, the warmth spreading down her throat, but her heart still felt empty—the taste of longing, the tenderness one only understands after falling in love with someone.

From the direction of Dragonstone, Rhaenys had already led Laena and Laenor to the castle.

Meleys patrolled high in the sky, crimson Dragonfire occasionally sweeping across the bay, reminding the House Velaryon fleet to remain vigilant.

She stood before the stone window of the Dragonflame Hall, gazing in the direction the Joint Fleet had sailed away, clutching the nautical chart left by Corlys in her hand. It marked every undercurrent and shoal in the Narrow Sea, the culmination of his many years of seafaring experience.

"Laena, Laenor," she whispered, "We must defend Dragonstone, and when Father and Uncle return, let them know that you, the descendants of the House Velaryon, can not only brave the seas but also defend your homeland on land."

As the sails of the Joint Fleet gradually blended into the horizon of the Narrow Sea, Daemon Blackfyre sat atop the Glutton's back, gazing down at the thousands of sails below.

Baelon's "Royal Standard" was at the forefront, with Vhagar's enormous turquoise dragon shadow covering the sky below;

Daemon Targaryen rode on Caraxes's right, the crimson dragon's wings brushing against Redwyne's green sails, prompting Alyn Redwyne and laugh.

Corlys's "Sea Snake" is on the left, its silvery sails unfurling in the wind like a silver screen.

He looked down at the amulet in his hand, the texture of the dragon scales clearly visible. Suddenly, Gael's smile appeared in his mind—the "Child of Winter" who always carried honey cakes and chased after him on her Dreamfyre, the girl who embroidered amulets for him and worried about him.

He gripped the Blackfyre at his waist, the dragon pattern on the scabbard gleaming coldly in the morning light, his mind filled with only one thought: to conquer the Stepstones, return safely to King's Landing, return to Gael's side, and fulfill the promise of that ancient Old Valyria wedding.

The wind in the Narrow Sea gradually picked up, billowing Daemon's black cloak and the sails of the Joint Fleet. Glutton let out a deep dragon roar, as if responding to his resolve, or as if playing the prelude to the upcoming battle.

Daemon looked up and saw the silhouettes of the Triarchy's giant ships faintly visible on the distant horizon. The iron-clad hulls gleamed coldly in the sunlight, but they did not frighten him in the slightest—for he knew that behind him lay the trust of the Seven Kingdoms, the concern of his family, and everything he had to protect.

The bells of King's Landing's Landing still echo over the Narrow Sea, mingling with the roars of dragons and the howling waves to form a war song for Westeros, witnessing this Iron Fleet sailing toward their glory and mission.