Dragonfire reflected on harp strings

Before the King's Landing mist had completely dissipated over King's Landing, the wind from Blackwater Bay, carrying the warm scent of dragon scales, drifted over the city walls.

The first to wake up were the children of the Flea Bottom —stepping on the still-warm crumbs of wheat cakes that had been distributed at Dawn this morning, they ran to the street and looked up to see a seven-colored ribbon floating in the sky. It was silk that the Wang family tailors had rushed to make overnight, hanging from the arrow tower of the Red Keep all the way to the direction of the River Gate.

What made them scream even more was the shadow in the clouds: the Glutton's jet-black wings swept past the clock tower, the wind it stirred up lifting the baker's straw hat;

The Dreamfyre's pale blue scales gleamed like glaciers in the morning sun, Gael's silver hair cascaded down its back like a ray of moonlight wrapped around its neck;

The crimson figure of Caraxes was the most flamboyant. Daemon Targaryen, who had been granted permission to ride on it today, deliberately let the dragon spew out a small cluster of crimson flames, which, in the morning light, turned the fountain in the center of the square into a golden-red hue.

On the other side, Vermithor and Silverwing, since their riders were not present, were simply taking a walk as usual, following behind Meleys and Vhagar, who were being ridden by Rhaenys and Baelon.

"More dragons than at the Golden Wedding!" Old Tom, who sells hot mead at the Flea Bottom in King's Landing, nudged the Smith beside him. "July 7th, year 49 of the Conquest calendar. I remember it clearly; I was only a teenager then."

In the sky, the only creatures with owners were Dreamfyre, Vermithor, and the three-headed Silverwing dragon, who was still young at the time. Dreamfyre's owner was Princess Rhaena.

Back then, things were completely different from now. There are probably more dragons surviving in their Dragonpit now than back then, right?

"Look, what are those little light gray dots?"

The Smith squinted and saw Grey Ghost following behind the Glutton, carrying a piece of silver chain in its mouth. Dragon scales brushed against the bronze gate of the Red Keep, scraping off a few pieces of rust.

A patron who had just emerged from the Flea Bottom Tavern said, "That's a wild dragon attracted by Prince Little Daemon. Prince Big Daemon said that our Blackfyre Prince is so charming that he can even attract wild dragons from Dragonstone."

As soon as the words were spoken, the crowd suddenly cheered – the main gate of the Red Keep opened, and twelve men in Gold Cloaks rode white horses in a procession. Today, they were not wearing the golden robes of the City Watch, but rather royal red cloaks embroidered with black three-headed dragons, their silver armor gleaming brightly in the sunlight.

Daemon walked at the head of the group. He wore a deep black velvet robe, the collar and cuffs embroidered with three-headed dragons in gold thread. His long, silver-gold hair was loose, falling over his broad shoulders, the ends still glistening with morning dew.

His face was clean and smooth; his deep purple eyes shone like jewels dipped in grape juice in the sunlight; his nose was high and straight; and his lips were clearly defined.

If it weren't for the blackened Blackfyre hanging at his waist, and if it weren't for the unique, inexplicable mystery that accompanied every step he took, along with his composure and the dragon blood hidden beneath, anyone would have thought that Aegon the the Conqueror had stepped out of history.

After all, the Blackfyre had changed color after being cremated with the the Conqueror and reclaimed by Maegor I.

"Gods above, he's even more handsome than in the paintings," the washerwomen at River Gate murmured among themselves, forgetting to move their wooden mallets.

A young woman, blushing, offered him a bouquet of wild roses. Daemon smiled, accepted it, and casually tucked it into the Gael of Gary, who had flown back to him.

Gael walked beside him, wearing a sea-green silk dress today. It was specially made by the tailor on Tidehead Island by Rhaenys, with tiny dragon scale patterns embroidered on the hem. Her light purple eyes were fixed on Daemon's profile, and even the tips of her ears were red.

As he walked through the crowd, Daemon's gaze swept across a corner of the square.

Borros Baratheon was holding a huge jug of ale, having a drinking contest with Brandon Stark. A smear of ale spilled all over his chest, but he didn't seem to care. Seeing Daemon, he yelled, "Little Daemon! Shall we have a drink later? I just sharpened my blade!"

Brandon joined in the commotion, still holding the the North longbow in his hand, a fluffy white fox tail dangling from the bowstring.

That was an engagement gift from Benjen Stark and his wife on behalf of Duke Ellard, supposedly made from a white fox hunted Beyond the Wall, which was believed to ward off the cold.

Daemon smiled and waved, about to speak to these guys, when "Mother" Jocelyn Baratheon tugged at his sleeve.

"Don't go crazy with them," Jocelyn said with a smile in her eyes, gently straightening the gold thread on his collar. "You're the groom-to-be today. If you accidentally spill wine on your robe, Gael and Rhaenys will probably nag you again."

Her fingertips brushed against Daemon's right shoulder, near his neck, where the black Targaryen three-headed dragon brand was located.

That was a mark that Daemon had left after his time travel. When Jocelyn first saw it, she hugged him and cried for a long time that day. She felt sorry for his "memories of being away from home before the age of twelve," which didn't even exist, and she also said that it was proof that his "father," Prince Aemon, was protecting him from heaven.

Daemon took her hand, squeezed it gently, and reassured her skillfully, "Don't worry, Mother, I know what I'm doing."

Jocelyn almost burst into tears. This was the first time Daemon had acknowledged her as his mother.

She turned her head and saw Rhaenys walking towards her with Laena and Laenor. Laena was riding on Corlys's shoulders, holding a small megaphone made of seashells. Upon seeing Daemon, she called out, "Uncle Daemon! I brought you pearls from Tidehead Island!"

Laenor hid behind Rhaenys, clutching a handkerchief embroidered with a silver ship. He had embroidered it himself; the stitches were crooked, but it was clear that he had put a lot of effort into it.

"Slow down, don't fall." Rhaenys laughed as she lifted Laena down, patting Daemon's arm. "You look great today, much better than the one you wore in Highgarden last time."

Corlys nodded in agreement. He was wearing a dark blue brocade robe and had a string of aquamarines hanging from his waist, a gift from his friend in Braavos.

"The envoys from across the Narrow Sea have all arrived," Corlys said in a low voice. "Just now, a nobleman from Volantis asked me if his son could learn swordsmanship from you—your reputation is now far greater than it was in your father Prince Aemon's youth."

Just as Daemon was about to answer, he heard a clear, ringing bell.

Queen Alysanne walked over arm in arm with King Jaehaerys, Jaehaerys was wearing a long, off-white robe with a golden dragon pattern and was carrying an ivory cane made from the same material he used when he rode the Vermithor dragon saddle in his youth.

Alysanne's long, silver-grey hair was styled into a bun, adorned with a pearl hairpin—a token of her love with Jaehaerys.

"My children," Jaehaerys grasped Daemon's hand, his palm wrinkled yet still strong, "Today is a good day; even the gods are smiling."

He looked up at the sky; Vermithor was circling above the Red Keep, its bronze scales gleaming golden in the sunlight. "The year 49 of the Conquest calendar, even my mother, Queen Mother Alyssa, and Duke Roga Baratheon's wedding wasn't this grand."

Queen Alysanne added with a laugh, "I was only thirteen years old then, and I was hiding in a tent with your grandfather, secretly eating honey cakes. We got scolded by my mother and sister."

She took Gael's hand and slipped a silver ring onto her ring finger. "This was passed down from your grandmother; it's said to bring good luck."

Gael's face flushed even more, as if she had regained the feeling of being the "Child of Winter" before she rode the Dreamfyre. She could only whisper, "Thank you, Mother."

The crowd cheered again, this time because of Crown Prince Baelon.

Today he wore a suit of armor adorned with turquoise, the color of Vhagar's scales, with a steel sword hanging at his waist. The old wound under his ribs had not yet healed, and he occasionally frowned as he walked, but he still kept his back straight.

He walked up to Daemon, feigning seriousness while joking, and gently patted Daemon's shoulder. "My youngest son, take good care of your Aunt Gael. If I find out you've bullied her, even with the help of Glutton, I'll still beat you up."

Daemon smiled and nodded, a warm feeling welling up inside him.

Since arriving in this era, Baelon has taken care of him like a loving uncle, teaching him to ride dragons, teaching him tactics, and even defending him at the Small Council.

Even if we were to use Baelon's earlier words, "I have long regarded you as my youngest son," calling you father would not be an exaggeration.

He recalled how, before the Battle of the Red Grassland in his previous life, he had raised the banner of rebellion, and until his death, he had no relatives left besides his child.

And now, he has Jocelyn, Baelon, Gael —a group of people willing to give their hearts to him.

The engagement ceremony was held in the courtyard of the Red Keep.

In the center of the courtyard stood a high platform covered with a red carpet embroidered with a three-headed dragon pattern, which the Wang family's weaving workshop had spent three months weaving.

Two semi-circular long tables were placed on either side of the platform, and a round table was placed in the center. On the left were the lords of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, and on the right were envoys from various regions. Surrounding them in the middle were the Targaryen relatives, and the tables were laden with food.

Roasted wild boar, smoked salmon, honey cake, wine from Arbor, and ice wine from the the North, chilled in ice cellars, steaming.

Grand Maester Alar stood on the high platform, holding a thick historical book in his hand—the manuscript of Grand Maester Benifer's record of the Golden Wedding.

He cleared his throat and repeated his feelings when Benifer Grand Maester attended the Golden Wedding, Grand Maester excited voice echoing throughout the courtyard. "Find no other event in the annals of Westeros as glorious as this."

He paused, his gaze slowly sweeping over the guests present, "The grand Golden Wedding of the year 49 of the Conquest calendar brought the Targaryen Lineage and House Baratheon together, reuniting the two bloodlines and solidifying the Targaryen Lineage's glorious rule in Westeros;

Today's engagement will unite His Highness Prince Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen and Gael Targaryen. This is not only the beginning of a love story, but also the confluence of dragon bloodlines, marking a new pinnacle for Westeros, the Targaryen Lineage, and the Iron Throne. From the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea in the east, to the Sunset Sea on the west coast, from the Summer Isles of the Summer Sea in the south, to the Beyond the Wall in the the Wall north, all eyes are on us."

The crowd cheered, and Daemon led Gael up to the platform.

He took the harp handed to him by the servant. It was a harp made of maple wood with silver strings and small dragon patterns engraved on its body.

Daemon sat in the chair, his fingers gently plucking the strings, and a soothing melody flowed out.

Today, he presents to these people from a century ago a side of himself that he had never shown before he arrived.

Even in his past life, a hundred years later, after he first held a sword and fought, he rarely showed this side of himself—a song he had heard his mother, Daena Targaryen, hum in the Red Keep in his past life. Memories from a distant century later, mixed with the bonds of this life, added a touch of tenderness to the melody.

Gael stood beside him, her eyes sparkling.

She could hear the story in the melody: the loneliness that belonged only to Daemon, his struggles in the Dragonstone dungeon, the hardships of his past unknown to everyone, and the little things they had accumulated together, including their travels through the Seven Kingdoms.

Her fingers gently grasped Daemon's wrist, and she reached out to place her hand on Daemon's right shoulder, where the Dragon Mark still carried a faint warmth, just like when they first met in front of the Red Keep in King's Landing's Landing.

The guests below the stage fell silent.

Borros Baratheon put down his ale jug, Brandon Stark sheathed his longbow, and Myles Rivers and Tybolt Crakehall, who had been drinking with them, also silently stopped. All four burly men did the same, and even the most mischievous Grey Ghost lay on the ground with his ears drooping, listening to the music.

Alicent Hightower stood at the back of the crowd, clutching a handkerchief embroidered with Roland —a gift from Gael, which she had intended to give to Daemon but lacked the courage to.

She looked at Daemon on the platform, his long silver-gold hair cascading over his harp, his profile bathed in sunlight, so beautiful it seemed like a myth. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Mysaria stood next to Alicent, holding a necklace in her hands—a gift Daemon and Gael gave her when they bought her on Silk Street.

Her eyes were filled with gratitude as she looked at Daemon, along with a hint of adoration she herself didn't realize, and memories of that crazy night.

Johanna Swann stood opposite her, holding a small wooden sword in her hand, the one she had asked Daemon to teach her.

Her face was flushed, and she kept staring at Daemon's fingers as he plucked the strings. It was as if the words Gael had said to her Stonehelm that day, "From now on, you're mine," had automatically replaced Daemon's voice and were echoing in her ears.

Bethany Hightower leaned against a pillar, holding a glass of wine in her hand.

Her gaze remained fixed on Daemon's right shoulder, where, in her eyes, the dragon beneath his clothing seemed faintly visible. She was always filled with curiosity about this mysterious man.

He can subdue the fiercest King of the Wild Dragons, Glutton, gain the favor of the most timid Grey Ghost, and command the submission of so many young heroes. Just how many secrets does he hold?

The mystery surrounding this Black Dragon seemed to forever draw him in, captivating him and drawing him deeper into its allure.

Moreover, his every move seemed to exude a mysterious allure that captivated her, making her relish it.

In another corner, Alys Rivers, who hadn't been seen since King's Landing with Daemon, was wearing a dark green cloak with the hood covering her face, revealing only her deep eyes.

She looked at Daemon and Gael on the platform, a meaningful smile playing on her lips—in her own words, she saw Daemon from the future, knew his mission was to stop the Dance of the Dragons, and knew the Dragon Mark on his body was the key to fighting the White Walkers.

Her fingertips gently caressed the herb pouch at her waist, which contained herbs that could aid her in prophecy and induce hallucinations. She wondered if she should hold this guy close again and let him see the future again.

Suddenly, she felt a familiar gaze on her.

Alys Rivers looked up and saw Larys Strong, who was chatting with his brother Harwin Strong and father Leonno Strong, standing not far away, holding a glass of ale, his eyes full of apprehension.

Seeing that familiar, wary gaze, Alys Rivers silently responded with a mysterious smile.