A wedding of blood and fire

The fog over Dragonstone rises from the seabed of Blackwater Bay.

In the early hours of the morning, Daemon stood on the terrace of Blackrock Castle, watching the mist, like pale gray silk, envelop the dragon's Dragonpit outside the castle.

The Glutton had just flown out of his old lair on Dragonstone, his black wings sweeping through the mist, the wind he stirred causing the black iron dragon patterns on the terrace railing to gleam coldly.

He wore a white linen shirt, the collar unbuttoned, revealing his broad chest and the black Targaryen three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder.

That was a mark that had been on his young body since he died in battle on that unknown red plain, a mark that transcended time and space.

"What are you looking at?" Gael's voice came from behind, soft and sweet, as if she had just woken up.

Daemon turned around and saw her wearing a white nightgown, her long, silver-gold hair draped over her shoulders, the ends of which were covered in dewdrops.

She walked to his side, reached out and grasped his wrist, her fingertips touching the calluses on his palm.

That was honed through three years of constant sword-wielding battles with this incredibly young body since arriving here a hundred years ago.

"Looking at the fog," Daemon said gently, lowering his head and brushing his nose against her forehead. "The fog at Dragonstone this year is even colder than the King's Landing. It's just like the first time we came here together last year. It's also somewhat like the thick fog over Blackwater Bay when we first met in King's Landing, when I came by boat."

Gael smiled, her eyes curving into crescents. Of course she remembered—

His still-young body seemed to bear the marks of chains from his escape from the Dragonglass Dragonstone, and the composure on his face did not yet conceal the "madness" of the Targaryen blood within him.

Later, after hearing Rhaenys and Big Daemon describe it, I could almost see him running on the beach, like a trapped Black Dragon.

Looking back now, it seems that they were already bound together by fate, perhaps from the very first meeting.

"Jocelyn said the wedding dress is in the warm chamber," Gael said, pulling him back by the hand. "Rhaenys is here too, with a shawl knitted by Laena."

Her fingers lightly traced the cuff of Daemon's shirt. "The hem of your dress today is red, like it's been burned by Dragonfire."

Sure enough, red candles were lit in the warm chamber. Twelve thick candles stood on bronze candlesticks, their flames flickering gently in the misty breeze, casting long shadows in the room.

Jocelyn sat in a chair, holding a white dress. The edges of the dress were stained deep red, like congealed blood. The cuffs and hem had deliberately distressed textures, and tiny black pebbles were embedded in the stitching.

These are stones unique to Dragonstone. They are ground up and mixed into dye to make the red color appear deeper, like ancient cloth buried underground for thousands of years.

"Come and try it on," Jocelyn Rhaenys, her eyes full of laughter. "This was specially made by the most famous tailor on Tidehead Island, the same tailor who made her and Corlys's wedding dress. They even did some special touches; look at the dragon pattern on the hem—it was embroidered with black and gold lines and then half of it was worn away. It's practically a relic of Old Valyria."

She helped Daemon put on his tuxedo, her fingers tracing his shoulder. "It fits perfectly, even better than the wedding dress your father Aemon, wore."

Daemon looked down and saw a three-headed dragon embroidered on the chest of his suit. Only half of the black and gold lines of the dragon's scales were visible, while the other half was covered by the worn white fabric, like a dragon's shadow hidden in the mist.

"Mother," he said softly, "Thank you."

Jocelyn almost burst into tears. She reached out and fastened the gold thread around his collar, her voice choked with emotion, "I'm relieved that you've found your happiness. If Aemon were watching from heaven, he would surely be happy for you."

Just then, Rhaenys pushed open the door and came in, carrying a sea-green shawl, with Laena and Laenor following behind her.

"This was woven by Laena," Rhaenys said, handing the shawl to Gael. "It's made from sea silk from Tidehead Island, and the dragon scale pattern on it was embroidered stitch by stitch by her. She said it would protect you."

Laena immediately ran to Gael's side, looked up at her with her little face and said, "Aunt Gael, I secretly sewed a small dragon scale into my shawl. It fell off when you took me riding Dreamfyre that day!"

Laenor hid behind Rhaenys, holding a small brocade box in his hand.

He hesitated for a moment, then walked up to Daemon and handed him the brocade box. "Uncle Little Daemon, this was made by my father—it contains two Dragonglass beads. He also told me to tell you that Dragonglass can ward off evil spirits."

Daemon took the brocade box, opened it, and saw a deep black Dragonglass bead inside, which was emitting a deep purple light. The bead was also engraved with the tiny Valyrian "Blood and Fire of the Same Origin".

"Thank you," he knelt down and patted Laenor's head, "I'll keep it safe."

Gael's dress was in another warm room. It was a white dress, the same style as Daemon's, with the same deep red trim, only the skirt was longer, trailing on the ground like a solidified flame.

Rhaenys helped her put on the dress, while Queen Alysanne took out a silver hairpin from her jewelry box. The hairpin had a three-headed dragon on the head, and the dragon's eyes were made of rubies.

"This is a piece of jewelry belonging to your father, your mother, Jocelyn's mother, and your grandmother, Queen Mother Alyssa House Velaryon," Alysanne, placing the silver hairpin in Gael's hair. "She wore this hairpin when she remarried, to Duke Roga Baratheon. Now Jocelyn and I are passing it on to you, hoping that you and Little Daemon will be like them, staying together for life."

Gael looked in the mirror and saw her dress gleaming softly under the red candlelight.

The red trim made her skin appear even whiter, and the rubies on the silver hairpin looked like two tiny Dragonfire in the candlelight.

She turned around and saw Jocelyn adjusting Daemon's sash. Daemon's long, silver-gold hair cascaded over his shoulders, and his deep purple eyes were full of tenderness, much like Aegon the Conqueror sung about by bards.

"It's time to head to the plaza in front of the Dragonpit," Baelon's voice came from outside the door. He was wearing a dark black tuxedo, and an old wound under his ribs made him walk with a slight sway, but he still kept his back straight. "The old man and the others are already waiting there."

The fog thickened in the plaza in front of the Dragonpit.

Twelve enormous red candles stood on either side of the square, their flames forming two red bands of light in the mist, illuminating the black stone platform in the center.

A black carpet was laid out on the platform, with a deep red Targaryen three-headed dragon pattern outlined in black and gold thread. The edges of the carpet were also dyed deep red, echoing their formal attire.

King Jaehaerys sat in a chair in the center of the platform, wearing a golden dragon-patterned robe and leaning on an ivory cane.

Queen Alysanne, who had come over, was already sitting beside him, her long silver-grey hair adorned with pearl hairpins.

Standing around the plaza were Targaryen relatives— Rhaenys and Corlys, accompanied by Laena and Laenor;

Jocelyn stood at the front, holding a brocade box in her hand;

Viserys embraced Aemma, Aemma was holding Rhaenyra in her arms;

Daemon Targaryen leaned against a stone pillar, dressed in a black tuxedo, a blade of grass dangling from his lips, but he wasn't fooling around as usual;

Rhea House Royce, who had been "forced" to come, stood beside him, wearing a bronze-colored dress and holding a handkerchief embroidered with runes. Her complexion was still not good today, but unusually, she didn't bicker with Daemon Targaryen as she usually did.

Several other figures remained hidden in the mist, besides Lyan Redwyne secretly leading his white-robed brothers to protect the royal family.

Several of Daemon's followers and a few of Big Daemon's trusted Gold Cloaks were also hidden among them. Jarman Waters and Rupert Crabb stood behind a stone pillar, lightly touching their eyepatch and the short sword at their waists, their single eye occasionally glancing towards the corner of the square.

Colin Celtigar and Lyonel Corbray leaned against the stone door of the hall, their hands on their weapons at their waists, warily surveying their surroundings.

Alys Rivers, who insisted on attending today, wore a dark green cloak with the hood covering her face, revealing only a pair of deep eyes that were fixed on the brazier in the center of the platform.

But when Daemon led Gael into the square, all the sounds ceased.

The mist seemed to be startled by their footsteps, dispersing slightly to reveal the red edges of their dresses.

Daemon's white dress shone like a beam of light in the fog, while its red edges resembled burning fire;

Gael's dress was even longer, trailing on the black carpet like a flowing river of blood-red rubies.

They walked step by step toward the platform, their footsteps echoing on the black stone ground, mingling with the burning of red candles, like a somber overture.

King Jaehaerys, who was to be the master of ceremonies today, slowly stood up, holding a thick book in his hand. It was a marriage certificate in ancient High Valyrian, and the cover seemed to be made of ancient dragon skin. It was a treasure of the Targaryen before the Doomsday, and it was embossed with the red-gold three-headed dragon pattern symbolizing the Targaryen.

"My grandson Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen, and my daughter Gael Targaryen," his voice, though aged, was filled with majesty, "Today, you two will swear an oath of marriage by blood and fire before the sacred Dragonstone, the home of our Targaryen Lineage. This is an ancient ritual of the Old Valyria dragons, a promise that transcends time."

Guided by Alysanne, Jocelyn stepped forward and opened the brocade box in her hand.

Inside were two Dragonglass blades, crescent-shaped with sharp edges and a pale purple sheen.

"Use this," Jocelyn said softly, reciting the vow she had practiced countless times—the vow she had heard from Prince Aemon, taught to her by Jaehaerys and Alysanne during their wedding at Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen— "to cut one's lips, and with blood as ink, to mark the other's forehead. This is proof of your dragon blood, and a symbol of your eternal bond."

Daemon first picked up a Dragonglass blade. The blade was cold, like ice, against his fingertips.

He looked into Gael's eyes, her deep purple pupils reflecting the flames of the red candle.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered to comfort the other person, then gently cut his own lower lip with a razor blade.

Blood immediately seeped out, like red gems, staining his lips.

Gael also picked up another razor blade, looked at Daemon opposite her, her hands and feet trembling slightly, but she still resolutely cut her lower lip.

Daemon leaned down, forehead to forehead, and used his own blood to draw a mark on her forehead that resembled a small three-headed Targaryen dragon. Daemon's movements were very gentle, as if he were afraid of hurting her.

Gael followed his example and used her own blood to draw the same mark on his forehead.

The light from the red candle fell on their foreheads, and the bloodstains glowed faintly red in the mist, like two beating hearts.

"Next, drink the wine of unity," King Jaehaerys took a silver cup filled with deep red wine from Queen Alysanne, "Then prick your palms, and then hold each other's hands as a vow—my children, let your blood be mingled, and from this day forward, we shall be one."

Daemon took the silver cup, took a sip of the wine, and found it to be faintly sweet with a hint of Dragonblood Grass.

I've heard this is a special seasoning used in Old Valyria weddings, and it's said to protect the couple and ensure their safety.

Dragonblood Grass, also known as Dragonbreath Grass, is a plant that is basically unique to Dragonstone, with dark red flowers. Besides Dragonstone, it can only be found in the Godswood of Red Keep and the hills near Dragonpit.

He handed the silver cup to Gael, Gael also took a sip. The wine stained her lips, mixing with the blood droplets, like a rose with thorns.

Jocelyn handed over another Dragonglass dagger, sharper than the previous blade.

Daemon took Gael's hand, making her palm face up, and then gently cut his own palm with a dagger. Blood immediately flowed out and dripped into a pair of silver cups that the king and queen had handed him, staining the wine even redder.

Gael also cut her palm; the blood mingled with his, forming a small vortex at the bottom of the cup.

Daemon grasped her hand, palm to palm, their blood mingling.

His palms were hot, Gael's palms were soft. Their blood flowed down between their fingers, dripping onto the black carpet like red flowers.

"I, Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen Lineage," Daemon's voice was deep and resolute, carrying far through the mist, "By the Blackfyre and by the Dragonfire of the Glutton, I swear to Gael Targaryen for life, in life and in death, in time and space, never to betray her."

Gael's tears fell, landing on the backs of their clasped hands, mingling with the blood.

"I, Gael Targaryen of Targaryen Lineage," her voice trembled slightly but remained clear, "By my dragon's Dreamfyre, by the sacred Blackstone of our two families on Dragonstone, I swear that I will follow Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen for life, through wind and rain, through danger and hardship, never to be separated."

Suddenly, the dragons surrounding the square let out a roar.

The Glutton's dark figure burst out of the mist, hovering above the platform, spewing out a small cluster of black Dragonfire that fell into the mist like a black star;

The pale blue Dragonfire of Dreamfyre also lit up, intertwining with the flames of the Glutton to form a band of blue and black light;

Although the Grey Ghost was timid, it still flew out of the Dragonpit and hovered low in the air, its pale blue dragon scales gleaming under the red candlelight.

Rhaenys stood in the crowd, tears streaming down her face.

She thought of her father, Prince Aemon, and the scene of him attending her and Corlys's wedding. However, looking at her "brothers" Daemon and Gael in front of her now, she felt a sense of comfort.

Corlys, standing beside her, gently took her hand, offered her a handkerchief, his eyes filled with tenderness, yet also revealing a complex mix of emotions.

He knew that his wife, Rhaenys, had always treated Daemon, her "half-brother," as her "full brother" and "eldest son," and now that she saw him happy, she was happier than anyone else.

Viserys embraced Aemma, gently stroking the new life growing in his wife's womb.

Looking at Daemon and Gael in front of him, and then at his daughter Rhaenyra in his wife's arms, he admired the happiness of the two of them, and also felt a sense of happiness that belonged to him.

Daemon Targaryen leaned against a stone pillar, the grass in his mouth long since fallen out.

He looked at the two people on the platform, a rare genuine smile appearing on his lips.

Rhea House Royce stood beside him, still frowning, but instead of criticizing him as usual, she simply said, "Not bad at all, at least you didn't embarrass your royal family today."

Jarman stood in the corner, not forgetting Larys's instructions before he left King's Landing.

His gaze swept over Alys Rivers and saw her staring at Daemon and Gael's clasped hands and the brazier between them, a meaningful smile playing on her lips as she looked at the flames.

Jarman frowned and subtly winked at Harlan Hunter, who had moved closer. Harlan understood, his hand resting on the bow and arrows at his waist, his eyes becoming even more wary.

Alys Rivers, however, paid no attention to their gazes. Her fingers gently stroked the herb pouch at her waist, which contained herbs that could grant the ability to see the future.

She seemed to vaguely see Daemon and Gael's future—a future filled with Dance of the Dragons, the bitter cold of White Walkers invasions, the intrigues of the Seven Kingdoms, and their mutual support and protection.

But she didn't intend to say it aloud; some fates they had to face themselves.

The red candle flames gradually grew stronger, and the mist dissipated somewhat.

Sunlight pierced through the fog and shone on the platform, making the blood-red lines on Daemon and Gael's foreheads glow with gold.

King Jaehaerys nodded with a smile, Queen Alysanne wiped away tears from the corners of her eyes, and Prince Baelon also wore a rare smile.

He knew that the Targaryen ' future had been given new hope.

Daemon Gael's hand, but didn't let go. He simply lifted her hand gently, placed it to his lips, and kissed the wound on her palm.

"Does it hurt?" he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

Gael gently shook her head and said with a smile, "It doesn't hurt. With you here, it doesn't hurt."

She nestled in his arms, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the warmth of his palms, her heart filled with happiness.

Daemon knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, with the shadow of the Dance of the Dragons, the threat of the White Walkers, and the schemes of the lords, but as long as he was with her, he feared nothing.

The Targaryen's relatives around the square began to cheer.

Although today's wedding ceremony is attended only by Targaryen's closest relatives, with no outsiders or guests from the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and across the Narrow Sea.

Duke Boremund Baratheon and his son Borros Baratheon, who were both family and friends, were unable to attend because they had to take the nobles and younger generation of the Stormlands back to the Stormlands. However, Borros still sent Daemon and his son a jar of their treasured vintage wine as a gift, which he had Colin Celtigar bring over.

Brandon Stark, who was also returning to the the North, sent Rupert Clyburn a bearskin from the the North, which he had Rupert Crabb wear, saying it would protect them from the cold they would face in the future.

Jarman Waters and Harlan Hunter, who had been on guard for a while, also came over and handed over a dagger coated with Dragonglass powder, saying it was a token of appreciation from all the members of the Dark Blade Guard.

Daemon accepted them one by one, smiling and thanking them.

He looked at Gael beside him, at his relatives around him, and at the dragons circling in the sky, his heart filled with gratitude.

A century later, he transformed from a Blackfyre who was forced to raise the banner of rebellion and die on the battlefield into a Targaryen with family, love, and a sense of belonging—a happiness he could never have imagined in his previous life.

"Let's go check out the Dragonpit," Daemon said, taking Gael's hand and leading her towards Dragonpit. "There are many black stones in the Glutton's lair; I want to make you a necklace."

Gael smiled and nodded, letting him lead her away.

The fog thickened again, enveloping their figures, leaving only the red edges of their dresses visible, like two burning flames, slowly moving among the black stones of Dragonstone.

The flames of the red candles still flickered, casting their shadows on the black stone wall, like an eternal painting containing Black Dragon and moonlight, blood and fire and vows, love that transcends time and space, and a promise of never being separated.

Inside the Dragonpit, the Glutton, having already returned to their nest, were lying quietly in their former lair with their swarming companion, Grey Ghost, watching them enter.

Daemon bent down and picked up a black crystal from the ground. The crystal had a natural dragon pattern on it.

He gently stroked the stone with his fingers and said to Gael, "Later, I'll carve this into a necklace with the Blackfyre, just like Viserys carved stone, and wear it around your neck as an eternal guardian."

Gael leaned on his shoulder, listening to the dragon breaths of the Glutton and the Grey Ghost Shadows emanating from the dragon's Dragonpit, the sound of the burning red candles, and his heartbeat. She whispered, "Okay, I'll wear it forever, until we both become the Black Stone of Dragonstone."

Mist drifted in from the stone gate of the Dragonpit's lair, enveloping their figures.

The red candles in the distance were still burning, their flames dancing gently in the mist, like an ever-burning star.

The blood on their palms had long since congealed into a faint mark, like an eternal vow, etched into each other's lives.

This is the wedding of Targaryen dragon, sworn with blood, fire, and dragons as witnesses.

This is a love story that transcends time and space, from the crimson of the Red Grassland to the mist of Dragonstone, from the last lonely rebel to the happy groom, Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen, who has finally found his own destiny between his Blackfyre origins and his Targaryen bloodline.

Gael Targaryen, the once timid "Child of Winter," has finally become a companion who can stand shoulder to shoulder with the Black Dragon. From now on, they will face the storms of the future together, protect the Targaryen bloodline together, and rewrite the tragedy of the Dance of the Dragons into an eternal legend.