A Farewell Elegy

The afterglow of the tourney had yet to fade when the streets of King's Landing gradually returned to their usual rhythm. Knights polished their armor, merchants spread out their stalls once more, and only the dragons circling above the Dragonpit still reminded people of that grand Targaryen occasion.

The nobles began departing one after another.

Before leaving, Brandon Stark of the North gave Daemon a dagger with a direwolf-bone hilt, saying it was "a warrior's respect for another warrior."

Duke Mathos of the Reach clapped him on the shoulder and joked, "Next time, don't let House Tyrell's roses get muddied again."

Even Borros Baratheon made a point of coming over, tossing out, "Blackfyre boy, I'll see you in the Stormlands next time. I'll let you taste a real battleaxe—well, the back of it, of course." Then he slapped Daemon on the shoulder and left with booming laughter.

Daemon returned each farewell gift in turn, until he saw the Vale's party making ready to depart.

Aemma's half-brother, the Duke of House Arryn, was holding the reins while his wife stood beside him in the sunlight, cradling their young child and smiling gently.

Daemon suddenly recalled fragments from his past life—this duke would encounter a Wildling ambush on his way home, and not one member of his family would survive.

Perhaps because of Aemma's kindness toward him, he hurried forward and caught the duke's sleeve before he mounted. "My lord," he said in a low voice, rare gravity in his purple eyes, "please be especially careful on the road back to the Vale, particularly through the Mountains of the Moon. The Wildlings have seemed... restless lately."

The Duke of House Arryn paused, then laughed. "Thank you for the warning, but the Wildlings have always only dared to wander beyond the Wall. They cannot cross the Mountains of the Moon." He patted the back of Daemon's hand. "Do not worry. I will take care of myself."

Daemon watched his retreating figure ride away, his throat tightening.

He knew how stubborn the inertia of history could be, yet he could not stop himself from offering that futile warning—just as he had in his past life, raising his spear on the battlefield even when he knew defeat was certain.

But what unsettled him most was the sudden farewell of Rhaenys's family.

"The Sea Snake," Corlys Velaryon, stood on the docks of King's Landing Harbor. His sea-blue cloak was flung high by the salty wind, snapping like an unyielding banner.

Whether he had grown weary of the Small Council's intrigues, or whether the old sailor had caught the scent of an approaching storm once again, he ultimately submitted his resignation to the Iron Throne just as history had recorded, setting aside the silver seashell badge of Master of Ships.

The enormous Sea Snake lay docked nearby like a slumbering sea beast. Sailors rushed about with their final preparations, their rough shouts mingling with the sound of waves striking the hull.

"High Tide's ships need their captain," he told Daemon. There seemed to be a longing for the sea in his voice, but it also seemed to reveal why he was leaving. The treasures across the sea and beyond the Narrow Sea still called to him.

Rhaenys held Laenor while leading Laena by the hand, her eyes slightly red. "When I reach High Tide, I'll write to you." She pressed a small cloth pouch into his hand, embroidered with a dragon sigil by her own hand. "If anyone bullies you, write me a letter and put it inside. I'll ride Meleys to help you."

Daemon held the warm pouch and watched them board the Sea Snake. When the sails rose, Laena poked her little head out from behind her mother and waved her slender hand. He suddenly remembered what Daeron had often said in his past life: "We are family." Only now did he truly understand the weight of those words.

Just as Daemon turned to leave, Rhaenys's voice carried across the banks of the Blackwater Rush. "When you get tired of King's Landing, come to High Tide! You ride Glutton—you can go wherever you want!"

After seeing off the Sea Snake's family, Daemon walked alone back toward the Red Keep, feeling strangely empty inside. The moment he entered the gates, he saw King Jaehaerys seated on a stone bench in the courtyard, a yellowed old book in his hand, as though he had been waiting for him.

"Why do you look so dispirited?" Jaehaerys closed the book and looked at him with a grandfather's affection in his eyes. "Rhaenys and the others have left. You're feeling bad about it, aren't you?"

Daemon nodded without speaking.

"Parting from family is always painful." Jaehaerys patted the stone bench beside him, signaling for him to sit. "But you must understand that true family remains connected at heart, no matter how far apart they are. High Tide is not far from King's Landing. If you miss them, just ride Glutton to visit."

Daemon sat beside him, and his "grandfather's" words made him feel a little better.

At that moment, Prince Baelon and Viserys walked over as well.

Baelon patted Daemon's shoulder, his voice steady. "A man should not be so sentimental. Rhaenys and the others have merely returned to High Tide, not vanished forever. Besides, you still have us. We are all your family."

Viserys smiled as well. "That's right, Daemon. If anything happens in the future, just tell me. I may not be as capable as Rhaenys and the others, but I can still be of considerable help."

Daemon looked at them, warmth filling his heart.

Before long, Daemon Targaryen swaggered over with a bottle of wine in hand. "Hey, Blackfyre boy, what's wrong? Why are you looking so wilted? Do you feel bored because no one is left to compete with you? Don't worry. Whenever I have time, I'll spar with you."

His carefree manner made Daemon laugh despite himself.

Princess Gael also approached timidly, holding a freshly made pastry. She offered it to Daemon and said softly, "Daemon, this is for you. You'll feel better after you eat it."

Daemon accepted the pastry, deeply moved. He rubbed the head of Gael, who was several years older than him. "Thank you, Gael."

Aemma came over carrying Rhaenyra and said gently, "Daemon, don't be too sad. I'll write to Rhaenys often and ask her to tell you more about High Tide. If you miss them, you can tell me too. I'll remember it for you and tell them in my next letter."

Even Alicent, who had been standing some distance away, came over with a faint smile. "Lord Daemon, I heard that you were in low spirits. I made some honey water. Would you like some? It may help lift your mood."

Daemon looked at everyone before him. Their concern was like a warm current, slowly filling the emptiness in his heart.

He suddenly understood that even though Rhaenys and the others had left, he was not alone. He still had so many family members in King's Landing.

The Small Council appointment soon spread throughout the city—Taimond Lannister had gotten his wish and succeeded the Sea Snake as Master of Ships.

When the news arrived, Daemon was feeding Glutton in the Dragonpit. The black dragon snorted, and the hot breath it exhaled blew his silver hair into disarray.

"So the lion got what it wanted after all," he murmured, his fingertips tracing the patterns on Glutton's scales. In his past life, he had worked with House Lannister and knew well the ambition hidden behind those green eyes.

But what caught him most off guard was Jocelyn Baratheon's decision.

That day, when the Baratheon party was preparing to return to Storm's End, he encountered her in a corridor of the Red Keep. She had changed out of her splendid formal dress and into plain traveling clothes, yet she showed no intention of leaving with the party.

"You... aren't returning to Storm's End?" Daemon could not help asking, his voice slightly dry.

Jocelyn turned around. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass and fell across her face, leaving one half bright and the other dim. She looked at him. The complexity in her eyes remained, but there was less resentment and more calm. "The winds of Storm's End are too cold," she said softly. "King's Landing has dragons. Perhaps... they can make it warmer."

Daemon froze. He remembered the look in her eyes that day, remembered her loneliness after losing her husband, and suddenly understood that this might not have been a choice, but a silent struggle—she wanted to be closer to the shadow that resembled her late husband, yet farther from the pain it brought.

"The Red Keep has spare towers," he said quietly. "You may stay."

Jocelyn did not answer. She merely turned and walked toward the queen's chambers. Her shadow stretched long through the corridor, like a silhouette worn down by the years.

Daemon remained where he was, watching the sunlight shift across the stone floor. The clamor of farewells gradually faded, yet something indescribable had entered the winds of King's Landing.

Taimond's green eyes flickered in the Small Council chamber, Jocelyn's figure appeared in the corridors of the Red Keep, and the Duke of House Arryn's family was traveling toward the Vale...

He clenched the cloth pouch in his palm as Glutton's roar drifted from afar, deep and powerful.

Perhaps the river of fate would ultimately flow into its destined sea, but at least for this moment, he stood upon its shore. Those warm bonds, those silent concerns, those stories not yet finished—all waited beneath the sunlight of King's Landing for a new chapter.