Secret Passage Flight, Dragon Song Beneath the Moon

Mornings in the Red Keep always began with Marlin's bells, but today's clamor had started three hours early. The oak doors to the royal bedchamber were tightly shut, yet the argument within pierced the stone walls like dragonfire, filling the entire castle with a scorching tension.

"Jaehaerys Targaryen, how could you treat my Daemon like this?" Queen Alysanne's voice trembled with tears. She had clenched her silver-threaded nightgown until it was wrinkled. "His leg hasn't even healed properly, and you've locked him in a tower where he can't even see sunlight! Are you trying to turn him into another Maegor?"

"I'm disciplining him!" Jaehaerys roared, accompanied by the sharp crash of shattering porcelain. "That bastard already turned Runestone upside down, and when he came back, he egged you on to defy me! If I don't keep him under control, one day he'll be riding a dragon to burn down the Red Keep!"

Baelon stood in the corridor like a bronze shield wedged between two stone walls.

He had just raised his hand to knock when the Queen screamed from inside, "It's all your fault! If you hadn't beaten him so badly he could barely stand, why would I feel sorry for him?"

The King's roar followed at once. "You've got nerve saying that! If you hadn't always coddled him, would he have become so lawless?"

"Father, Mother..." Baelon ventured, his voice as thin as a thread.

"Shut up!" two voices exploded in unison, making Baelon jerk his hand back.

He scratched his head awkwardly, recalling how he had tried to mediate yesterday by saying, "Mother may have indulged him too much," only for Alysanne to prick the back of his hand with an embroidery needle. Later, he had no choice but to add, "Father's punishment was indeed a little too harsh," and Jaehaerys had immediately hurled a Blackstone Town paperweight at his feet.

Now he understood. Between furious parents, any word was a spark liable to set himself ablaze.

And the culprit behind all this was lounging comfortably in a tower bedchamber, scooping up honey-stewed pears with a silver spoon—pears Alysanne had specifically ordered delivered to him.

Daemon Targaryen's left leg was still in a cast, but that did not stop him from waggling his eyebrows at a maid. "Tell me, do you think Grandfather will be so angry that he seals off a few more of the secret passages in my room?"

The maid turned pale and hurriedly dropped to her knees.

Daemon snorted and tossed a pear core out the window.

Of course, he knew exactly how much trouble he had caused. While crying to Alysanne during the day, he had deliberately described his wounds as though they had been seared with a branding iron. Then he embellished the tale, saying Jaehaerys wanted to send him to the Wall to join the Night's Watch, and that Baelon intended to send him back to Runestone so Rhea Royce could chain him up in bronze shackles.

"Grandmother, they just can't stand seeing me happy." At the time, he had held Alysanne's hand, his violet eyes filled with perfectly measured grievance. "I only wanted to go to Flea Bottom for a cup of ale, but they guard against me as if I'm a thief. Tell me, isn't this prince of yours worse off than a stray dog?"

Alysanne doted most on this grandson who loved fiercely and hated fiercely. Seeing him laid up in bed with a lame leg, she naturally believed every word.

That night, she had taken the "blood scabs" he had secretly hidden and gone to confront Jaehaerys, leading to the chaos now engulfing the Red Keep.

In another bedchamber, Daemon Blackfyre was fastening the dragon-patterned clasp on his belt before a bronze mirror.

At dawn tomorrow, he would depart with his guards to begin a journey through the Seven Kingdoms that was called a "progress" but was really a matchmaking tour.

Otto Hightower's memorial still lay on the bedside table. The old man's handwriting was as neat as soldiers drawn up in formation. "...The prince will soon be thirteen after the new year and should choose a virtuous wife to secure the foundation of the realm. Princess Gael must also be considered without delay. A royal progress would both display the majesty of the royal house and allow the court to seek out worthy talents throughout the realm. It is truly a plan that benefits both sides..."

"A plan that benefits both sides?" Daemon sneered under his breath and threw the memorial into the brazier. The coals licked at the parchment, swiftly reducing Otto's "good intentions" to ashes.

He glanced out the window. Moonlight streamed through the gauze curtains and pooled across the carpet like cold water.

The door opened softly, and Gael entered with Alicent.

Gael wore a pink nightdress, her swollen eyes as red as ripe cherries. She held a sachet embroidered with the image of Glutton. "This... take this." She pressed it into Daemon's hand, the chill of her fingertips seeping through the cloth. "The roads through the Seven Kingdoms are long. Remember... remember to write to me every full moon."

"I will." Daemon ruffled her hair and suddenly realized that the little princess only came up to his chest now. "When I return, I'll bring you furs from the North, golden ornaments from the Westerlands, and flower seeds from the Reach..."

Gael nodded, but her tears rolled down like pearls from a broken string.

Alicent quickly handed her a handkerchief. "Rest assured, Your Highness. I'll take good care of the princess." She wore a gray-green maid's dress, its cuffs embroidered with House Hightower's ivy. Her lapis-blue eyes held a complicated gleam in the candlelight. "As for the Master of Laws... I'll keep watch there too." Daemon knew she meant Otto might place spies along the route.

He gave Alicent a grateful look. These past few nights, Gael had often come crying to him in the middle of the night. Alicent had always accompanied her and stood attentively outside, giving them room to speak in private while ensuring the princess's distress did not reach outside ears.

"You two should get some rest as well." He saw them to the door and watched Gael follow Alicent away, looking back every few steps. His heart felt stuffed with waterlogged cotton—heavy and stifling.

He had just taken off his outer robe and was about to lie down when a creak of scraping wood sounded behind him.

Daemon spun around. The stone wall beside the fireplace was slowly sliding aside, revealing the entrance to a secret passage just wide enough for one person.

A shadow crawled out with a limp. A cane thudded against the floor. It was Daemon Targaryen, who was supposed to be confined to the tower.

"Brother, you're finally ready for bed." He brushed dust from himself and flashed a grin, revealing two pointed canine teeth, though the smile was somewhat forced. "I nearly broke my other leg crawling through that passage. You'd better compensate me."

Daemon Blackfyre frowned at his casted leg. "How did you get out? Where are the guards?"

"Those idiots?" Daemon Targaryen snorted and plopped down on the bed. "I told them Grandmother was sending medicine and sent them away ages ago." His face suddenly fell, and he put on a tearful expression. "Brother, I'm sick to death of this lately. Not only is my leg broken, I'm locked in that damned tower. Even a fly has more freedom than I do. The old man sealed off three more secret passages from my room today, so I could only come borrow yours."

Then he seized Daemon Blackfyre's hand and shook it hard. "Come out with me for a walk. We can go to Flea Bottom for a cup of ale, or visit Silk Street and see the new dancers. You know, I used to love going with Viserys..."

Daemon Blackfyre pulled his hand free, his eyes plainly asking, Are you joking? Why not go by yourself?

Daemon Targaryen rolled his eyes and pointed at his leg. "Look at this leg. Can I fight alone? I need you, brother."

"Then why not have Viserys go with you?" Daemon Blackfyre asked as he lay back down.

"He spends all day fussing over Aemma and Rhaenyra now. Aemma's in a bad mood, so he has to soothe her every day. And that little brat Rhaenyra is even clingier. She grabs his hair when she sleeps at night..."

His voice suddenly dropped, and a flicker of sincerity passed through his violet eyes. "Besides... brother, you're leaving tomorrow."

The words were like a fine needle, lightly piercing the hard shell around Daemon Blackfyre's heart.

He looked at this great-grandfather of his, a scoundrel who nonetheless always called him "brother" when it mattered. Looking at his casted leg and his deliberately pitiful expression, he finally sighed.

"Only one hour." He fastened his belt again and grabbed the cloak hanging on the wall. "And no trouble."

Daemon Targaryen immediately beamed and patted his chest. "Don't worry. With me here, absolutely—" Daemon Blackfyre's glare cut him off, and he hastily corrected himself. "I mean, with you here, nothing can possibly go wrong."

The two crawled into the secret passage one after the other. It reeked of damp mildew, and the stone steps were steep and narrow. Daemon Targaryen leaned on his cane, baring his teeth in pain with every step, yet he stubbornly refused to make a sound.

Daemon Blackfyre walked ahead, using flint to light the oil lamps on the walls. In the dim yellow glow, he suddenly remembered Baelon saying that Jaehaerys had dug this passage in his youth to meet Alysanne in secret. Who would have thought it would now become Daemon Targaryen's escape route?

What they did not know was that, not long after they entered the passage, Gael and Alicent quietly peeked out from the shadows at the end of the corridor.

They had been heading toward the stairs when strange noises suddenly came from Daemon's room. Worried, Gael had pulled Alicent back, and they happened to see the stone wall slide open.

"Where... where are they going?" Gael asked tearfully, her little hand clutching Alicent's sleeve.

Alicent's face was somewhat pale as well, but she quickly steadied herself. "Don't worry, Princess. They should be all right."

Gael's eyes reddened further as a bold thought suddenly rose in her heart. "Alicent, what if we..."

King's Landing at night was like a vast sheet of black velvet, wrapping the Red Keep, the sept, and the docks within its folds.

A bright moon hung over Swan Castle, scattering silver radiance across the Blackwater Rush. The rippling surface glittered as though paved with crushed diamonds.

Boisterous songs drifted from the taverns of Silk Street, mingling with the stench of cheap ale wafting from Flea Bottom to form the city's distinctive scent.

Deep within the Dragonpit, a long dragon's roar suddenly rang out.

Glutton seemed to sense its master's departure. Its low bellow made the ground tremble faintly. Then Caraxes, Dreamfyre, Vermithor, Silverwing, and the others answered in turn. Dragon cries of different pitches intertwined across the night sky like a nocturne belonging to House Targaryen.

When Daemon Blackfyre and Daemon Targaryen crawled out of the passage's exit, they heard the dragon roars at just that moment. Daemon Targaryen looked toward the Dragonpit, longing flickering in his violet eyes. "Tell me, if we mounted dragons now and flew straight to Lannisport, would Grandfather be so angry he fainted?"

Daemon Blackfyre ignored him and merely tugged his hood lower. "Can your leg still ride a dragon? Move it. We have to be back before dawn."

The two merged into the crowds of Silk Street. Though Daemon Targaryen limped, he remained the center of attention. He removed his hood, and his silver hair gleamed beneath the moon, drawing sultry glances from the prostitutes lining the road.

He did not hide his delight, whistling at the women with a grin until Daemon Blackfyre yanked him aside and made him rein it in.

Back in the Red Keep's tower, Jaehaerys and Alysanne's argument had finally ended.

The old King leaned wearily against his throne while Alysanne sat beside him, twisting a silk handkerchief in her hands, her eyes rimmed red.

Baelon cautiously offered them a cup of wine. "Father, Mother, it is late. You should rest."

Jaehaerys accepted the cup but did not drink. He only stared at the bright moon outside the window. "Tell me, have I been too harsh on Daemon?"

Alysanne immediately snapped back, "Too harsh? You've nearly driven him mad!"

Baelon gave a wry smile and was just about to speak when a dragon's roar sounded in the distance. He looked toward the Dragonpit, his brow furrowing slightly. "Strange. Why would the dragons suddenly become restless at this hour?"

Jaehaerys stood as well and walked to the window. Moonlight illuminated his aged face. He watched the night mist swirl over the Dragonpit, then suddenly snorted. "My guess is that some bastard is causing trouble again."

On Silk Street, Daemon Blackfyre sighed helplessly and looked up at the moon.

Under the moonlight, he suddenly felt that this unexpected midnight escape might not be such a bad thing after all.

At least before leaving King's Landing, he could still act like a real boy for once and go wild with this troublesome great-grandfather of his—his "brother."

And the night in King's Landing was still long. Their story had only just begun.