Maidenpool at Night

The road from Rosby to Maidenpool was longer than Daemon had expected.

When the party reached Duskendale, two more second sons of Crownlands nobles joined them. One was even the bastard son of some count, riding a scrawny horse with a dust-covered face, yet his eyes were as sharp as a starving wolf's.

Daemon reined in his horse and looked at the ever-lengthening procession behind him. Suddenly, this tour felt like a snowball rolling downhill—what had begun as a simple "matchmaking trip" had now become a rallying call for the young men of the Crownlands.

"What are you thinking about?" Gael swept low overhead on Dreamfyre, the magnificent dragon's shadow casting a patch of cool shade beside the party.

She wore a leather riding skirt, her long hair tied back with a ribbon to reveal her slender neck. Mysaria sat behind her, both hands gripping the edge of the saddle tightly, her platinum curls streaming in the wind.

Daemon looked up and smiled. "I was thinking that if this keeps up, by the time we finish touring the Seven Kingdoms, we might have assembled an army."

Gael patted Dreamfyre's neck, and the dragon circled down onto the hillside ahead. "They admire you," she said as she walked to Daemon's side, her fingertips brushing the Blackfyre at his waist as if by accident. "After all, you're the man who tamed Glutton. The boys of the Crownlands all see you as a legend."

"A legend?" Daemon raised a brow mockingly. "I'm just an unlucky fool whose brother tricked him into visiting a brothel."

Mysaria came over as well and could not help giggling when she heard that. Since the disturbance on Silk Street, she seemed to have grown more cheerful. She was still timid around Daemon, but she had become increasingly close to Gael, often following behind the princess to learn the language of Westeros.

When the party rested at Sow's Horn, Daemon sat by the campfire sharpening his blade. Watching the young men crowd around Rayford and ask what it felt like to be a prince's first follower, he was suddenly reminded of the Blackfyre Rebellion in his previous life.

Back then, he had been surrounded by young men just like them, hungry for military glory and honor. In the end, most of them had fallen on the Red Grassland.

Rayford's profile flickered in the firelight, and for no reason at all, Daemon was reminded of a squire who had died in battle. Something seemed to lodge in his chest.

"Daydreaming again?" Gael had somehow taken a seat beside him and handed him a roasted rabbit leg. "You've been acting strange ever since Rosby. Do these people make you uncomfortable?"

Daemon took a bite of the meat, but the fragrance of the fat did nothing to dispel the gloom in his heart. "It's just that... they remind me too much of who I was when I was young." He looked toward the distant outline of Staghorn Castle, whose lord had sent him a one-eyed bastard as a squire. "Impulsive, hot-blooded, yet with no idea what they truly want."

Gael fell silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled in imitation of Rhaenys's tone. "But aren't you only fourteen this year? My little Daemon, aren't you doing just fine now? Maybe you can teach them to walk the right path." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Just as Baelon taught you."

Daemon's heart gave a violent jolt. He had truly never considered that a version of himself who had "failed" could become someone else's guide.

When the party arrived at Staghorn Castle, three more young men joined them.

Daemon looked at the swords at their waists and the hope in their eyes. These second sons and bastards were like seeds buried beneath the soil of the Crownlands, waiting only for a gust of wind to break through the earth. And perhaps he was that wind.

"Oh, right." Daemon suddenly remembered something and turned to Gael. "How did you catch up with me in Rosby that day? Even if Dreamfyre was fast, it couldn't have been such a coincidence."

Gael was having Mysaria comb her hair when she turned back and blinked. "Because I knew you would take care of the party. While you were staying in Rosby, Little Mei and I rode Dreamfyre along a shortcut, following the Blackwater Bay coastline. We were a full half day faster than you."

"Aren't you afraid of danger?" Daemon's voice grew sharper without his realizing it. "There are pirates along the Narrow Sea coast, and—"

"And you're worried about me." Gael interrupted him with a smile, brushing a finger over her temple. "You've mentioned it eight times already these past few days." She pointed toward the smoke in the distance. "Look, that's Maidenpool ahead. Father and Mother's first stop on their royal progress was here."

"Grandfather and Grandmother?" Daemon's head instantly began to ache.

He still had not forgotten the messenger from three days ago—a rider on a lathered horse who had nearly knocked Rayford over when he charged into the camp. Then he had unrolled the king's scroll and read the reprimand in a voice loud enough for the entire camp to hear. Its main point could be summed up as: "Keep an eye on yourself and Gael. If you dare let her ride dragons recklessly again, I'll throw both you and Daemon Targaryen into the Dragonpit to feed the dragons."

Seeing his embarrassment, Gael laughed even harder. "Don't worry. I didn't tell you beforehand this time because I was afraid you'd get nervous. Besides, I only decided at the last minute."

Since taming Dreamfyre, this Child of Winter, once fragile, shy, and innocent-minded, had become bolder. It seemed the rumor that dragons could change any Targaryen was true.

When the party entered Maidenpool, Daemon finally understood why Jaehaerys had chosen this place as the first stop of his royal progress.

The town by Crab Bay was like a pearl nourished by spring water—pale red stone walls surrounded scattered wooden houses, while dozens of fishing boats lay moored in the harbor. Fishermen were unloading freshly caught crabs, and the salty tang of the sea breeze mingled with the sulfurous scent of hot springs.

Most eye-catching of all was Qiongqi Spring at the center of town. Beside its steaming pools stood a grand stone bathhouse, while several Holy Sisters in white robes walked solemnly along the water's edge.

"Legend says Florian watched Qiongqi bathing here," Gael said, pointing at the bathhouse dome, her eyes sparkling. "Mother said the water has healing magic. When she was carrying Aegon, she even wanted to bathe in it."

Daemon's steps faltered. He remembered that piece of history—in 51 AC, Queen Alysanne had encountered an assassination attempt by the Holy Sisters here. If her handmaids had not used their bodies to shield her from the blades, there might have been no one afterward.

He looked toward the bathhouse. Sunlight filtered through the steam and scattered dazzling colors across the pool's surface. It was beautiful enough to resemble a trap.

The castle of House Mooton stood atop a small hill. Count Jona Mooton was already waiting at the gate with his wife. The count was only in his thirties, yet his belly already bulged slightly. His smile was kindly, though shrewdness hid in the wrinkles around his eyes. His wife, Lady Freyana, seemed much more composed, dressed in a dark gray gown embroidered with the red salmon sigil of House Mooton.

"Welcome, Prince Daemon, Princess Gael." Count Jona bowed deeply, his voice booming. "Maidenpool is honored to receive members of House Targaryen."

The evening feast was held in Qiongqi Tower, whose windows overlooked the hot spring pools below.

Lady Freyana personally served them their food. When the topic turned to Maidenpool's trade, pride colored her voice. "We may not be as splendid as King's Landing or High Tide, but when it comes to clams, the finest are still those from our Crab Bay."

Count Jona added with a smile, "When His Majesty visited here, he particularly enjoyed our clam chowder. Queen Alysanne even said it was better than the Red Keep's royal cooks."

Then his tone shifted as he looked at Daemon. "I hear Your Highness is taking in followers? I have a younger brother—well, he is my father's bastard. He is brave by nature, though he has not read much. I wonder whether Your Highness would be willing to take him in?"

Daemon looked at the boy standing by the door. He was perhaps fifteen or sixteen, a little older than Daemon, with a large frame and hands rough as a blacksmith's, yet his gaze was remarkably sincere.

Daemon thought of the Count of Rosby. I should never have set that precedent. But he could not favor one over another, so he could only nod. "I would be delighted."

The boy's face reddened with excitement, and he quickly dropped to one knee. "Thank you, Your Highness!"

The atmosphere at the feast was lively. When Count Jona spoke of his past with Princess Senyra, he made no effort to hide the foolishness of those days. "Back then, Red Roy Connington, Braxton Beesbury, the princess, and I were together every day."

Noticing the strange look in Lady Freyana's eyes, the count quickly changed his words. "Oh, and Alys Tarbeck and my wife, of course. We were inseparable at nearly every feast and dance. We hunted and hawked together, and once even crossed Blackwater Bay to Dragonstone, thinking ourselves rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. It was only after His Majesty threw us into the Black Cells that we learned how high the sky truly was."

At last, he looked at Lady Freyana, his eyes full of tenderness. "Luckily, His Majesty gave me a chance to atone and allowed me to marry Freyana."

Lady Freyana merely shot him a reproachful look. "At your age, and you still bring up such things."

Watching them interact, Daemon suddenly felt that such a life was not so bad. No struggles for power, no disputes over bloodlines—only the warmth of family gathered around one another.

Late that night, Daemon lay in the bed of his guest room, unable to sleep. Outside the window came the gentle murmur of the hot springs, while the fishing lights at the distant harbor resembled scattered stars. The door opened softly, and Gael slipped inside carrying a pillow. Moonlight fell over her face like a veil of silver.

"I can't sleep," she whispered. She slipped beneath his blankets with practiced ease, like a kitten seeking warmth. "Little Mei said she was afraid to sleep alone, but I'm even more afraid that you'll start overthinking again."

Daemon smiled helplessly and wrapped an arm around her. The girl's body was light and carried the faint scent of hot springs. He could clearly hear her heartbeat, steady and strong. "Don't worry. I'm not overthinking anything."

"Liar." Gael rubbed against his chest. "Your brow hasn't relaxed at all." She paused, her voice soft as cotton. "Do you miss home?"

Daemon fell silent. Yes, he missed home. He missed the stone walls of the Red Keep, Baelon's stern yet concerned gaze, Viserys's clumsy jokes, even Daemon Targaryen's punchable grin.

During his rebellious life in his previous existence, he had never possessed such attachments. Back then, home had been nothing but a cold castle and a group of "followers" who needed him for their own interests. But in this life, every face in the Red Keep had become his weakness.

"Actually, I miss home too. Once I finish accompanying you on this tour, we'll go back." Sleepiness colored Gael's voice. "We'll see Rhaenyra, Aemma, Father and Mother... Oh, and we need to see whether Big Daemon has cleaned all the dragon dung out of the Dragonpit."

Daemon laughed at her words, and his taut nerves finally relaxed. He lowered his head to look at the sleeping girl in his arms. Moonlight outlined her gentle profile, her long lashes like two little fans. Outside, the hot springs continued to murmur, as though humming an ancient lullaby.

Perhaps this was the meaning of his return to this era. Not to fight for the Iron Throne, but to rewrite the tragedy of the Dance of the Dragons, to protect this warmth he had never possessed in his previous life.

The night in Maidenpool was gentle as water, softly embracing this peace. Daemon closed his eyes and felt the warmth in his arms, an unconscious smile touching his lips. Tomorrow's road was still long, but so long as these people were by his side, he was willing to keep walking, no matter how far it led.