The wind over the Narrow Sea swept up fine spray and dashed it against the hull. Droplets splashed onto the deck, only to be dried by the sea breeze moments later.
Daemon's question left the deck briefly silent. Rhaenyra raised her head, her violet eyes full of conflicting emotions. At last, she nodded gently, a barely perceptible weariness in her voice. "Yes. Father has sent raven after raven, urging us back to King's Landing for the Fifth Anniversary Celebration of his marriage to Alicent."
She paused, her fingers unconsciously tightening around Aegon's little cloak. As she voiced her grievances, she could no longer hide her hurt and resentment. "He also said that once we returned, Aegon would stay in the Red Keep, while I was to leave immediately for the Vale and continue... continue choosing a husband."
The smile on Daemon's face faded at once.
He looked down at Aegon in his arms. The little boy watched him quietly with violet eyes that held none of a child's innocence, only an understanding and wariness beyond his years. Then Daemon looked back at Rhaenyra, at the exhaustion and resistance in her eyes. Something seemed to lodge in his chest, heavy and bitter.
He knew all too well what it meant to have no say in his own life.
Had his grandfather Jaehaerys and grandmother Queen Alysanne not arranged his marriage to Rhea Royce, now Countess of Runestone-the niece and heir of Jobart Royce, who had then been Protector of the Vale, Earl of Runestone, and Regent of the Vale...?
Viserys was his elder brother, the family he had grown up beside, the man who had raised him after their mother died of illness. Yet after taking the Iron Throne, he had also used his royal authority to push Daemon away, time and again.
Daemon did not want to be a mere ornamental Master of Coin, nor did he want to be a Master of Laws concerned only with statutes and rules.
He wanted to serve as Hand of the King, to be his brother's Hand, to safeguard the Targaryen realm for him. But Viserys? He saw only ambition, only a troublemaker.
Daemon had fought bloody battles in the Stepstones, holding off the Triarchy's pirates for his brother far away in King's Landing and protecting the shipping lanes of the Narrow Sea. Yet inside the Red Keep, they spoke only of his hunger for glory and the kingdom's money and provisions he squandered.
All his life, he had been bound by the Iron Throne's rules, his brother's expectations, and the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms. He seemed wild and unfettered, but his identity as a Targaryen prince had long since trapped him in an invisible cage.
And now his niece, the Princess of Dragonstone who had taken his place as his brother's heir and claimed Dragonstone, the Rhaenyra he had protected since childhood, would finally have to walk the same road.
Bound hand and foot by her father's commands, the courtiers' schemes, and the marriage customs of the Seven Kingdoms, she would marry a man she did not love and remain confined within the Red Keep, a princess who met everyone's expectations.
At least, that was how Daemon saw it...
He sighed softly and stepped forward, carefully returning Aegon to Rhaenyra's outstretched arms.
His movements were gentle, lest he startle the little boy-or provoke Sunfyre into bristling again.
Sure enough, the Gold Dragon immediately edged closer and gently rubbed his enormous head against Aegon's back. His golden, slit-pupiled eyes remained fixed warily on Daemon, and a low rumble rose from his throat, but he did not roar another threat.
Rhaenyra hurriedly held Aegon tight. Only after looking down to make sure he was unharmed did she raise her eyes to Daemon, bewilderment written across them.
She knew her uncle too well. He had always feared nothing, never offered gentle words, and never bothered to defend either himself or her father Viserys. Yet now there was a weariness and helplessness in his eyes that she had never seen before.
Daemon looked at her, then at Aegon, nestled in her arms and watching him with violet eyes. After a moment's silence, he finally spoke.
His voice was soft, scattered a little by the sea breeze, but every word was clear. None of his usual mockery or arrogance remained, only heartfelt sincerity. "Listen to your uncle. Take Aegon and return to King's Landing soon. Even if your father separates you afterward, keeps Aegon in the Red Keep, and sends you on to the Vale-even if he sends you to the North-don't quarrel with him...
"Your father has a difficult enough time, after all. One brother like Daemon Targaryen is enough for him. Be good. Members of the royal family seldom have a choice, even when we are exalted dragonlords."
Not only Rhaenyra froze at those words. Expressions changed all across the deck.
Leaning on his cane, Larys Strong stared in disbelief, astonishment flickering in his gray eyes.
He knew this rogue prince too well. Daemon's greatest talent had always been stirring up trouble, and nothing pleased him more than watching King Viserys struggle to contain it, though some of that was aimed at Otto. How could he suddenly urge Princess Rhaenyra to return obediently to King's Landing and follow the king's arrangements?
Tyland Lannister also raised his head and looked at Daemon's back, utterly baffled.
At Casterly Rock, he had often heard his elder brother Jason mock Daemon as a madman who delighted in chaos, the black sheep of House Targaryen. Yet now that same madman was urging the princess who had stolen his place as heir to follow the rules and obey the king?
Nestled in Rhaenyra's arms, Aegon nearly let his eyes widen in shock.
Inside, he launched into a furious tirade.
This is wrong. This is so wrong.
Is this really Daemon Targaryen, the lawless, defiant Rogue Prince from the original story, who dared steal dragon eggs, wage war without royal leave, rebel outright, and unleash bloodshed on King's Landing in the name of blood for blood, tooth for tooth?
How does any of this fit his usual character?
What does he mean, return to King's Landing soon?
What does he mean, don't quarrel with your father Viserys?
He sounds like a family patriarch fretting over the children! Where's the Daemon who would talk back to the king himself?
Yet despite his inward complaints, Aegon could not stop a complicated feeling from stirring within him.
So this is author Martin's "favorite son"?
Now I finally understand why countless readers went mad over this character.
This man had never been merely a madman, nor a villain through and through. He was bloodthirsty, arrogant, and unrestrained, but he was also flesh and blood. Once he set aside the madness and calmed down, there was complicated affection for his brother, responsibility toward his family, and a desire to protect its younger members.
His madness was real, but so was his tenderness; his wildness was real, but so was his sense of duty.
This complex, fully realized man, this rogue prince who stripped away every mask and revealed the softness in his heart, was the true, living Daemon Targaryen. It was impossible not to like him, difficult even to feel hostility toward him.
Watching Daemon, Aegon could not help wailing inwardly.
Uncle, if you're this reasonable and charming when you're serious, how am I supposed to move against you someday?
You're my greatest future "romantic rival," Rhaenyra's rightful second husband in the original story!
Daemon knew nothing of the turmoil raging through the little boy's thoughts. Looking at Rhaenyra's stunned face, he slowly continued, a barely discernible bitterness in his voice as he repeated himself:
"I know you're unhappy. I know you feel everyone is forcing you to marry. I know you don't want to marry so young, and you think your father doesn't understand you. I know you don't want to be trapped in a birthing chamber like other women, unable to soar through the skies on Syrax. But Rhaenyra, we were born Targaryens. We were born dragonlords, yet we were also born without a choice. Didn't even your uncle unwillingly marry that woman in the Vale?"
He looked toward the far reaches of Blackwater Bay, toward King's Landing. His violet eyes held the weary understanding of a man who had seen too much. "The Iron Throne looks glorious, but who has ever sat upon it without being bound there, worn down by the rules of the Seven Kingdoms, the nobles' schemes, and the eyes of their subjects? Your father has it hard, too. Look at the scars on his body. A throne forged from blades may well represent the responsibilities it carries..."
"He has a troublesome brother like me, forever causing trouble outside and making him lose face before his courtiers;
"he has vassals watching hungrily, the Faith pressing him at every turn, a treasury he can never fill, and affairs of state he can never finish.
"He's no longer the boy who rode Balerion. He is king of the Seven Kingdoms. He has never had only his own wishes to consider."
Rhaenyra stared at Daemon, her eyes reddening.
She had never heard him speak like this.
In her memories, Daemon had always been the uncle who stood before her and sheltered her from every storm.
He was the man who drew his sword on nobles who mocked her, took her to hear stories in Flea Bottom's taverns, and secretly spirited her out of King's Landing on dragonback when her father scolded her.
This uncle had always cursed her father's indecision, cursed the way his supposed Hightower friends had blinded him, cursed him for sitting on the Iron Throne without a shred of a dragonlord's backbone.
Yet now he was speaking for her father Viserys, urging her to obey, telling her that none of them had a choice.
The fearless uncle who had led her into mischief since childhood truly seemed to have changed.
Five years of blood, fire, and battle in the Stepstones had worn down his sharp edges and shown him far too much.
Seeing her reddened eyes, Daemon felt a pang of sorrow himself. He reached out to ruffle her hair as he had when she was little, but stopped halfway. In the end, he merely patted her shoulder, his voice much gentler. "When you return to King's Landing, even if he sends you to the Vale or the North, don't confront him head-on.
"If something troubles you, speak calmly and talk it through. Don't be like your uncle and fight with him until you can't bear each other, until you can't even pass through the gates of King's Landing."
"Targaryens shouldn't kill their own family. We shouldn't let the walls of the Red Keep divide our hearts." He paused, his gaze falling on Aegon, a gentle smile flickering in his violet eyes. "A brother like me is enough to give him headaches for a lifetime. Take care of yourself, and take care of your little brother. Don't give him more cause to worry, but don't let yourself suffer either."
His words were heartfelt, without a trace of falsehood.
The deck was quiet. Only the waves of the Narrow Sea struck the hull with dull thuds.
The Cargyll Brothers lowered their eyes, their hands tightening slightly on their sword hilts, deeply moved.
Standing nearby and watching Daemon's back, Garwin Hightower felt some of his prejudice against the rogue prince quietly fade.
Rhaenyra could no longer hold back her tears. She wiped her face, sniffed, and nodded at Daemon, her voice catching. "I understand, Uncle."
Daemon could not help smiling at her expression. At last, he reached out and ruffled her long silver-gold hair as he had when she was little, teasing her with a smile. "What are you crying for? You've been heir to the realm for years, and you're still a little crybaby."
Rhaenyra flushed at his words and hurriedly turned away to dry her tears. She regained the proud bearing of the realm's heir, but could no longer conceal the softness in her eyes.
Nestled in Rhaenyra's arms, Aegon watched the scene and sighed inwardly.
So this is the Rogue Prince. This is Daemon Targaryen.
When madness seized him, he could charge alone into an enemy camp or burn every pirate in the Stepstones from dragonback;
when calm, he could speak so openly from the heart to his niece and nephew, hiding all his sharpness and violence and leaving only his softest side.
Yet it was this unusual calm that made Aegon feel he had truly gone mad. After all...
Ruthless, bloodthirsty, mad, unrestrained, darkly alluring-that was the truly normal side of Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince. Of the two sides of a Targaryen, madness had always been his prevailing note. After all...
In the original story, when this man calmed down and shouldered his responsibilities, he had taken Caraxes to die alongside Aemond and Vhagar. Even in death, he had been that mad...
As Rhaenyra regained her usual composure, the gentleness in Daemon's eyes slowly receded. That familiar dark allure and arrogance returned to his features.
He stepped back twice, putting some distance between himself and Rhaenyra and Aegon, and casually rested his right hand on Dark Sister's hilt.
The Valyrian steel sword's scabbard gleamed coldly in the morning light against his red-and-black cloak. In an instant, he was once more the defiant, lawless Rogue Prince.
The earnest Daemon who considered his brother's troubles and fretted over the younger generation seemed to have been nothing but a shared illusion.
Rhaenyra could not help laughing at the sight of him. Shaking her head, she said, "Of course. You can't stay serious for more than three sentences. You haven't changed."
"Is that such a bad thing?" Daemon arched a brow, an unrestrained smile curling his lips and mischief glinting in his violet eyes. "If I spent every day looking stern and preaching at you like your father, you'd have started avoiding me long ago."
As he spoke, his gaze swept across the flagship, past the guards and sailors who remained tense but watched him in awe, and finally settled on the Targaryen three-headed dragon figurehead carved from dragonglass at the bow.
It was the emblem of Aegon the Conqueror, the glory of House Targaryen, and the symbol borne by every royal flagship.
Daemon suddenly laughed. His feet drove hard against the deck, and he shot forward like a hunting cat.
Cries rose across the deck. Rhaenyra instinctively tightened her hold on Aegon and exclaimed, "Daemon! What are you doing?"
But Daemon moved with astonishing speed. In two strides, he reached the rail, stepped onto a wooden mooring post, and leaped, landing steadily atop the three-headed dragon figurehead, which stood taller than a man.
The wind rushed at him from the Narrow Sea, lifting the red cloak behind him. His long silver-gold hair flew in all directions and brushed his sharply defined cheeks.
Standing atop a dragon's head, he spread his arms and let the fierce wind fill his cloak. He looked like a dragonlord poised above wind and waves, vast waters beneath his feet and endless sky behind him. Arrogant and unrestrained, he seemed to hold the entire Narrow Sea in his grasp.
Everyone on deck stared, dumbstruck.
The sailors stopped their work and gazed at the prince standing on the bow, scarcely daring to breathe.
They had spent their lives at sea and seen countless nobles and knights, but never anyone like him.
He was a gust of wind, a blaze, a bolt of lightning splitting the Narrow Sea. With that madness and charm unique to the Targaryens, he inspired both awe and helpless admiration.
Garwin Hightower instinctively tightened his grip on his sword hilt, terrified that Daemon might slip and fall, causing a catastrophe.
The Cargyll Brothers also took half a step forward, their bodies taut, ready to act at any moment.
Only Larys Strong remained where he was, leaning on his cane. His gray eyes held a knowing smile, as though he had long anticipated such an outrageous act from the rogue prince.
Nestled in Rhaenyra's arms, Aegon watched Daemon atop the figurehead and once again erupted inwardly.
Damn it! This man's charm is downright unfair!
How is this a thirty-year-old prince? He's the Targaryens' strongest wine, their wildest wind! No wonder Rhaenyra was utterly devoted to him after Laenor's death in the original story, determined to marry him despite the Seven Kingdoms' criticism and the Faith's condemnation.
Even he, a transmigrator who knew the entire plot, could not help being awed by that arrogant dragonlord bearing.
Amid the cries of alarm, Daemon suddenly looked back and gave Rhaenyra and Aegon a wickedly alluring smile.
Then he leaped backward. Like a kite with its string cut, he plunged straight from the figurehead, several yards above the water, toward the surging Narrow Sea!
"Daemon!" Rhaenyra cried out. Holding Aegon, she rushed to the rail and stared down at the sea, her face deathly pale.
The deck erupted into chaos. Sailors rushed to the rail, intending to lower a boat to rescue him. The guards fell into disarray, some drawing swords, others shouting for help.
But just as everyone thought the Rogue Prince would plunge into the sea and perish, a deafening dragon's roar rang out from deep within the clouds.
At the very moment Daemon jumped, a streak of scarlet lightning split the sky. Caraxes's enormous form plunged from the clouds with astonishing speed. His vast wings spread, whipping up winds that raised waves several feet high.
Caraxes caught the falling Daemon with perfect precision. Just before his body could touch the water, Daemon seized a handhold on the saddle, swung himself up, and settled securely onto the dragon's back. His movements flowed without the slightest hesitation, as though he had rehearsed them a thousand times.
Caraxes gave a fierce, jubilant roar. With a powerful beat of his enormous wings, he climbed into the air again, his scarlet form circling once above the flagship.
Seated on the dragon's back, Daemon looked down at Rhaenyra, still pale and stunned by the rail, and burst into laughter. Wild and exuberant, it carried on the sea breeze across the entire fleet.
"Rhaenyra! Take little Aegon back to King's Landing and set your mind at ease!" He waved, his booming voice reaching the deck clearly despite the great height. "Once your uncle has dealt with those rats in the Stepstones, I'll come to King's Landing to see you!"
With that, he gently patted Caraxes's neck and murmured a command in High Valyrian.
Caraxes gave another long roar, beat his enormous wings, and turned toward Driftmark. His scarlet form tore through the sky, tracing a brilliant arc in the morning light before vanishing beyond the horizon. Only the echoes of his roar remained, lingering in the winds of the Narrow Sea.
Once again-and again-the deck fell deathly silent.
Everyone inevitably froze yet another time, staring in the direction Caraxes had vanished, unable to recover for a long while. Clearly, Daemon and Caraxes had pulled off another outrageous stunt...
Only after a long while did one sailor let out a deep breath and collapse onto the deck, muttering, "Seven above... so that's a Targaryen dragonlord... that's the Rogue Prince..."
"Mad... utterly mad..." Another old sailor shook his head, but his face was filled with awe. "Jumping straight off the bow and then climbing onto a dragon's back... Prince Daemon may be the only man in all Westeros who would dare..."
Rhaenyra finally came to her senses as well. Pressing a hand to her chest, she exhaled at length and cursed, torn between anger and laughter. "That madman! He never gives anyone a moment's peace!"
Yet she could not stop the corners of her mouth from rising. Her eyes brimmed with undisguised amusement and relief.
Her uncle was still the fearless Daemon. Even after five years of blood, fire, and battle, even after war had worn down his sharp edges, the madness and wild freedom in his bones had never changed.
Nestled in Rhaenyra's arms, Aegon stared in the direction Caraxes had vanished, his heart unsettled for a long time.
This is Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm. This is Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince.
In the original story, his end had been much the same: riding Caraxes to mutual destruction with Aemond and Vhagar above the Gods Eye, driving Dark Sister through Aemond's remaining eye and sinking to the bottom of the lake himself. Until death, he had retained the Rogue Prince's arrogance and fearlessness.
A man like that was born to belong to the sky, to the sea, to legends of blood and fire.
Before you continue