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In early February of the 99th year after the Conquest, before the morning sun could burn away the mist, Blackwater Bay was already sliced into silver fragments by a thousand sails.
The wind from the Narrow Sea carried the salt spray, brushing past the silver Seahorse masts of House Velaryon, fluttering the grape-clustered banners of the Redwyne fleet, and crashing against the golden lion figureheads of the Lannister ships. Finally, it tangled itself in Daemon Blackfyre's cloak as he stood atop The Cannibal.
It was the third day since the initial muster of the United Fleet, and the first day of unified drills. The waves of Blackwater Bay were steeped in the scent of iron and dragonfire.
Daemon leaped from The Cannibal's back, the scabbard of Blackfyre clicking against the deck. Sea spray clung to his boots, carrying the chill of early spring.
The flagship Sea Snake was moored nearby, the silver seahorse on its sails ghosting through the fog. Corlys Velaryon leaned against the railing, a brass Myrish lens in hand, the glass catching the morning light.
Though the Sea Snake was a legendary sailor and former Master of Ships, commanding such a massive, disparate fleet was a new challenge even for him.
"Prince Daemon," Corlys's voice carried over the water, laced with his usual shrewd humor. "Your dragon looks livelier than yesterday. Did he steal a cask of ale from the deck last night?"
Daemon smiled and shook his head, walking to the prow of the Blackfyre—the flagship Baelon had specially commissioned for him. Even Corlys envied its specifications: hull reinforced with Dragonstone volcanic rock, eight improved scorpions lining the deck, and quivers full of dragonglass-tipped bolts.
"Lord Corlys is early," Daemon noted, scanning the bay.
The Velaryon ships were lined up like silver fish.
Behind them, the Redwyne fleet bristled with archers, their green-fletched arrows distinct.
To the west, the heavy golden hulls of House Lannister sat low in the water. Westerlands heavy infantry, a testament to Casterly Rock's wealth, were already drilling on deck, the clash of plate audible over the waves.
"Prince Viserys's squadron hasn't arrived?"
"Soon," Rhaenys's voice came from behind. She wore practical black leathers, a Valyrian steel dagger at her waist. Laena and Laenor were beside her, watching Grey Ghost skim the waves. "Viserys sent word last night. Aemma and Rhaenyra were fussing over him, delaying him half an hour. Uncle Baelon has already gone to meet them."
Daemon nodded, looking east.
The Vale ships were gliding into the bay. The Three Ravens and Hearts of House Corbray flew from the masts. Lyonel Corbray stood at the prow, hand on Lady Forlorn, raising it in salute as Daemon looked over.
Beside them were the river galleys funded by House Bracken and House Blackwood. Though river ships, the trade benefits of the United Fleet were too good for anyone to pass up.
Archers from both rival houses were checking bowstrings. Yesterday, a brawl had nearly erupted on deck until Baelon ordered an archery contest to settle the grudge.
"Attention all!" Prince Baelon's voice boomed from the King's Banner, the fleet flagship. He stood in the crow's nest, his crimson cloak whipping in the wind. "Today's drill is split into three wings! Left Wing: Velaryon, Redwyne, and coastal Riverlands—practice 'Arrow Storm' and 'Rapid Tacking'! Right Wing: Lannister, Reach, and riverine Riverlands—practice 'Heavy Defense' and 'Fire Ship Assault'! Center Wing: Crownlands, Vale, and the Royal Fleet—follow me for Dragon-Ship Coordination! Little Daemon, take The Cannibal and Grey Ghost to link the Left and Center Wings. Signal with dragonfire if needed!"
Daemon shouted his acknowledgement. He turned to see Gael flying Dreamfyre from the Red Keep, her violet dress fluttering like a flower.
She circled the Blackfyre once before landing lightly on the deck, holding a food basket. "Mother sent hot bread. And Brother Vaegon sent this star chart—he says the south wind this afternoon favors the Left Wing's maneuvers."
Daemon took the basket, his fingers brushing hers, feeling the warmth of the ride.
"Thank you," he said, opening the lid to find steaming oatbread with bacon and cheese. "After the drill, I'll take you to watch the Redwyne archers. Their aim looks sharper than at the Field of Roses."
Gael smiled, looking over the deck. Rayford Rosby was checking the roster, Myles Rivers was inspecting the scorpions, and Rupert Crabb was teaching the Crackclaw lads how to stand on a rolling deck.
"Ser Lyonel says the Vale archers are ready," she whispered. "Though the Royce twins are still arguing over who shoots first. Ser William had to intervene."
Daemon chuckled. Just then, a commotion erupted from the west.
Daemon Targaryen had landed Caraxes next to the Lannister flagship Golden Lion. Whatever he said caused the soldiers on deck to roar with laughter.
Lord Tymond Lannister stood at the prow, face dark, gripping his silver goblet until it warped. The Rogue Prince was mocking the heavy Westerlands armor again.
"I'll go check," Daemon told Gael, vaulting onto The Cannibal.
The black dragon roared and winged toward the Golden Lion.
As he approached, he heard the Rogue Prince's voice: "That plate weighs as much as an anchor! If you meet a Triarchy galley, you'll drown before you can draw your swords!"
"Prince Daemon!" Tymond's voice was thick with suppressed rage. "The West relies on defense and impact, not the fancy tricks of your wife's mountain goat archers!"
Daemon landed The Cannibal on the water between the ships, the dragon's claws dipping into the waves.
"Enough," he said, looking wearily at his cousin. "Did you forget Uncle Baelon's orders? No fooling around today. You are in charge of dragon coordination for the Right Wing. If he sees you mocking the Lannister men again, you'll be scrubbing the Golden Lion's deck."
Daemon Targaryen pouted but didn't argue—he'd been scolded thoroughly last night. "Fine," he said, hopping back onto Caraxes. "I'll check the Right Wing. But Lord Tymond, get your fire ships ready. Don't drag us down!"
Tymond huffed but nodded to Daemon Blackfyre. He owed the younger prince for the help with the fireproofing yesterday.
Daemon returned to the Blackfyre as Baelon blew the horn.
The Left Wing moved first. Corlys commanded the silver ships into an "Arrowhead Formation," cutting through the waves like lightning.
Young Horas Redwyne and his brother Allan stood on the Arbor Queen. At a signal from their uncle, Ser Horas, archers loosed a volley. Arrows rained down on the target hulks, hitting true—the wind adjustments practiced yesterday paying off.
"Good shooting!" Rhaenys applauded from the Sea Snake, while Laena and Laenor cheered, peering through spyglasses.
Corlys shook his head, smiling. "Those Redwyne boys are obsessed with archery, just like their uncle. But the Arbor methods work better at sea than any Citadel book."
Daemon watched the Center Wing.
Lyonel Corbray had the Vale ships in a "Shield Wall," infantry locking oak shields on deck.
Baelon's King's Banner signaled with red flags. Vhagar dove from the sky, unleashing a torrent of fire on the sea ahead of the shield wall—simulating "Dragonfire Cover for Boarding," crucial for countering the Triarchy's scorpions.
Grey Ghost and The Cannibal followed, Grey Ghost lighting signal torches on the decks with precise bursts of flame.
Rhaenys on Meleys patrolled the east, testing flame range against distant reefs.
"What's happening on the Right?" Daemon frowned, looking west.
The Lannister and Riverlands ships were in chaos. The fire ships hadn't ignited. Tymond was shouting. The Brackens and Blackwoods were arguing again.
"I'll go!" Gael said, flying Dreamfyre west. Daemon followed.
It turned out a Bracken captain had slowed his fire ship, claiming a Blackwood vessel blocked his path.
Daemon Targaryen was about to engage, but Tymond stopped him. "Let Little Daemon handle it."
Daemon landed on the Golden Lion. "The United Fleet is for the realm, not your petty feuds! Bracken, steer left! Blackwood, right! Anyone who delays again leaves the fleet to answer to the King!"
The riverlords fell silent. Daemon Targaryen seized the moment to order the ignition. Ten fire ships blazed to life, charging the target hulks like meteors.
Tymond nodded to Daemon. "Thank you, Prince."
Cheers erupted from the east. The Left Wing had completed the "Arrow Storm" and executed a pincer movement with the Redwyne fleet.
"Time for dragon-ship coordination," Baelon called from above on Vhagar. "Little Daemon, take the left flank! Rhaenys, the right! Big Daemon, cover the center!"
Daemon spurred The Cannibal. The black dragon roared, diving at the mock enemy on the left. Grey Ghost darted through the rigging, marking targets.
Rhaenys swept in from the right, Meleys painting an arc of red fire.
Daemon Targaryen unleashed Caraxes's scarlet flame on the center target, clearing the way for Tymond's heavy infantry to board and "secure" the hulk.
"Good!" Baelon praised. "Left Wing fastest, Right Wing passable, Center Wing excellent!"
At sunset, the drills ended. The fleet formed a line of steel across the bay.
Daemon landed, sweating but energized.
Gael handed him a towel. "Brother Vaegon says tomorrow brings an east wind. Perfect for 'Fleet Breakout' drills."
Corlys and Rhaenys arrived with a report. "Left Wing accuracy ninety percent. Dragon coordination ahead of schedule. Fire ships passed. But the scorpions are still a threat. I've ordered improved deflection shields installed tomorrow."
Daemon nodded. "Tomorrow, have the Redwyne archers suppress the scorpions while Lannister infantry board. Vale knights will shield our own artillery."
Daemon Targaryen and Tymond walked over. The Rogue Prince offered a flask of Arbor Gold. "Thanks for the save today."
Tymond added, "The West is ready for tomorrow."
Daemon poured a cup for Baelon. "Uncle, the success is due to everyone's cooperation."
Baelon drank, satisfied. "Good. Tomorrow we push harder. Then, to the Stepstones!"
The sun set, turning the sea to gold.
Daemon drank the wine, feeling the warmth. He remembered the lonely morning on Dragonstone in 97 AC. Now, he had comrades and a purpose.
When the sails turned toward the Narrow Sea, he would lead this fleet to end the Triarchy's threat, protecting the world of a century past.
The wind picked up, billowing his cloak. The Cannibal roared overhead, echoing his resolve.
Daemon gripped Blackfyre. This sword, which had seen the blood of the Redgrass Field, would now write a new history in the waves of the Stepstones.