When the morning light dyed the waves of Blackwater Bay in scattered gold, the sails of the United Fleet had formed a continuous net spanning sea and sky.
Velaryon silver ships moved like white whales; Redwyne green sails poured down like verdant waterfalls; Lannister gold lions snapped in the wind; and the oak prows of Northern longships glinted with the cold light of the ice.
Daemon Blackfyre stood at the prow of the Blackfyre, gripping his sword hilt until it burned. The dragon carvings on his scabbard caught the fractured light of The Cannibal's scales as the dragon swooped low over the sails.
"Check the dragonglass plating again!" Daemon shouted to Rayford on the deck.
The plating, installed overnight by smiths working by torchlight, gleamed with a dark blue luster. Secured by bronze nails, it was designed to stop Triarchy bolts—Larys's secret message had warned that the bolts were tipped with a poison unique to Lys, rotting flesh upon contact.
Rayford led the new recruits from Crackclaw Point, tapping each plate. The metallic ring mixed with the slap of waves against the hull, the final overture before departure.
Nearby, above the King's Banner, Prince Baelon bent to adjust Vhagar's saddle.
The massive green dragon hovered over the ship, her breath hitting the water and raising steam thick with sulfur, overpowering the salt of the Narrow Sea.
Baelon wore black armor inlaid with red gold. His pauldrons were shaped like Vhagar's skull, fangs curved in menace, radiating the grim resolve of a veteran commander.
Seeing Daemon look over, he raised a hand. His knuckles were white—a sign his old wound was throbbing, a pain he hid beneath a mask of calm.
"Little Daemon! Don't let The Cannibal fall asleep on the way!" Daemon Targaryen's voice came from the right.
He landed Caraxes on the edge of the Blackfyre's deck. The Blood Wyrm's claws tapped lightly on the dragonglass plating, leaving faint scratches.
For once, the Rogue Prince wore proper black-and-red riding leathers, the lining of his cloak embroidered with Caraxes's silhouette. Still, his belt was loose, revealing a silk shirt underneath.
"I made a bet with Tymond. Once we take the Stepstones, he buys us the best vintage in the Westerlands. Don't be late."
Daemon smiled and shook his head, reaching out to straighten his cousin's cloak. "Worry about yourself. Don't let Caraxes mistake the fire ships for toys."
Despite the jab, he pulled an oilcloth packet from his tunic—honey cakes made by Gael before dawn. "Here. Something for the journey."
Daemon Targaryen's eyes lit up. He snatched the packet, stuffing it into his tunic with uncharacteristic gentleness. He assumed Daemon had saved it for him, unaware that Gael had made extra, saying, "Big Daemon is a troublemaker, but he needs to eat to fight."
A commotion erupted from the western flank.
On the Golden Lion, Lancel Lannister, cousin to Lord Tymond, was drilling the heavy infantry. The clash of plate armor could be heard over the waves.
Soren Reyne stood in the front row, his greatsword Red Lion slung across his back. Seeing Daemon, he raised a hand in a sword salute—the "Anti-Scorpion Formation" signal Corlys had taught them yesterday. It was a silent promise.
"Time for the formal farewell," Corlys Velaryon's voice rang from the Sea Snake.
He stood in the crow's nest, the silver seahorse sail billowing behind him. Rhaenys walked toward him with Laena and Laenor. The children held a sea chart Laena had drawn late into the night, marking reefs in the Narrow Sea with the note: "Father, come back safe."
Daemon followed Baelon to the royal barge, with The Cannibal and Grey Ghost trailing behind.
The small grey dragon nuzzled Daemon's hand, a half-eaten dried fish in its mouth—Gael's gift, meant to say, "Let Grey Ghost be with you, as if I were there."
Daemon bent to stroke the dragon's head, feeling the cool scales. He remembered the frightened creature hiding behind rocks on Dragonstone three years ago. Now, it was following him to war.
On the royal barge, King Jaehaerys's black robe billowed in the wind. Queen Alysanne held his arm, clutching a handkerchief embroidered with Silverwing. She had stitched it last night, saying, "Let Silverwing's shadow go with you."
Viserys stood nearby holding Rhaenyra, with Aemma leaning against him. The little princess, wrapped in white fox fur, clutched a honey cake in her fist, crumbs dotting her chin like pearls.
Seeing Daemon, she reached out, babbling to be held.
"Hold her for a moment," Aemma whispered, worry in her eyes. "She fussed until midnight, saying she wanted to go 'fight bad men' with Uncle Little Daemon."
Daemon took Rhaenyra. She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder and mumbling "Dragon, dragon."
She meant The Cannibal. Yesterday, she had touched his scales while in Daemon's arms, terrified then but brave enough to clap at the dragon now.
Jaehaerys grasped Baelon's hand, his thumb tracing the dragon on his son's armor. "In my youth, I rode Vermithor across Dorne with you and Aemon. Now you take your son and Aemon's son to the Stepstones. But as your father and King, I remind you: My heir, my brave Baelon... I once thought war was the joy of burning enemies. I learned later that war is bringing your men home."
He paused, looking at the two Daemons. "Baelon, you are the heir to the Iron Throne. Protect the fleet, but protect these two boys. One is too steady and hides his burdens; the other is too wild and forgets danger."
Baelon bowed, his voice steady as a mountain. "Father, rest assured. I will bring them home. And I will bring victory from the Stepstones."
Vhagar sensed his resolve and let out a long roar. Green fire hit the water around the barge, raising a wall of steam that banished the morning mist.
Alysanne walked to Gael and handed her a handkerchief. "This is for you. Embroidered with Dreamfyre. Gael, my Winter Child... King's Landing is yours to watch. Your father and I are old. Viserys will help, but you must take care."
Gael took the cloth, feeling her mother's warmth, and tears welled in her eyes. "Mother, I will. When they return, I'll embroider a new one for you, with all the dragons flying together."
Rhaenys approached with Laena and Laenor. She wore black leathers and a Valyrian steel dagger—a gift from Corlys. Meleys circled above her.
"Corlys," she said, gripping her husband's hand with reluctance but firmness. "Dragonstone's defenses are set. Meleys will patrol day and night. With the ten ships left in Blackwater Bay, I promise the Triarchy will not strike our rear."
Corlys nodded, ruffling Laenor's hair. "Take care of your mother and sister. When I return, we go to Driftmark to see the whales."
Laena, usually so composed, hugged Corlys's leg and sobbed. "Father, come back soon. I want to learn to steer."
Laenor clung to his cloak, eyes wide with dependency.
Rhaenys wiped her daughter's tears. "Child, Father will return. We have to wait to celebrate their victory."
As the first ray of sun crested the Dragonstone volcano, Baelon gave the order: "Set sail!"
The anchors of the United Fleet rose. Sails filled, a flowing rainbow on the water.
Velaryon silver moved first, Corlys at the prow, spyglass trained on the Stepstones.
Redwyne green followed, Allan commanding archers with nocked arrows.
Lannister gold rode the waves, Tymond signaling the fire ships into position.
As Daemon mounted The Cannibal, Gael ran forward holding a cloth packet. "For you!"
She shoved it into his hand—a charm embroidered with Blackfyre and The Cannibal, edged with dragon scales. "I made it with the scales we found last year. May it protect you. Little Daemon, you must come back safe. I'll be waiting in King's Landing to hear the story."
Daemon gripped the charm, feeling her cold fingers. "I will. When I return, we go to Dragonstone. A Valyrian wedding, witnessed by The Cannibal and Dreamfyre."
Gael blushed crimson but nodded hard, hope shining in her violet eyes.
Brienne Tarth knelt before Daemon, hand on her sword. "Your Highness, I will guard Princess Gael and King's Landing. If there is trouble, my sword stands before everyone."
Lia Osgrey followed suit, holding her ivory dagger. "I will help, Your Highness. I'll train the Princess's guards with Brienne."
Rhea Royce stood further back, holding Lamentation's scabbard.
Seeing Daemon look over, she hesitated, then approached and handed him a bronze rune. "A protective rune of House Royce. Wards off evil. You might not believe in it, but..."
She paused, her voice awkward. "Give it to your namesake. Tell him not to die in the Stepstones."
Daemon took the rune and bowed solemnly on behalf of his cousin. "Thank you."
As the fleet moved out, the bells of King's Landing rang. The deep melody rode the east wind, weaving with dragon roars and snapping canvas.
Jaehaerys stood on the barge, watching the sails span the sea. Alysanne held his hand, feeling the tremor in his palm—not weakness, but the weight of love and hope for peace.
Viserys held Rhaenyra, Aemma leaning on him. The princess had stopped crying, watching the fleet with her wooden dragon in hand.
"They will win," Viserys said firmly. "Father has experience, Little Daemon is steady, Big Daemon is skilled despite his antics, and Lord Corlys knows the sea. They will take the Stepstones."
Gael leaned on Brienne, watching the sails shrink, clutching her handkerchief tight.
Mysaria offered her tea. "Princess, drink. Warm yourself. They will return safe. Look, The Cannibal is circling high. He will protect the Prince."
Gael drank, the warmth spreading, but the emptiness in her heart remained—the unique softness of loving someone who is gone.
On Dragonstone, Rhaenys stood at the window of the Chamber of the Painted Table.
Meleys patrolled high above, red fire occasionally sweeping the bay as a warning.
Rhaenys held Corlys's chart, marking every current and shoal.
"Laena, Laenor," she whispered. "We must hold Dragonstone. When Father and Uncle return, they will know Valyrian blood can defend the home as well as conquer the sea."
As the sails of the United Fleet merged with the horizon, Daemon sat on The Cannibal's back, looking down.
Baelon's King's Banner led, Vhagar's massive shadow covering it.
Daemon Targaryen rode Caraxes on the right, the Blood Wyrm's wings brushing Redwyne sails, drawing a wave from Allan.
Corlys's Sea Snake held the left, a silver shield wall.
He looked at the charm in his hand, feeling the texture of the scales. Gael's smile filled his mind—the Winter Child who brought honey cakes and chased him on a dragon.
He gripped Blackfyre. The dragon on the scabbard gleamed cold. He had one thought: Take the Stepstones. Return to King's Landing. Return to Gael. Fulfill the promise of the Valyrian wedding.
The wind picked up, billowing his cloak and the sails below. The Cannibal roared, a low answer to his resolve and an overture to the battle ahead.
Daemon looked up. On the horizon, the shadows of the Triarchy's great ships were faintly visible, iron-clad hulls glinting cold. But he felt no fear. Behind him was the trust of the Seven Kingdoms, the love of his family, and everything he had to protect.
The bells of King's Landing still echoed over the Narrow Sea, merging with the roar of dragons and the crash of waves into a war song of Westeros, witnessing this fleet of steel sailing toward glory and destiny.