Chapter 23 — Dreamwalker Daemon
Above the dark mirror of Blackwater Bay, two dragons wheeled through the sky — one the color of spilled blood, the other silver-blue like moonlit flame.
Caraxes and Dreamfyre roared, their cries echoing over the waves as Daemon and Gael danced upon the wind.
For days now, they had flown together, seeking lonely reefs and islets to share moments away from the court's eyes.
Below them, the Valyrian fleet cut through the waters — sleek hulls glinting beneath the sun — while in the air, Daemon, Gael, Prince Baelon of Dragonstone, and Princess Rhaenys patrolled the skies.
King's Landing had never seemed so safe, so radiant under dragonfire.
From the high walls of the Red Keep, the aging King Jaehaerys and his beloved Queen Alysanne stood side by side, cloaked in the fading warmth of the afternoon sun. Their hands, veined and frail, rested upon the cold stone as they watched their grandchildren soar.
Alysanne smiled faintly.
> "Your Grace, do you remember when we too flew each dawn and dusk? To be young again… to feel the wind and the fire both answering your call."
Her voice trembled with nostalgia. They had long said farewell to their dragons; even the mightiest of riders must one day surrender to time.
But Jaehaerys's gaze did not follow the dragons — it lingered instead on Gael, the Winter's Daughter, riding Dreamfyre like a queen of flame and frost. His thoughts stirred uneasily.
> "Gael… the child of winter, astride Dreamfyre… ice and fire entwined," he murmured. "Could it be? The prophecy of Aegon's dream — the Song of Ice and Fire itself?"
Alysanne turned toward him, intrigued.
> "And why must the Promised One be a son, my love? Perhaps she is a daughter… perhaps even Gael herself. Or Daemon — her dragon burns with Valyrian fire, and she is his flame's reflection."
Jaehaerys frowned.
> "The dream was meant only for the heir. I told Aemon, as it was told to me, yet never Baelon. Secrets die easily, Alysanne."
> "Then let it die with us?" Alysanne's eyes softened. "We are old, my love. If you truly believe this prophecy touches them, should we not share the burden? Prophecies untold are merely ghosts chained to memory."
Before the King could answer, two shadows swept across the ramparts — crimson and silver wings folding as the dragons descended.
Caraxes and Dreamfyre landed with earth-shaking grace, their roars shaking the stones. Daemon and Gael dismounted, their silver hair bright against the red of the setting sun.
The royal couple awaited them.
Alysanne stepped forward, smiling warmly.
> "Gael, you are the Winter's Daughter, and your mount is Dreamfyre. Daemon rides the Blood Wyrm, whose flame devours even shadow. We wonder if fate has bound the two of you in a song written long before our time."
Gael tilted her head, puzzled, while Daemon's eyes flickered — sharp, calculating.
> "The Song of Ice and Fire," he said softly. "The dream of the Promised Prince."
The King stiffened.
> "How do you know that name?"
Daemon met his gaze calmly. "Because I've seen it."
Alysanne and Jaehaerys exchanged a startled glance.
> "Seen it?" Alysanne breathed.
Daemon nodded, lowering his voice to a reverent whisper.
> "In my dreams, I walk beyond the Wall. The wind howls through a frozen waste, and from the white storm march shadows — blue-eyed demons and corpses of men, women, and beasts. They overrun the Wall, devouring all warmth, until only one fire burns — the Iron Throne. And upon it sits a Targaryen, crowned in flame, wielding the last light of the living."
He paused, letting the weight of silence fall like a shroud.
Jaehaerys's face turned ashen, his eyes widening.
> "That is… that is Aegon's dream. Word for word."
> "Aegon believed it was duty, not ambition, that drove him to conquer," Alysanne whispered. "Fire to defend life itself from the cold death that sleeps in the North."
Daemon bowed slightly. "Then let that dream live again, Your Grace. For if men believe the Targaryens were chosen to defend the realm from darkness, their loyalty will be bound not by fear — but by faith."
Jaehaerys looked both awed and uncertain. "Be wary, my boy. Such dreams can crown or curse their dreamers. Even dragons fear the lands north of the Wall."
Alysanne, though, smiled gently. "Still… if you dream again, Daemon, you will tell the King, won't you?"
Daemon inclined his head. "Of course, Your Grace."
As they departed, Gael slipped her hand into his hair, laughing softly.
> "Tell me, my Dreamwalker — do you truly see the future?"
Daemon's grin turned wolfish.
> "Aye. I dreamt that tonight's seed will grow strong — and soon, you'll bear my child."
She blushed crimson, striking him playfully. His laughter echoed into the dusk, swallowed by dragon cries above the bay.
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Later, at Blackwater Rush
On the banks of the winding river, men and women toiled under Daemon's banner.
Farmers turned sod where marsh once lay; fishermen built huts from driftwood; children played between the tents.
Daemon's lands were becoming something greater — a domain of his own making.
"Too many mouths," Gael said, frowning as she watched them from a hill. "Too few walls."
Daemon smiled, eyes alight with the fire of ambition.
> "Walls will rise. Gold will come. Everything begins with people."
He unrolled a parchment — the rough sketch of a town yet unborn.
A castle. A tavern. A smithy. A brothel. A harbor that would one day rival Driftmark itself.
> "A land of fire and steel," Daemon murmured. "And from its seed, a kingdom that even gods must bow before."
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