The Reunion with Daemon
The beach burned under the sun when he landed. Exhausted and wounded men moved between makeshift tents. The banners of House Velaryon, the Crown, and Daemon flapped in the dry wind. The war wasn't over; it was festering like an open wound.
Daron walked among the soldiers with the bearing of a young king, but the eyes of a seasoned warrior. He didn't need to speak. His presence was enough. The murmurs spread like a slow fire:
—The rider of Cannibal... —The new Targaryen... —The brother of Prince Daemon...
The prince in question stepped out of his tent with a crooked smile, hair tied back and his tunic half open. He was stained with dry blood, as if he had killed someone before lunch.
"You're late, brother," he said with a laugh.
"I didn't know war had a schedule," Daron replied, unfazed.
They looked at each other for a long second, as if gauging how much the other had changed. Then, in a gesture as sudden as it was sincere, they embraced tightly.
"Half the council thinks you and I will kill each other eventually," Daemon murmured near his ear.
"The other half is afraid we'll get along," Daron whispered with a cold smile.
A Dinner with Tensions
That night, beneath a tent reinforced with stolen wood and Tyroshi carpets, Daron sat beside Daemon, Corlys Velaryon, and several war captains. A map of the Stepstones lay sprawled across a battered table, marked with red and black ink.
"We control Bloodstone and Longpoint," Corlys explained, "but the Lyseni keep getting reinforcements by sea. If we don't cut off the narrow sea route, this war will never end."
Daemon nodded, drinking wine like water.
"I want you to take the coastal fortress of Lysara," he suddenly said to Daron. "It's a rat's nest, but well fortified. I'll give you three hundred men. Cannibal will do the rest."
Daron didn't reply right away. His fingers traced the edge of the map.
"I'll do better," he said at last. "I'll strike at dawn... from the sky. I'll make them think we're attacking by land, drive them to the beach. That's where I'll ambush them. And I'll let Cannibal show them why Valyrian blood still burns."
Daemon smiled — that mix of arrogance and admiration only he could wear.
"What does Viserys want from me, Daemon?"
The prince shrugged.
"He legitimized you. He sent you to war. What more could a king want?"
Daron didn't answer. But they both knew the king wanted more. An alliance. A strong heir. A union that could calm the fire before it consumed them all.
The First Battle
Dawn broke like a dagger of light through the clouds. The air was still. Lysara's beach glittered with foreign armor, armed men who expected no attack that day. Everything seemed quiet.
Until the sky roared.
Cannibal fell from the heavens like a living shadow. Green fire crashed into the wooden towers, melting beams and men alike. From the hills, Daron's three hundred descended like wolves on the hunt. There was no mercy. Only brutal strategy.
Daron landed with his sword in hand, his cloak flaring like a flame. He killed five men before they even realized he was among them. His style was elegant, lethal, with the contained fury of a Valyrian storm. One of the Lyseni captains tried to run.
"Surrender!" he shouted.
Daron ran him through without hesitation.
"I don't have time for that."
When the battle ended, the beach was stained green and red. Blackened bodies, smoldering fire, and the towering figure of Cannibal over the ruins.
The soldiers chanted a single name.
"Daron! Daron Targaryen!"
And though he deserved it, he didn't raise his arms. He just looked up at the sky.
Thinking of her.
Of the promise left unspoken.
Of the fire burning far away, in the heart of a princess who might one day be his. Or his doom.
The Scourge of the Narrow Sea
The embers of Lysara still smoldered when Daron Targaryen raised his gaze to the horizon. The nearby islands formed a necklace of reefs and lesser fortresses, like broken teeth jutting from the throat of the Narrow Sea. Each one occupied by Lyseni, Myrish, or unaligned mercenaries. Years of war had seeded rot in every stone.
But Daron didn't plan to cleanse these lands with diplomacy.
He brought fire. And he brought Cannibal.
A Campaign of Shadows and Flame
In less than two weeks, three islands fell. The first, Splitstone, was razed from the sky without warning. Cannibal descended at dusk like a specter torn from legend. The walls didn't hold. The men, many of them slavers, fled to the sea.
Daron gave no quarter.
"We don't fight for glory," he told his men after the victory. "We fight so they never dare look toward Westeros again."
The second, Gallows Isle, fell on a moonless night. Instead of attacking from the air, Daron landed with a small group, eliminated the sentries, and freed over a hundred slaves the Lyseni kept in chains. Then, at the sound of his call, Cannibal descended like a curse.
Daron rode him with ease now. The black wings folded to his will, as if they were one being. Cannibal responded to his thoughts with near-mystical precision. When a group of crossbowmen tried to bring the dragon down, Daron didn't speak a word. Cannibal incinerated them instantly, releasing a roar that made bones tremble.
In the days that followed, the stories multiplied:
"A demon with wings of night and green fire."
"The dragon that leaves no bones."
"The dark heir of Valyria."
No one called him a bastard anymore. No one dared.
The Bond with the Beast
One starless night, Daron walked away from the camp and climbed to a cliff where Cannibal was resting. The dragon looked at him as if he knew what he was thinking. That glowing green gaze wasn't that of a wild beast... but of an ancient god awakened once more.
Daron sat before him. He tossed a bloody chunk of meat. Cannibal sniffed it and ignored it.
"You're not like the others," the young prince said. "You're not a mount. You're... you. You're Cannibal. What made you this way?"
The dragon made a low sound, like thunder mixed with a growl. Daron closed his eyes.
And in his mind, he saw something.
Fire. Ice. A figure in shadow walking across white bones. And the green eyes of the dragon looking at him... as if it already knew him from before.
He awoke hours later. The dragon was still there, unmoving. As if it had watched over him.
And in his heart, something had changed.
Fear Among Allies
Daemon's captains had started to whisper.
"That dragon's not natural," said one.
"What if the boy loses control?" asked another.
"What if he never had it?"
Daemon, however, said nothing. He just watched from a distance, like a father watching a son surpass the master. There was pride in his eyes... and a hint of jealousy. But also respect. Perhaps for the first time, Daemon felt he wasn't the only dragon without a leash.
The Fortress of Bluefang
The campaign reached its climax with the assault on Bluefang, the largest of the enemy strongholds in the islands. From there, they coordinated reinforcements by sea. Taking it would mean breaking the logistical backbone of Lys and Myr.
Daron didn't want a direct assault. He wanted to send a message.
Mounted on Cannibal, he waited for the first light of dawn. With only a hundred men, he landed on the other side of the island, while the bulk of the army staged a naval assault.
The defenders fell into the trap. As they rushed to defend the outer walls, Cannibal dove down on the rear gate, and Daron, sword in hand, descended into the chaos. He entered through fire and dust, moving through the corridors with a hunter's precision. When the Lyseni commander surrendered, Daron didn't execute him.
He just looked at him, eyes full of fire.
"Tell your people what you saw. Tell them the Black Dragon has come."
"T-The Black Dragon?" the man stammered.
Daron smiled with a calm that froze the blood.
"Tell them their fate is not to die… but to fear."
Solitude beneath victory
That night, from atop the captured tower, Daron looked out over the sea. His army celebrated. Cannibal slept at his feet, cloaked in his own shadow. The young prince held a goblet in his hand, but did not toast.
He was thinking of her.
Of Rhaenyra. Of her voice. Of how she would have smiled hearing of his victories.
And for the first time in weeks… he felt cold. A void that even fire could not fill.
The roar comes from the east
The sun had barely touched the towers of the Red Keep when the bells rang. It was not an alarm, nor a call to the sept—but the signal that a war raven had arrived.
It came from the Stepstones. From hell itself. From where a black dragon had descended to devour enemies and lesser thrones.
Viserys
"How many more victories does he need before they recognize him for what he is?" Viserys murmured, reading the letter.
His hands trembled slightly, but not from fear. From pride. The parchment detailed the advance of the forces led by his now-legitimized half-brother, Daron Targaryen. Lesser islands liberated, strongholds taken, fleets annihilated by Cannibal's fury from the skies.
The maester looked at him cautiously.
"Shall I record these news in the White Book, Your Grace?"
"No. Not yet," Viserys replied, though his eyes said otherwise. "But the day will come. Daron is no ordinary knight. He is blood of the dragon—purer than many who sit here pretending to be princes."
Otto Hightower entered, as if summoned by fate.
"Your Grace, the court speaks of Daron. His victories… they make him a legend. Are you concerned by the power he's gaining?"
Viserys smiled, weary.
"I'm not concerned about his power. I'm concerned he isn't here. He should be seated at our table. He should be part of the future."
"And in what place, exactly, in that future?"
The king looked at him, and for the first time in years, there was fire in his eyes.
"The place that is rightfully his. As a true Targaryen. And if the gods are wise… as Rhaenyra's husband."
Rhaenyra
She read the letter alone, in her chamber, windows open, the breeze teasing her golden braids.
"Daron rode Cannibal from the clouds. He took Turtle Island with fire and steel. The banner of the black dragon flies over his stronghold. Daemon has called him 'the Scourge of the Narrow Sea.' And he has not been wounded once."
Her chest tightened.
From the first time she saw him, years ago in the training yard, she knew he wasn't like the others. A bastard then, yes. But in his eyes was a fire as ancient as Valyria. A dangerous allure. A brutal truth.
Now he was her uncle. But also her equal.
And Viserys… Viserys had said things. Words wrapped in smiles, but laced with the poison of the future:
"Imagine what the two of you could be. Fire of the North and the South. Two mountains of dragon."
Rhaenyra had wanted to laugh. To deny it. But she couldn't. Because in her dreams, Daron already rode beside her. And her heart, though young, was no longer entirely her own.
She walked to the window. The breeze smelled of summer, but she longed for smoke. For the roar. She missed him.
And though she never said it aloud, she could no longer imagine a tomorrow without him.
Alicent
The flowers in the royal garden could not drown out the murmur of the court.
"They say Cannibal devoured an entire ship.""They say Daron landed on the castle like a god.""They say the king plans to wed him to Rhaenyra."
Alicent closed her eyes. The sun blinded her—but not as much as fear.
Daron was not her enemy. But he could destroy everything she had fought for.
Viserys no longer spoke of other suitors for his daughter. No longer considered alliances with powerful houses. Everything now orbited around that dragon in flesh: the young man with Targaryen blood from both parents, Valyrian beauty, and now… the favor of the people.
And Rhaenyra… she shone whenever his name was spoken.
Alicent felt a pang in her belly. Not from jealousy, but warning. If Rhaenyra married Daron, no one would ever dare challenge her claim.
Not her Aegon. Not her. No one.
And in the streets…
The bards were already composing songs.
"The Black Dragon rides through hell,and the sea weeps fire in his wake.They say Cannibal does not roar—he merely breathes death."
Children played as Daron, shouting his name through the alleys of Flea Bottom. The prostitutes whispered his name with longing. The merchants toasted his conquests. And the nobles… the nobles began to consider alliances.
Because Daron was no longer a bastard.He was a Targaryen.A conqueror.
And from King's Landing, all awaited his return.Some with love.Others with fear.But none with indifference.