Daemon slides off Caraxes’ back. His silver armor clanks with each step, heavy as ever. He tosses his head, his silver-gold hair falling over one shoulder as he makes his way up the hill to the castle. Tis a long walk, but he does not tire. She is waiting for him, after all.

The knights guarding the doors open them for him, bowing their heads, and Daemon strides quickly through the halls. At this time of day, he expects to find her in Aegon’s Garden, taking her midday meal outside while the weather is still good. He smiles at the thought of it. She makes him feel warm inside, soft. He has missed his wife.

He inhales as he walks, savoring the salty air of Dragonstone, the smoke and brimstone smell that hangs over the place. He can faintly smell her soap and perfume, and he exhales involuntarily, his smile growing. The weight of the war hangs on him still, but he feels lighter already. He is home, and his wife is close.