The Princess and the Queen 33: Daeron IV
The boat ride home felt twice as long as the journey there.
And to think I was so close to feeling sick back then.
Daeron actually was sick on the journey home. It reminded him of the past, over a decade ago. A sweeter time.
Ironic…
Despite his averseness to boats and the sea when he was a child, he would kill to have those days back. Back then, ties were actually repairable with his half-sister and her family. Back then, everything wasn't a little game of politics where uttering the tiniest thing wrong could have everlasting effects. Back then, he still had a childhood before it was ripped away from him by everyone around him.
I can blame everyone and anyone for it happening, but when did it actually happen?
Was it all those years ago when his mother warned him that war was afoot, or a few years after when he realised his father hated him? Or was it just a few hours ago, when reconciliation with Rhaenyra finally became well and truly dead in the water?
If that is the case, I have my little brother to blame.
Daeron knew that reconciliation was possible. He had seen it happen when he and Baela had apologised to their nephew for ignoring him all those years ago. They had spent the last few nights drinking, laughing, and chatting like old friends, like family.
If we were able to put back those frosty years behind us, so could Mother and Rhaenyra.
The journey to Dragonstone was filled with doubts and worries that it would not be possible, yet as the days went by, the stay became better and better until Daeron was confident he would leave the grey island on good terms with his half-sister.
It's the hope that kills you.
He wondered whether it was a childish fool's hope that making amends was possible. And he was correct. It was a fool's hope. Even if he had made amends, he had also, at the same time, willingly or unwillingly, ignored Aemon bullying Baelon's half-siblings until it was too late.
How could I have known Aemon was capable of that?
His baby brother had always been fierce, short of temper, and slow to forgive. His antics were theatrical most of the time, and merely a hindrance the rest of the time. But it was a significant step from that to attempting kinslaying.
Maybe it is not that much of a surprise, looking back…
All Aemon was fed by Mother was to hate Rhaenyra and her family. He never got to experience the tender love Daeron and Baela got from their mother. It was a small wonder that Aemon turned out the way he was, and Daeron again felt a fool for being unable to stop it.
And that is not even mentioning Father, wherever he was all that time…
Daeron shook his head and decided to go up to the deck to clear his mind, even if the very sight of water could make him retch. It was better than being stuck in his dingy cabin, with no one for company but his thoughts and the dull swaying of the Blue Dragon that never seemed to end.
Before he made his way back up, he decided to make himself more presentable to everyone on board. He was still a prince, and his appearance was now more important than ever.
He combed his silver hair with his fingers and sprinkled some scented oils on his body, which reminded him of pine and moss. He then donned a casual navy doublet with black breeches and boots before adorning his hands with a ring on each finger and his neck with a silver chain studded with amethysts.
The deck of the carrack was relatively calm, even if they were due to arrive at King's Landing within less than a day. That said, the calm was more of an uneasy silence, with the crewmates well aware of what occurred on the island and not wishing to incur the wrath of any of the Targaryens.
As Daeron headed across the deck and up the stairs, heading for the stern, a young red-haired serving boy nervously nodded at him. Daeron gave the lad an easy smile before continuing as Ser Rickard followed him from a comfortable distance.
He finally reached the stern and leaned on it, staring out at the Blackwater. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, and the waves were low and calm. The soft sound of water sloshing against the Blue Dragon made Daeron's stomach feel slightly weak, so he tried to block that out.
Instead, he looked up at the sky and at a flock of pigeons flying westwards. Higher than that, a dragon cut across the sky, still scattering the flock. Despite looking as small as a bird from down on the boat, Daeron could tell the dragon was large and shone like a tiny bronze sun in the blue sky.
The mount of my sweet little brother.
Daeron laughed bitterly at the thought. His brother claiming the largest dragon since their mother's should have been the best thing in the world, but the moment was now associated with other thoughts, none of them positive.
Tessarion is hardly a match for the Bronze Fury. Should anything happen… no, he would never.
He shook his head, dismissing such thoughts as ridiculous. Aemon, despite his flaws, was still Daeron's brother and blood. Luckily, Daeron's thoughts were interrupted by his sister greeting him.
"I thought you were too sick to come up onto deck," she said in her usual japing tone.
Daeron turned to look at Baela and breathed a small sigh of relief. The sight of his sister was always a welcome one. She was dressed in a dark blue sleeveless doublet with matching sleeveless gloves. Her breeches were a sandy brown, like the leather belt around her waist, and she wore black leather riding boots.
Baela smiled in return, walking up to the edge, too, leaning on it. She gripped Daeron's hand with hers for a moment, the black diamond on her pale fingers twinkling in the sun.
"I was just as sick in my cabin," sighed Daeron. "At least up here, I get the fresh air and get to see people."
"However," Baela replied, cocking her head sideways, which made her short curly hair fall across her face. "Not being holed up in your cabin means there is a chance of encountering the King," she said with disgust as she flicked her hair back behind her ears.
"Ah, so that is what you wished to speak about," Daeron frowned. "Couldn't you just talk to Mother about that?"
"I have," she said, rolling her eyes. "A few days ago, actually. But I wish to speak to you about it."
"Yet I do not wish to speak about it," he bluntly said.
"Then what do you wish to speak about?" she asked.
"Nothing, to be frank."
"Then why did you come up to the deck?" sighed Baela. "You have remained hidden in your cabin all week, just like a Northman remains in his castle all winter. Come on, Daeron," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "I know you too well, unfortunately. You want to talk about it with somebody."
"Very well," conceded Daeron, even giving her a small smile.
"Why so stubborn?" laughed Baela.
"I was just imitating our mother," he smirked.
"Or brother," she grinned.
"Or father," added Daeron.
"That is a new one," Baela said, raising her eyebrows. "I never thought you one to make japes at the expense of our dear father, His Grace, Seven-bless-him, Lord of the stone city of Valyria."
"Our dear father," he scoffed. "He just… I can't…"
"You never expected that from him?" she said, finishing for him.
"If you are going to brag about-" began Daeron.
"I wasn't, no," Baela replied, her voice quiet. "Truly. Sorry. In that, this was what made you realise."
"Everything else I could forgive, or make an excuse for, but Aemon's eye?" said Daeron, shaking his head. "I never thought he would go that far. I could see it in his eyes. He was about to do it himself," he said, which took him back to that night. "I was foolish to only realise now, though."
To realise that he does not care about any of us.
"You are not, Daeron," she replied softly. "I once had hope, too. It was a while ago, but I still had it all the same."
"What made you lose hope?" Daeron asked.
"Seven hells," she smiled, yet her light purple eyes filled with sorrow. "If I could remember, I would have told you."
"I am sorry," said Daeron, taking her hand. "In some ways, it is better to only realise when you are grown, and not a young child, like you were. You could say that I am the lucky one, then," he chuckled. "Mother's words ring true, it seems."
"When does it ever not?" shrugged Baela.
"Just so recently," Daeron pointed out.
"Ah, true," she said, sighing. "Well, if we are discussing who is lucky, you certainly were in this," Baela snorted.
"How so?" he asked.
"You being locked in your cabin with a sudden bout of seasickness has meant that Mother's wrath has been entirely directed towards me," Baela answered sardonically. "For the crime of not being present whilst our helpless brother got into an altercation with our half-sister's vicious children."
"She still hasn't calmed down from all of it?"
"No, not yet," she frowned. "She blames our lovely father the most, for the ending of the exile and the dowry and all of that, and Rhaenyra too, of course. But she still states that we should have been there for Aemon, and to protect him."
"I guess if we were there, it would have stopped our nephew from losing an eye," suggested Daeron, a slight grin on his face.
"That is a possibility…" she mused. "But all of it… she does not place any blame on Aemon."
Mother is more stubborn than anyone I know; if she does not blame Aemon now, she never will.
"Well, if Father's favourite child is Rhaenyra, we know who Mother's is," laughed Baela.
"I would not go that far," said Daeron.
"Yes, I know," she sighed. "And she still wants the both of us to apologise to him for all of it."
"And have you?" he asked.
"No," she quickly replied.
"Well, you are just like her then," smiled Daeron.
"That is not a bad thing," shrugged Baela. "I would take it a million times more than to be anything like Father," she added, sticking out her tongue.
"Of course," he agreed. "But it still irks me somewhat."
"Me too," she nodded. "Truly speaking, I think the best decision is to concede to her and apologise to Aemon."
"Why would I wish to do that?" Daeron asked, confused. "It would just tell him what he did was correct and justified, and he shouldn't change his actions."
"As if Mother hasn't been telling him as such for the past few days."
"Mayhaps," he grimaced, not really agreeing at all with his sister's suggestions.
I don't want my baby brother to grow into a monster, but what if Baela is correct? What if it's too late?
"And in all of this, Mother's words about being united matter much more now," Baela said. "War is afoot. Hells, it's already started. Aemon spilt the first blood, and there is no chance in seven hells our half-sister is ever going to back down, nor Mother or Grandfather or Aemon."
"Aye, I agree with you," Daeron said. "It's much too late to go back, as much as I wish otherwise. Gods… it could have been different."
"It really could have," Baela agreed, her voice grave. "I truly thought it would be different, back when we played dice in Baelon's room."
"Me too," replied Daeron. "We were both fools then."
"We can be the foolish siblings together then," Baela laughed.
"I think Baelon likely thought the same, too," he added.
"He definitely did," she nodded. "Yet his mother doesn't. Not anymore, in the slim chance she even did before. Rhaenyra will never forgive this," Baela said scornfully. "And Baelon would follow his mother into war, no matter how little he wants it."
"A bit like us, then," Daeron smiled, to which Baela just raised her eyebrows in response.
They stood in silence for a while, watching the quiet sea, occasionally broken by the shrill screech of dragons flying above them. It felt like anything between a few minutes and a few hours, but most of all, it was the best Daeron had felt since stepping foot back on the boat.
Gods, if this is the best moment of the week…
Eventually, when the sky had turned from a light blue dotted to mostly grey, Baela turned to Daeron and broke the comfortable silence.
"Do you think it's finally time to finally face Mother?" she asked with a mischievous smile.
"Better now than letting it brew inside," he shrugged.
Their mother was occupied in her cabin, with Ser Criston standing guard outside of it. The white knight nodded at them curtly before letting them in.
The inside of Mother's cabin was just like Daeron's, only slightly wider. Her bed was neatly done, and she sat on her chair at the desk, her legs crossed. She wore a loose-fitting turquoise dress that bore her shoulders and upper chest. Her hair was neatly tied into a bun, and the green gemstones shone against her pale neck.
Upon Daeron and Baela's entrance, she looked up from the book she was reading and smiled warmly. That said, Daeron knew when there was a hint of displeasure in those lilac eyes.
"My dears," Mother said gently, standing up from her seat.
She walked halfway across the room, letting Daeron and Baela make up the rest of the distance to her. Baela went first in embracing her, and then Daeron. Notably, she didn't pull them in as tightly as she usually did; instead, she wrapped an arm around them and patted their backs once or twice.
Once that was done, she calmly sat back down in her seat, crossed her legs, and poured herself a cup of grape juice before taking a few small sips.
"How is the sickness, Daeron?" Mother asked, making small talk Daeron didn't really want to have.
"Better," replied Daeron curtly.
"That is good to hear," she smiled, and Daeron almost felt like sobbing once again.
I am not here to grovel to her.
"Save the idle chatter," groaned Baela. "You want us to apologise to our baby brother, isn't it, Mother?"
"Aye," Mother nodded slowly. "And I presume that is why you came to my cabin? To tell me you both have finally seen sense?"
"No, actually," quickly interjected Daeron, garring a loud inhale from Baela. "We have nought to apologise for, in truth."
"Nought to apologise for?" she repeated, crossing her arms. "Is that so?"
"Aye, that is so," he answered. "Aemon was barely harmed by Rhaenyra's children. How would our presence have changed any of that?"
"He was outnumbered three to one," snapped Mother. "It was lucky he was armed, as to prevent any damage coming to his person. If he wasn't…" she began, shaking her head.
She must be japing with us…
"He was ambushed by your half-sister's children. They had the intent to harm Aemon, for the simple crime of being brave enough to claim a dragon. It was cowar-" she continued, until Baela scoffed loudly.
"You cannot truly believe this, Mother," laughed Daeron. "The three of them were terrified of Aemon! There is no chance in seven hells that any of them started the altercation - I know my little brother; he was likely the one who attacked them, not the other way around."
"Very well," Mother said, looking at Daeron in an eerily similar way she would look at Father. "If you both believe that," she said, almost mockingly. "Your lack of presence that night still resulted in the end of the exile, Aemon's betrothal ending, and the dowry being put onto Driftmark's coffers."
"How would have our presence even helped?" scoffed Baela. "Aemon surely would have needed our aid in pummelling some nine-year-olds, as if he didn't maim one himself!"
"Enough, both of you," Mother said calmly, and they obeyed. Her face remained still, but her eyes conveyed a fury Daeron had never seen. "Remind me again," she said, looking at both of them with wide eyes. "Where were you on the night?"
Not this again.
"Don't roll your eyes at me, Baela," she said. "I am simply asking where you were, and who were you with."
She looked at them for a while, waiting for either of them to answer her question. However, Daeron refused to take the bait, and Baela proved equally stubborn.
"If you shall not answer me, I shall refresh your memories for you," she sighed. "Did you forget what I told you after the first night on the island?" Mother demanded, her voice slightly raised for the first time in this conversation. "You both disobeyed what I explicitly told you. What if you said something you shouldn't have whilst in your cups? What would happen, then, should your nephew scurry off and tell his mother everything you both told him?"
"That wouldn't have happened," sulked Baela. "He wouldn't do that."
"And how do you know that?" Mother asked. "Did he tell you that? How can you truly trust that boy, from the loins of your half-sister, who would undoubtedly dispose of you both, to see her ascension unopposed?"
Daeron bit his tongue, resisting the urge to evoke a comparison between his mother and half-sister.
She would likely throw me overboard for daring to say such a thing.
"How many times did I tell you to maintain a united front in the face of our enemies?" Mother scowled, continuing her tirade. "Playing dice and drinking Arbor Gold is the opposite of that. Can you truly blame your little brother for thinking everyone is against him when he sees the both of you laughing with the enemy, as if you are family?" she spat, the last word particularly filled with venom.
We are both Targaryens, we are family… or were family…
Daeron nor Baela had an answer, or gave an answer. Baela just leaned against the wall, kicking her feet back and forth, whilst Daeron stared at the ground, holding back something. Whether that something was tears, laughter, or anger, he wasn't sure, nor did he want to know.
"Sometimes I wonder if you truly want the throne," whispered Mother after a small pause.
Daeron licked his teeth and looked up at his mother. Her face was just as still as before, and her eyes didn't seem angry, as if she hadn't berated the both of them just minutes ago. She leaned somewhat forward, eager to know what he would reply.
"I wonder the same, too," sighed Daeron. "Is it truly worth it?" he asked, his vision already becoming blurry. "All of this. This plotting, and partisanship, the fact that I cannot even speak to people you consider the enemy! It's like I am a pawn in your big game, and not that I am your son!"
Mother just shook her head and let out a sigh of disappointment. She didn't flinch at the statement, nor did her face show any indication the words phased her, but a singular tear ran down her cheek.
"You are my son," she curtly said. "I love you, and that will never change, my sweet boy. Ever. Do not ever presume otherwise."
"Then why does it not feel like that at times?" he quietly asked, feeling a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Baela gently massaging it, a sorry smile on her face. Her hand stroked his hair, before going down his arm and gripping his hand. Daeron accepted it, holding on tightly.
"That was not my intention, Daeron," Mother replied. "I am sorry if it was," she said calmly. "And you surely know this by now, but not accepting the throne may have been an option years ago, but it is no longer."
"And whose fault is that?" Daeron spluttered, wiping his tears away with his sleeves. "Aemon was the one who spilt the first blood."
"Aye, but your half-sister is not one to forgive and forget, and her husband even less than that. Now…" Mother sighed. "Rhaenyra won't back down. And that means your life is at risk. As much as I wish it could have not turned out this way."
So, do I actually have a choice in the matter?
"You may blame your little brother for this, or your father, but that doesn't really matter in the end," she explained. "And you would make a better ruler than your half-sister would; that is plain to see. Her husband or firstborn, too," smiled Mother, standing up and walking over to Daeron, giving him an embrace, much warmer than earlier. "If that is any solace."
Which is what makes it even worse… I don't want it, but I also do… I would be better than Rhaenyra, or Prince Daemon, or Father, or Baelon.
If the choice was between living whilst on the throne or possibly dying, and if not, under the rule of a terrible monarch, Daeron knew which one he would pick, without a doubt.
I hate both options I have been dealt, but one is much worse than the other.
"It somewhat is," Daeron coughed, unable to stop himself from smiling despite the tears. "Who do you blame for this, Mother?" he asked once his tears had dried up.
"I blame your father," she bluntly said, her face twisting at the mere mention of him.
"It's hard not to, in truth," frowned Daeron.
"You truly think so?" Mother asked, her eyes wide, almost with glee. "What made you have such a sudden change of opinion?"
"If he had named me heir, none of this would have happened," shrugged Daeron. "And… please do not call me a fool for this, Mother…" he gulped. "Only after seeing how he wished to take Aemon's eye. That's how I bloody realised…"
"...he could not give a rat's arse about us?" Baela finished, smiling.
"Aye," nodded Daeron, chuckling at that.
"It did take you long enough," smiled Mother. "But you are not a fool for it, and I shall not call you one," she said, hugging Daeron again.
"Thank you," he quietly said, embracing her in return.
They remained in the cabin for a while, the conversation moving to more mundane, and positive, topics. Daeron helped himself to some of the grape juice for his parched throat. It was nowhere near sweet enough for his liking, but he still finished half the damn pitcher.
Eventually, after around an hour, it was nearly time for their arrival at King's Landing. Daeron decided to change into more formal attire for the arrival home.
That is not to mention how this one is stained with salty tears.
Baela said she would depart, too, in order to say her farewells to the crewmates she had made friends with (even if she didn't converse with them as much as she did compared to the journey there), leaving just Daeron and Mother in the cabin.
"One more matter," Mother said as they were leaving.
What now?
"Aemon," she bluntly said.
"We went through it all earlier, Mother," Baela tutted. "I would rather not relive it."
"I think we should apologise," Daeron said
.
I would rather return home on good terms with my baby brother.
"Even if you do not truly mean it," he continued. "I would rather not let any of his anger simmer any longer. Our brother would likely explode if we left it any longer."
"Hmmph," shrugged Baela, smiling at the jape. "Well, you have left me no choice then," she answered. "Very well."
"Good," nodded Mother. "Thank you, both."
Daeron dressed in all black, save for a large aquamarine cloak lined with ermine. He kept the same rings on his fingers, and held his cloak in place with a silver clasp shaped into two dragons roaring at each other.
Luckily, when he returned to the deck, the clouds had subsided to give way to a clearer sky. Above, Tessarion, Moondancer, and Vermithor circled the boat, squealing and screeching, eager to return home.
He found Aemon at the prow of the ship, standing on Ser Willis' shoulders, trying to get a good look at King's Landing ahead of them. The city was exactly the same as Daeron remembered, with the Red Keep jutting out on top of the hill and the myriad of buildings making up the city proper.
"Aemon," Daeron said as his little brother whirled around, almost falling off Ser Willis' shoulders.
"What?" he demanded, already seemingly irritated.
"Can we talk?" asked Daeron, crossing his arms.
"Very well," Aemon replied, rolling his dark eyes, gesturing at Ser Willis to let him down. Once he did, Daeron nodded at the knight, signalling him to keep a short distance from them. "What is it, then?" he crossed his arms.
"I wanted to apologise," Daeron simply said. "I shouldn't have let you get ambushed by Rhaenyra's children," he said, hiding his disgust at the words.
Aemon didn't reply; instead, he just squinted at Daeron. Daeron did the same in return, without the outrageous squinting. He looked at his brother's face, his aquiline nose, his pale gold hair, how he looked like an average ten-year-old. How he looked harmless, and innocent.
To think this is my sweet little brother, who so casually took out the eye of our nephew.
After what seemed like an age, Aemon just shrugged at Daeron.
"...well?" asked Daeron. "Do you accept my apology?"
"Yes," he nodded. "Is that all?"
"Aye," replied Daeron, before returning to the main deck.
There, he found his sister and mother, as well as his father, being held up by Ser Rickard and Ser Arryk. The old king didn't react to Daeron's arrival, and neither did Daeron.
He felt a pang of disgust looking at his rotted face and sickly state, yet he couldn't help feeling pity for the man. Daeron remembered Lady Jocelyn, his grandmother's mother, who was just as sickly as Father.
Father is likely in pain all day.
Mother or Baela or Aemon would say that he deserved to be in pain all day, but Daeron still had an ounce of feeling towards him. He was still Daeron's father, no matter what he did or said.
"Did you then?" asked Baela, walking up to Daeron, smirking.
"Aye," he slowly nodded, as Mother gave him a radiant smile in response to that.
"How did he react?" Baela asked, lowering her voice.
"He just accepted it," said Daeron. "Nothing more, nothing less."
"Aye, the same for me," she shrugged. "Very well then, at least that matter is dealt with."
Or is it?
Daeron lined up alongside his family as the ship got closer and closer to the city's harbour. Aemon eventually joined them, too, choosing to line up on the other side of Mother rather than next to Daeron or Baela.
"I am proud of you both," Mother whispered to Daeron and Baela. "Truly."
It didn't take them too long to fully dock at the harbour, and soon enough, they climbed off the boat and onto the paved ground just outside the River Gate. Upon arrival, they were all greeted by raucous applause from the court, who had come to witness the arrival back in the city.
Daeron glimpsed Velaryon banners, as well as that of their allies. There was the white tower of Hightower, the purple grapes of Redwyne, and the silver trout of Tully. Other banners were present: Blackwood, Mullendore, Peake, Bar Emmon, Massey, and others, but only from the Reach, Riverlands, or Crownlands.
He also noted people's faces. Most people were glad to see their king, queen, and princelings back in the city, but there were a few frowns and worried looks from those present.
The maester on board sent a raven back intended for Orwyle's eyes, but rumours always do spread like wildfire in King's Landing.
Grandfather had his usual proud smirk on his face, but his skin turned pale with rage upon seeing Father, whilst Grandmother's nervous demeanour eased upon seeing everyone arrive safely. Otto Hightower's face showed no emotion, whilst Jocelyn beamed when she locked eyes with Daeron.
Oh, I have truly missed her!
The usual greetings were done first, with everyone declaring how glad they were to see the King in good health and spirits (even if he was anything but). Only once that was over, and the palanquins, horses, and carriages were being readied, did everyone disperse into small groups.
First, Daeron and Mother were approached by his grandparents, who both were displeased, but likely for different reasons.
"Seven hells, Laena," Grandmother cursed. "What happened on that island? Gods…"
"I will tell you all about it later," Mother smirked. "The man is a fool."
"Truly," whispered Grandfather, his dark purple eyes staring at something angrily, most likely Father. He turned his eyes back to Daeron and his mother and nodded. "The man knew what he was doing, making us pay the dowry," he snarled, trying but almost failing to keep his voice low. "And we-" continued Grandfather, before Grandmother put her hand on his.
"Corlys, easy," hushed Grandmother, her eyes warm yet worried. "This is not the place," she said, turning back to Mother. "At the very least, you both, Baela, Aemon, all of you, are safe, and unharmed. That is what matters the most."
"Aside from some angry words, I would say I am well enough," laughed Daeron as Grandmother kissed his forehead.
"Good, good," she nodded, rubbing his cheeks as if he was an eight-year-old again.
"Aemon has some bruises from the ordeal," said Mother.
Some bruises are preferable to losing an eye.
"But we have gained another dragon as retribution for that," she grinned.
As if Vermithor heard her, the bronze dragon let out a thunderous roar, flying over the city, much to the crowd's mix of delight and terror.
"That is a silver lining on everything, then," said Grandfather with a slight smile.
They then dispersed, before heading towards their allocated carriages to take them back to the Red Keep. Before that, though, Daeron spotted Jocelyn in the crowd, speaking to Lady Velaryon. She noticed him, too, and she waved at him.
Daeron ran over to his betrothed. Jocelyn wore a loose-fitting grey dress lined with cyan and had a silver seven-pointed star on her neck. Her chestnut hair was braided in the Reacher style, and she smelled like roses, just like she always did.
"Gods, I have missed you!" Daeron said as she ran into his arms. They shared a small kiss, before he gripped her in a tight embrace.
"It must have been a stressful few days," Jocelyn replied, smiling sheepishly. "I heard glimpses from my grandfather…"
"Aye, it wasn't the greatest week," he laughed. "I shall speak more of it when we are in private."
"Of course," she smiled warmly, stroking his hair.
"Now, do you so wish that you came along with me?" Daeron asked, keeping his voice low.
"Maybe not so much now," laughed Jocelyn, scoffing. "It is good to have you back in the city, though."
"Definitely," he agreed. "I am glad to be home."
Back home, and away from any conflict for now.
That said, how long now was, Daeron didn't know.