Daemion found Rhaenyra where he always did when she wanted to be alone.
The godswood was quiet in the late afternoon, the weirwood's red leaves whispering softly overhead. Rhaenyra sat at the base of the great pale trunk, knees drawn up, Syrax's small carved figurine clasped in her hands.
She looked up when she heard his footsteps and smiled.
"You're late," she said. "I thought you were still in the yard."
"I was," Daemion replied. "Before."
Something in his voice made her frown.
He sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. For a moment neither of them spoke.
"I'm going north," he said at last.
Rhaenyra blinked. "North?"
"To ward," Daemion added. "At Winterfell."
The words took a heartbeat to settle.
"That's far," she said. "That's almost the edge of the world."
He nodded. "Father says it's good for me."
She turned toward him fully now. "When?"
"Soon."
"How soon?"
"Soon enough."
Rhaenyra's mouth tightened. "You didn't ask to go."
"No."
"Then say no," she said fiercely. "You can. Father listens to you."
Daemion shook his head. "This time he didn't ask."
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
"You're leaving me," she said.
He winced. "I'm not leaving you."
"But you are," she insisted. "You won't be here. You won't walk with me. You won't sit with me. You won't—" Her voice caught, and she looked away quickly.
"I'll come back," Daemion said. "I swear it."
"When?" she asked.
He had no answer.
Rhaenyra stood abruptly and began to pace. "Is it because you're better with a sword than the boys?" she demanded. "Because people look at you?"
"No."
"Because you're—" She stopped herself, jaw tightening. "Because they're afraid of you."
Daemion said nothing.
That was answer enough.
She turned back to him, eyes bright with unshed tears. "You promised you'd always protect me."
"I still will," he said quietly. "Just from farther away."
"That's not the same."
"No," he admitted. "It isn't."
She stepped closer then, standing between him and the weirwood, her small hands clenched into fists. "If anyone hurts you there—"
"They won't," he said.
"If they do," she went on, ignoring him, "I'll burn their castle."
That made him smile, though it hurt. "That's my sister."
Her lips trembled. She threw her arms around him suddenly, pressing her face into his chest. Daemion froze for half a heartbeat before wrapping his arms around her in return.
They stayed like that for a long while.
"Don't forget me," she murmured.
"Never," he said at once.
"Write to me."
"I will."
"And come back," she said. "Promise me that too."
He hesitated only a moment before answering. "I promise."
Rhaenyra pulled away at last, wiping her eyes angrily. "The North better not change you."
Daemion touched her forehead gently. "Nothing could."
As he left the godswood, Daemion did not look back.
If he did, he feared he would never make himself go at all.
The morning air was crisp as Daemion tightened the straps of his small traveling pack. Ser Steffon stood beside him, armor gleaming faintly in the sunlight, his expression unreadable but steady, as always. The yard was quiet now, the bustle of servants and squires muted as the boy prepared for the journey ahead.
Daemion's mother lingered near the gates, her hand brushing his cheek. "Be careful, my son," she whispered. "Remember who you are, and hold your head high." Her eyes shone with unshed tears, though her voice remained steady.
Rhaenyra clutched his arm, her violet eyes wide. "You'll come back soon, won't you?" she asked, her voice trembling just slightly. Daemion knelt to meet her gaze, brushing a strand of silver-white hair from her face.
"I will, little sister. And I'll return stronger, I promise," he said, smiling down at her.
Aemma stood apart, her hands folded over one another, offering a gentle smile. "Take care of him, Ser Steffon," she said, voice soft but firm. "And Daemion… may the gods watch over you."
King Viserys appeared at the doorway of the solar, nodding to his son. "Make me proud, Daemion," he said. There was weight in his gaze, a mixture of pride and the quiet sorrow of a father sending his child away.
With a final glance at the Red Keep, Daemion mounted his horse, Ser Steffon at his side, and the small group began the long ride north. The wind tugged at his dark hair as the city of King's Landing faded behind him, the horizon stretching wide with unknown roads and the promise of House Stark awaiting him in the North.
Rhaenyra ran a few steps alongside the carriage until the road curved, waving until Daemion was out of sight. Aemma's smile remained, though now tinged with sadness, and even Viserys' eyes held the shadow of a father's worry. The boy, a royal bastard of Targaryen blood, rode toward his new life, leaving the familiar warmth of his family behind.