The current of the Tumblestone shimmered like broken silver under hooves. The orange-and-black smoke banner of Cornfield receded atop the hills like dying embers.
The Cannibal's black scales brushed roadside trees, knocking off leaves stained with morning dew. Dreamfyre followed elegantly, pale blue wings sweeping over the Tumblestone's surface, startling a school of silver fish into jumping, scales gleaming finely in the morning sun.
This was the fourth morning since leaving Cornfield. The Westerlands wind finally lost the cold hardness of Golden Tooth's mines, gaining some valley moisture.
"House Swyft's 'blinding flame' is no empty name." Gael pulled her saddle, looking back toward Cornfield. The memory of that castle lingered in her pale violet eyes. "Mysaria, remember? When we arrived, burning tree lamps hung on the gate. Lit at night, the whole castle looked wrapped in orange fire."
Mysaria smiled, tucking platinum-blonde curls behind her ear. "Not just lamps? Roast meat at the banquet was skewered with orange wood; even fruit wine had orange petals, said to 'match the family sigil.' Earl Swyft specifically had the Maester tell us about Dreamfyre's former rider, your aunt Princess Rhaena, visiting Cornfield in 51 AC; Dreamfyre ate several sheep then."
Listening to them, Daemon unconsciously rubbed the hilt of Blackfyre, thoughts drifting back to the day leaving Golden Tooth.
Earl Humfrey Lefford personally escorted them to the mountain road bend, clutching a heavy brocade box—inside was an ore stone embedded with gold flakes, "a small token from Golden Tooth for the Prince to play with."
Knights followed on horseback; sun sigils on brocade robes dazzled eyes in the sunlight. Even farewell servants wore gold-embroidered short coats, more decent than Crackclaw Point lords.
"Compared to Golden Tooth's 'gold everywhere,' Cornfield had a bit more elegance." Larys Strong rode his grey donkey, black robe sweeping Tumblestone pebbles. He suddenly looked at Rupert Crabb teasingly. "Ser Rupert, haven't secretly collected fewer gifted silverware these two days?"
Rupert's face flushed red instantly. He subconsciously touched his chest—leaving Cornfield yesterday, he indeed pocketed a silver spoon carved with a burning tree when no one was looking.
This boy from a "semi-wild" noble house at Crackclaw Point had never seen anything more precious than ancestral iron armor. Where had he seen gold leaf on pillars at Golden Tooth or silver leaves floating in wine at Cornfield?
"I—I just thought it looked nice." Rupert stiffened his neck defending, white pauldron bumping Corlin Celtigar beside him. "Look at Golden Tooth's banquet; roast boar had golden apples in mouths. Cornfield more exaggerated; even bread plates were silver! At Crackclaw Point, we eat rye bread only at New Year; plates are rough pottery, reluctant to throw away even if chipped." He spoke with awe. "Westerlands is truly rich; no wonder House Lannister is the richest in the Seven Kingdoms."
Corlin held back laughter, patting his shoulder. "Wait till Casterly Rock; guarantees more eye-opening. My uncle says Casterly Rock cellars pile gold like mountains; even privy handles are gold—though I guess he exaggerated."
"Exaggerated or not, better than Three Sisters smuggled goods." Mycah Rivers interjected bluntly, gaze sweeping fields ahead. Westerlands fields were much neater than Riverlands; scarecrows on ridges wore faded red cloth like little knights.
Several farmers squatted by fields smoking, pipes emitting blue smoke. Seeing dragon shadows, they only glanced up, then lowered heads to chat, showing no awe.
"These Westerlands people are slacker than Valemen." Gael frowned. "In the Vale, nobles or farmers bowed seeing dragons; here, like they don't see them?"
"Perhaps from your aunt Princess Rhaena and uncle Prince Aegon trapped at Crakehall, to your parents taking refuge at Casterly Rock, to later royal tours—after so many events, the Westerlands is likely familiar with giant dragons." Alys Rivers rarely took initiative to lift the curtain, following Gael and Mysaria to rest on Dreamfyre's broad back during a break.
On the other side, Daemon's gaze fell on a distant tavern. Several horses tied at the door; knights in leather armor played dice around a table, sounds audible from afar.
A knight lost money, cursing and slapping the table: "Damned Ironborn! Tricked us running empty again! Next time they dare write threats, I'll chop their longships for firewood!"
A farmer beside laughed: "Sir Knight, don't blow! That Dagon Greyjoy is a soft egg; dared not approach Lannisport three times. This time might just wander two days and leave! We ran three times with you, saw not a shadow of Ironborn. Run empty again, my cow will starve!"
"Exactly!" A half-grown boy ran over waving a short sword at the air. "Ironborn are cowards! Only hide on ships shouting, dare not come for real! Last time that bullshit Urrigon raided Seagard, burned to ash by royal dragons? His brother Dagon must be more useless!"
Larys Strong's grey donkey stopped suddenly. Sharpness flashed in his brown eyes: "Prince, look."
He pointed to the distant mountain road. Several red-armored Lannister guards walked leisurely, spears on shoulders, some even picking roadside berries. "Even Casterly Rock guards so slack; seems Earl Humfrey's words weren't wrong."
Daemon didn't speak, just tightening reins. The black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder grew slightly hot. The Cannibal roared low, wings spreading subconsciously as if alert.
Gael sensed something wrong, whispering: "Daemon, what is it? The Cannibal seems uneasy."
"Smoke in the wind." Daemon's voice was deeper than usual. He looked up toward Casterly Rock—supposedly the most prosperous place in the Westerlands, now a wisp of black smoke rose from the horizon like a black snake winding in the blue sky.
"Smoke?" Rupert rubbed his eyes. "Casterly Rock chimney?"
"No." Corlin's face changed suddenly. Having visited Lannisport with his uncle, he knew the direction. "That's Lannisport!"
Hearts sank instantly. Daemon urged The Cannibal faster. Wind from dragon wings rolled up dust. Dreamfyre sensed danger too, following closely.
As distance closed, the smoke thickened into soaring firelight. Orange-red flames were dazzling in the sunset; air filled with burnt smell—not cooking smoke, but burning houses and ships.
"Heavens..." Gael covered her mouth, shock in pale violet eyes. On the distant sea, dense shadows of longships were visible; sails painted with Greyjoy golden kraken sigil like black sharks tearing at Lannisport.
Screams from the port were audible from afar. Some houses collapsed; flames licked planks, emitting thick black smoke. Even seawater was dyed orange.
The Cannibal let out an angry roar. Black scales gleamed coldly in firelight; dragon breath rolled in his throat, ready to spew.
Daemon gripped Blackfyre, sternness flashing in violet eyes—Westerlands slackness, knights' mockery, farmers' contempt finally gave Ironborn an opportunity.
This time, Dagon Greyjoy didn't wander or retreat, didn't float far away. Instead, leading a real fleet, he burned the fire of "taking" to every inch of Lannisport.
Larys's donkey pawed uneasily. Hands under black robes clenched tight; black eyes lost usual cunning, only solemnity: "Prince, Ironborn are for real this time."
Gael's face was pale, clutching Dreamfyre's saddle tightly, watching distant firelight, voice trembling: "Those people... what about Lannisport people?" Though witnessing blood and fire touring with Daemon, under this soaring firelight, the girl's natural softness was exposed.
Daemon didn't answer this time, just urging The Cannibal forward.
The outline of Casterly Rock was close, but no one cared about that castle's splendor now—all eyes were attracted by Lannisport's soaring firelight. That fire like a greedy hand swallowed Westerlands wealth, igniting an unforeseen war.
Sunset fell gradually. Orange firelight dyed half the sky red. Ironborn longship shadows loomed in firelight; screams and killing sounds drew closer. The Cannibal's roar echoed in the valley; Dreamfyre's pale blue wings tensed tight. A contest of blood and fire quietly opened with this harbor raid.
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