Suddenly, a commotion broke out among the crowd as a dragon's roar echoed from deep within the peninsula.
At first, only a low rumble could be heard, but the roar quickly grew high-pitched and piercing, intimidating the crowd below—especially the merchants seeing a dragon for the first time.
Below, everyone was drawn by the dragon's roar and looked up, only to see the sky quickly covered by shadows.
The golden three-headed dragon appeared first, its massive body with a wingspan exceeding one hundred and eighty meters obscuring half the sky. Her three heads turned simultaneously, six molten-gold eyes scanning the port below, before letting out a heaven-shaking Dragon Roar.
Immediately after, Black Flame dived down from the clouds, its pitch-black scales shimmering with a faint light under the sun, its dark red eyes gazing indifferently at the ground below; its wingspan also exceeded one hundred and fifty meters.
Behind Black Flame, Melyas's crimson figure followed closely, wingtips slicing through the clouds and leaving a faint trail. Then came Balerion, his pitch-black scales as dark as night, but those eyes radiated a dangerous light.
Following them were Vhagar, Meraxes, Syrax, Caraxes, Vermithor, and Meleyes. Aside from the four dragons belonging to Daenerys and Ashara, the remaining ten dragons appeared in sequence.
They circled and danced above the port, presenting a breathtaking spectacle; even the smallest dragon had a wingspan of nearly fifteen meters. The reason Viserys brought so many dragons was to tell the people of Westeros that the Age of Dragons had dawned once again.
Dragon Roars rose and fell in succession. On the docks, the Valyrian soldiers and the crowd erupted into earth-shattering cheers.
"For Valyria!"
"For the true dragon!"
"Long live Targaryen!"
"Long live His Majesty Viserys!"
The cheers rose wave after wave. The soldiers on the ships also raised their weapons high, looking up at the dragons in the sky, their eyes burning with the light of fanaticism and pride.
Rhaenys accompanied Viserys as they boarded the 'dragon king' waiting in the harbor. Behind them, the Imperial fleet slowly sailed out of the port, heading west.
After the fleet left port, Daenerys remained standing on the high platform until she watched the distant ships vanish from sight, only then finally lowering her head. Ashara put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle pat.
"He will return."
Daenerys nodded without saying a word.
Kinvara walked over and stood on Daenerys's other side. She looked in the direction the fleet had disappeared and spoke softly, "Rest assured, the flames tell me that he will surely win. He will reclaim the iron throne, and the Seven Kingdoms shall all submit to him."
Daenerys looked up at her, while Kinvara looked down to meet her gaze, the corners of her mouth curling into a slight arc.
"But the flames also tell me that he will need you. So, grow up well, Princess. When you are a bit older, he will need you by his side always."
Daenerys bit her lip and nodded vigorously. After returning to the castle, she saw Arya, who had returned long ago, currently drenched in sweat as she practiced swordsmanship on the training grounds.
For the first time in a long while, Daenerys also began to take things seriously, picking up a small valyrian steel sword Viserys had given her to train alongside Arya.
The fleet sailed across the Summer Sea, and the journey was calm and peaceful throughout.
Viserys stood on the deck of the flagship, looking into the distance. Ahead and behind was a massive fleet stretching for several nautical miles, with ten dragons circling above the fleet on guard.
Black Flame flew the highest, its dark red eyes always alertly scanning the sea surface. Balerion and Vhagar flew close to the water, occasionally letting out a puff of flame to frighten the merchant ships watching from afar.
Upon seeing the massive fleet and the dragons, those merchant ships began lowering their sails and stopping from a distance. Some crew members were even so terrified they knelt directly on the deck, not even daring to raise their heads.
The fleet sailed for ten full days without stopping before arriving at Tyrosh. However, they only made a brief stop in Tyrosh to replenish fresh water and food.
Duke Clinton's Narrow Sea Province army was already waiting at the port. Twenty thousand infantry and ten thousand Golden Company soldiers lined up to board, packing the transport ships to capacity.
Five days after the fleet left Tyrosh, the coastline of the Crabs Claw Peninsula appeared on the horizon.
Whisperfell.
This castle sat on the southeastern coastline of the Crabs Claw Peninsula. Calling it a castle was generous; it was more like a large house built of stacked stones. A three-story stone tower stood crookedly on the seaside cliff, surrounded by a low wall. In the center was a muddy courtyard, and a few dilapidated wooden huts within the walls served as barracks for the garrison.
Wylit, a soldier of the castle, yawned as usual, greeted a few companions, and then walked up the harbor's watchtower, preparing to begin another boring shift.
He was seventeen years old and had been a soldier at Whisperfell for three years. Every day consisted of standing guard, eating, and sleeping. Only occasionally would a few fishermen or lost merchants pass by this small wooden harbor by the sea.
After all, the Crabs Claw Peninsula was barren and riddled with swamps, making it one of the poorest and most backward regions in all of Westeros. The lords here were penniless, the castles were ruinous, and soldiers were scarce. In the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms, they were just a bunch of'semi-savages,' and even pirates couldn't be bothered to raid this barren coast.
This was because, besides being backward and poor, the local folk were notoriously fierce. Aside from Queen Visenya Targaryen hundreds of years ago, no one had been able to conquer this land. Pirates had tried to raid here in the past, but not only did they fail to steal anything, they were instead counter-raided by the peninsula folk, suffering heavy losses.
Today seemed to be no exception, Wylit thought to himself.
He leaned against the watchtower railing, gazing at the grey sea in the distance, while his mind reminisced about his encounter with the castle cook last night. That widow was in her early thirties, about the same age as his mother; her husband had died of fever a few years ago, leaving her alone with two half-grown children.
Wylit had helped her chop wood for half a month before finally sneaking into her room under the cover of darkness last night...
Just as a lewd grin hung on his face and he was still recalling the wonderful experience of last night, he suddenly felt as if something had streaked across the sky above him. A massive shadow had just swept over him, so fast he didn't even have time to react.
Wylit instinctively looked up, only to see a massive golden figure lowering its altitude and flying toward the castle. That thing had three heads, and its outstretched wings obscured half the sky.
Wylit's mouth hung open, but no sound came out.
Then he saw more. Behind that golden giant beast were seven or eight other figures—some crimson, some pitch-black, some dark green—all flying toward the castle.
"Dragons..." Wylit finally made a sound, but it was so hoarse it didn't sound like his own.
He was able to recognize dragons because the only entity the Crabs Claw Peninsula ever submitted to was the dragon family, the Targaryens. Every family on the peninsula would carve images of themselves kneeling before dragons on their castle gates to commemorate the respected Queen Visenya.
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