An "old friend" on Tarth

As the blue and white sails of Redwyne's fleet cleaved the azure sea, Tarth finally unfolded into view. This land, known as the "Sapphire Isle," was indeed as dazzling as the legends had described.

The clear seawater gleamed like jewels, white sand beaches meandered along the coastline, distant mountains were covered with lush vegetation, and waterfalls cascaded down cliffs, weaving into delicate silver curtains in the sunlight.

The Glutton and Dreamfyre hovered above the fleet, while the black shadow of the Black Dragon and the pale light of the Blue Dragon fell on the sea, attracting fishermen on the shore to stop and look up at the rare dragon shadows.

As soon as the "Arbor" docked, Big Horas Redwyne the Elder led Alyn and Little Horas off the gangplank.

Big Horas, dressed in a blue robe embroidered with grape patterns and with an invoice hanging from his waist, glanced at the crowd waiting at the dock. The Earl of Tarth's agent was a thin man in a sky-blue robe, with the four quarters of the House Tarth coat of arms (a yellow sun on a rose background and a white moon on a sky-blue background) pinned to his chest. Surrounding him were several minor lords and merchants from Tarth, some holding wool samples and others carrying wooden boxes full of sapphire jewelry, clearly waiting to trade with House Redwyne.

"Sir Mark, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." Big Horas extended his hand and shook hands with the other man, his fingertips inadvertently brushing against the other man's cuff—where some wool fibers clung, clearly indicating that the goods had just been inspected.

"The wine from Arbor has arrived as agreed. The best vintage is in cargo hold number three, along with the oak barrels you requested. They're all newly made and can last for five years without spoiling."

Alyn Redwyne stood beside his uncle, his orange hair brushing against his cheeks in the sea breeze, holding an account book in his hands, diligently recording. "Uncle, Mark said he wanted fifty barrels last time, and this time he's added twenty more. He also wants some dried green grapes."

Big Horas nodded, his gaze shifting to the wool bales piled on the dock. "I need to take a look at your wool first. Tarth wool is known for its fineness and softness; if it's mixed with coarse wool, the price will have to be driven down."

He crouched down, casually tore open a wool bag, picked up a few strands of fiber with his fingertips, and examined them against the sunlight. "Not bad, better than last year's. But this batch will have to be sold at 70% off, after all, our wine was transported here at great risk across the Narrow Sea."

Little Horas Redwyne, though still quite young, joined in and poked the wool bag like his uncle, making Mund Hightower laugh out loud.

"Little Horas, you'd better watch carefully, don't get fooled." Mund held up a newly bought seashell whistle and blew it with a clear, crisp sound. "Last time in Rain House, I even saw you buying cheap wheat cakes as rations."

Little Horas blushed and reached out to snatch Mund's whistle. "I wasn't paying attention! With Uncle here this time, it's definitely safe!" The two boys chased and played around, making the surrounding merchants laugh.

Bethany Hightower shook her head helplessly, walked to Big Horas's side, her pale purple dress sweeping across the pebbles of the dock. "Sir, I entrust my brother to your care. Don't let him get into trouble with Little Horas."

"Don't worry, Miss Hightower." Big Horas nodded with a smile. "Young Master Mund is a smart boy. With some business experience gained from working with us, he'll definitely be more adept at managing the Oldtown's commerce in the future."

On the other side, the girls had already gathered together. Gael held a sapphire bracelet, her pale purple eyes filled with delight. "This bracelet is so beautiful, even more exquisite than the jewelry in King's Landing's Landing." Johanna stood beside her, a freshly picked white wildflower tucked into her black hair. Her gaze fell on the bracelet, then quietly shifted away. She remembered the jewelry box her mother in Stonehelm had left her before her death; it had once contained similar gems, but her uncle had considered them "useless" and locked them in a cabinet.

Mysaria noticed her disappointment, tugged at her hand, and handed her a piece of honey cake she had just bought. "Johanna, try this. Tarth's honey cake is even sweeter than Riverrun's."

Alys Rivers stood to the side, holding a herb she had picked from the seaside, her green eyes gleaming with curiosity.

J

Is this "seaweed"? It can treat burns; with a little mixing, it should be more effective than the ointment from Citadel.

As Daemon walked over, he saw the girls discussing herbs with Alys Rivers, while the boys followed behind. Alyn was explaining grape cultivation on Arbor to Daemon Corlys the others, and Mund and Little Horas were still fighting over a seashell whistle. The sunlight bathed them, gilding them with a warm gold, and even the sea breeze seemed gentler.

"Prince Daemon, Gael!" A loud voice rang out, and Cameron Tarth strode over with his Earl.

The Earl, dressed in a dark blue brocade robe embroidered with yellow sun patterns and a longsword with an ivory hilt at his waist, possessed a dignified countenance. Yet, upon seeing Daemon, his gaze softened. His eyes swept repeatedly over Daemon's purple eyes and upright figure, even reaching out to touch Daemon's silver hair before restraining himself, his voice trembling slightly. "What similar eyes—and that same tall, upright figure. If only his hair were cut shorter, a medium-length style, paired with that refined and humble appearance, and that wild, easygoing, and unrestrained dragon blood hidden in his eyes—it's truly a perfect match—"

Daemon's heart stirred slightly. He had seen portraits of Aemon Targaryen many times—the crown prince who was assassinated on Tarth, who did indeed bear a striking resemblance to him. He had also secretly compared himself to the portraits of Aemon Targaryen, especially the purple eyes and the figure. If he were not certain that his body still resembled his appearance in his childhood in his previous life, and if he did not know that he was a descendant of his Baelon, he might have doubted his bloodline.

But the world was unaware of this and believed him to be Aemon's illegitimate son. Even the Earl, who had fought alongside Aemon, fell into this misunderstanding.

"Earl Excellency is too kind," Daemon said, bowing politely. "His Highness Aemon is a hero of the Seven Kingdoms; how could I possibly compare myself to him?"

"You need not be so modest. The ignorant world may deny your identity, but to me, you need not hide your father-son relationship with Prince Aemon. Call him father as you please!" Earl Cameron stepped forward, grasping Daemon's hand tightly, so firmly that Daemon frowned slightly. "Prince Aemon died from an arrow to the throat while helping Tarth fight the Myr pirates—I still remember the way he fell, exactly the same as the way you stand here now."

He paused, his tone almost pleading, "Your Highness, please stay overnight at the Evenfall Hall tonight so I can fulfill my duty as host. I have arranged guards to ensure you are not disturbed in the slightest."

Daemon was about to decline a ship's offer to depart after replenishing supplies, but seeing the earnestness in the Earl's eyes, and the undisguised guilt and longing, he swallowed his words.

Just as Rayford Rosby and his men were about to say, "His Highness is highly skilled in martial arts and doesn't need any guards," they were interrupted by Cameron Earl's earnest, almost urgent gaze. They could only reply, "With us protecting His Earl, please rest assured and trust us, Your Highness."

However, Earl Cameron waved his hand to interrupt, saying, "No! While your guards are certainly reliable, our guards on Tarth are more familiar with the terrain. I have already mobilized all the guards in the city, and even tripled the number of sentries at the Evenfall Hall. We must ensure His Highness's safety."

Left with no other choice, Daemon had to agree and asked Rayford to inform Sir Big Horas that the departure would be postponed by one day.

Earl Cameron immediately smiled, took Daemon's hand, and led him towards the Evenfall Hall: "Come with me! The banquet is ready. There are lobsters freshly caught from the sea, as well as Tarth's most famous roast lamb. Even His Highness and Princess's dragons have been provided with the finest beef and lamb from the entire island, ensuring they are completely satisfied."

Evenfall Hall sits High Hermitage on Tarth, its grey-white stone walls covered in ivy, and the quarter-coat banners atop the fort fluttering in the wind.

Upon entering the hall, the long table was already laden with dishes: golden-brown roasted lobsters glistening with oil, lamb legs sprinkled with rosemary, fruit platters piled with fresh peaches and green grapes, and jugs of Arbor wine, its pale golden liquid shimmering in silver glasses.

"Your Highness, try this lobster." Earl Cameron personally peeled a lobster for Daemon and handed it to him. "The lobsters in Tarth are even fatter than those across the Narrow Sea; people come here specifically to catch them every summer."

As he served the food, he recounted the story of Prince Aemon: "When Prince Aemon visited, he sat in this very spot. He ate three lobsters and remarked that the seafood of Tarth was the best in the Seven Kingdoms. Later, when we went to fight the pirates of Myr, he was at the forefront, and his swordsmanship was better than anyone I had ever seen—"

Daemon listened quietly, nodding occasionally in response. He could sense the Earl's nostalgia in his words and understand the weight behind this enthusiasm—a sense of guilt towards the deceased and compensation for being "the son of the deceased."

The Glutton and Dreamfyre were eating in the open space outside the castle. The Black Dragon dragon was devouring mutton, while the blue dragon was gracefully pecking at beef, which attracted the attention of the servants who stopped to watch with awe in their eyes.

Halfway through the banquet, Earl Cameron suddenly clapped his hands, and a tall, handsome young man walked in. He was wearing silver armor with the quarter coat of arms of the Tarth embroidered on his breastplate; he was none other than the Earl's eldest son, Budimir Tarth.

"Budimir, come and greet His Highness Daemon." Earl Budimir beckoned his son forward, his tone solemn. "From this day forward, you will serve His Highness and protect him with your life. If anything goes wrong, I will hold you responsible."

Budimir knelt on one knee, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Budimir Tarth of the House Tarth is willing to serve His Highness Daemon until death."

Before Daemon could speak, the Earl summoned a young woman—she was wearing a simple gray dress, taller than the average girl, but with an unusually resolute gaze; she was none other than the Earl's daughter, Brienne Tarth.

"Brienne, you should come with His Highness too. You're skilled and can help Budimir with his protection. You can also help His Highness protect the princesses."

Brienne bowed and said in a clear voice, "Yes, Father."

Daemon was somewhat surprised and was about to decline when Earl Cameron pressed his shoulder. "Your Highness, this is the sentiment of the Tarth family. It will put my mind at ease if you take them with you. Prince Aemon was ambushed by the Myr people because of my negligence and lack of sufficient guards—I don't want to see anything like that happen again."

The next evening, the time for parting finally arrived. Earl Cameron and his family saw them off at the dock, where Budimir and Brienne, already packed, stood in Daemon's party.

The Earl suddenly stepped forward and embraced Daemon tightly, his voice choked with emotion. "My child, protect yourself. No matter how skilled you are, no matter if you are a true dragon riding on the back of a dragon, you must always be wary of the hidden arrows of villains lurking in the shadows."

Daemon's eyes welled up slightly. Even if it was concern stemming from a "misunderstanding" of his identity in this life, this genuine affection was enough to move this Black Dragon who had lacked love in his past life. So he gently patted the Earl's back and silently replied, "I will, Earl Excellency."

The fleet slowly sailed away from Tarth, the sapphire-blue sea gradually receding into the distance, and the outline of the Evenfall Hall shrank into a small dot.

Daemon leaned on the railing of the ship, gazing in the direction of Tarth, lost in thought for a long time. The Earl's eyes, filled with guilt, longing, and love for the son of his deceased friend, were etched into his heart like a brand.

Moreover, the Earl whispered in his ear, "If you need us, the fleet of Tarth will always fight for you," a sentiment that was deeply etched into his heart.

"It's late at night, and the wind is chilly." Gael walked over, followed by Brienne, carrying a wool cloak.

Brienne took the cloak from the princess and carefully draped it over the prince, who had grown even taller. Her movements were slightly clumsy, but exceptionally earnest.

Daemon turned around, looking at Gael's gentle eyes and then at Brienne's resolute profile. He suddenly realized that this trip to Tarth had not only brought him loyal guards, but also a profound sense of gratitude—a protection that transcended blood ties and stemmed from an old friend, like the light of a twilight star, warm and steadfast.

The Glutton and Dreamfyre circled above the fleet, and the dragon's roar echoed in the twilight, as if drawing a gentle conclusion to this brief yet profound encounter.

Daemon knew that Earl Cameron Tarth's advice would serve as a warning, constantly reminding him that on this path of rewriting history, there was not only glory in blood and fire, but also hidden risks, requiring him to be cautious at every step, to protect those around him, and to protect himself.