The burning of Grey Gallows

The morning light of House Mertyns Mistwood, tinged with the dampness of the Rainwood, bathed the docks in a pale gold hue as it swept over the piers.

The green vines climbing the tower still held the dew from last night, which would fall with a gust of wind, leaving tiny wet streaks on the stone pavement. These streaks mingled with the footsteps of dockworkers carrying supplies, creating a unique cacophony of a Stormlands morning.

The torch atop the tower had not yet gone out, like a broken star fallen onto the gray-black city wall, facing the shimmering light on the sea. That light did not come entirely from the rising sun, but also from the cold glint reflected by the armor of the Joint Fleet, flickering in the morning mist of the Dornish Sea.

This was the morning when the younger generation of Stormlands set off for Grey Gallows. The air was filled with the salty, fishy smell, the aroma of wheat cakes, and the chill of polished sword sheaths.

On the dock, maids from the Maitland family carried wicker baskets, handing out bread wrapped in coarse cloth and goat's milk in earthenware jars to the conscripted soldiers. Occasionally, a young soldier's eyes would redden as he received the food, and the older maids would pat him on the shoulder and gently comfort him, saying that after the war, the castle's hearth would still be warm with soup.

Daemon stood at the bow of the "Blackfyre," his fingertips brushing against the Dragonglass panels on the deck, the cool sensation spreading from his fingertips to his palm.

The marks left by the Smith ' overnight reinforcement are still clearly visible. The steel nails are embedded in the gaps of the red rock, gleaming coldly, and the nail heads still bear the hammer marks left by the Smith when they hurriedly hammered.

He looked down at the sea beneath the boat. The morning light pierced the surface, illuminating the tiny fish swimming nimbly around the hull, seemingly unaware of the dangers of the battlefield ahead.

Grey Ghost curled up at his feet, a small, light gray dragon with half a dried fish in its mouth. It had been specially delivered by a servant of the Metalin family this morning. It was said to have been caught early in the morning by a fishing boat in the Dornish Sea, and was exceptionally fresh. At this moment, it was gently poking at the dried fish with its claws, occasionally glancing up in the direction of Grey Gallows, its vertical pupils showing a hint of vigilance.

"Your Highness, Lorent and the others are ready." Roland Clinton's voice came from the gangway. He was dressed in a scarlet outfit, with the longsword he had lost to Daemon in the tournament hanging at his waist.

The griffin pattern embroidered on the scabbard of the longsword gleamed in the morning light, the gold thread slightly raised on the pattern. It was embroidered by his mother herself before she passed away, and now he would carefully wipe the griffin pattern with a soft cloth before each battle.

He strode onto the deck, his boots making a steady sound as they stepped over the planks. Behind him followed the brothers Theogood and Fell, Theogood clutching two short knives in his hands, Willie sheaths wrapped in moisture -Fell proof linen.

Willie carried a longbow on his back, and the green-feathered arrows in his quiver were neatly arranged. These were special sea arrows given to him by archers on the Redwyne Fleet of Riverlands and Arbor when he was in the Joint Fleet.

Daemon nodded, his gaze sweeping across the dock:

Three silver ships from House Velaryon had raised their sails, their hulls snow-white, like three bolts of lightning resting in the harbor of Mistwood. The sailors were adjusting the winches of the Dragonglass ballistae to the optimal angle, with the muzzles aimed towards the Dornish Sea.

Twenty longships from the Stormlands stood in a row, their rams covered with iron plates. Borros Baratheon stood aboard the lead ship, the "Storm's Breath," his left shoulder bandage replaced with a new one. He gripped a broadsword and addressed his men behind him with a passionate voice, suppressing even the pain from his wound.

"Does the serpent of Dorne think it's safe hiding in Grey Gallows?" Borros's voice pierced the morning mist. "Today we'll burn their supply ships and let that Sand Snakes bitch know that the seas of our Stormlands are not a place for her to run wild!"

The boys behind him raised their swords in response: Byron Swann's longsword, Andrew Estermont's sword, and Bryce Caron's short blade drew a cold arc in the morning light.

As Daemon watched this scene, he suddenly recalled the time last year when he and Borros were hunting around the Griffin's Roost, fighting over roasted meat. The playful banter of that time had now transformed into camaraderie and trust on the battlefield.

He touched the amulet in his pocket, feeling the familiar warmth on his fingertips, as if he could see Gael reminding him to "be careful of the ballistae" at the King's Landing docks.

"Once we deal with Obara, we can head back to King's Landing." He murmured to himself. The Grey Ghost seemed to understand, nuzzling his hand and making a soft "purring" sound.

"Let's go!" Roland blew the brass horn, the sound long and resonant, sweeping across the waves of the Dornish Sea and echoing in the harbor for a long time.

As soon as the bugle call ended, the sailors on each ship immediately sprang into action, untying the mooring lines and raising the sails with practiced speed and efficiency.

Lorent led three fast boats out of the harbor first, the yellow and black Sleeping Lion patterns on the sails unfurling in the wind like a lion awakening and poised to pounce.

Theogood and Willie stood at the bow, their eyes scanning the sea warily. The sea was calm and still, with only the morning mist still lingering, forming a faint haze on the distant surface.

Their mission was to scout the route of the Obara supply ships. According to the prisoners' confessions last night, Dorne's supply ships would depart from Grey Gallows every day at noon, carrying food and fresh water towards Cape of the Broken Arm.

The prisoner was captured on a small island near Mistwood. At first, he was stubborn, but when Theogood took out the silver coins he had hidden in his pocket, the money-grubbing fellow panicked and confessed everything about the supply ship.

Daemon rode the Glutton into the air, the Black Dragon's wings sweeping over the mast of the silver ship, the wind it created fluttering the sailors' clothes and making the sails rustle.

The Glutton's scales gleamed with a dark luster in the morning light, and each flap of its wings created a powerful gust of air, making the waves on the sea surface even more turbulent.

The Grey Ghost followed closely behind, its light gray dragon silhouette almost blending into the morning mist. Only occasionally did it unleash a small burst of dragon breath, burning brief bright streaks in the mist to mark the location of the reef.

The sea below gradually widened, the morning mist slowly dissipated, and the outline of Grey Gallows emerged in the southeast:

It was a castle built on a black rocky reef. The reef was steep and plunged almost vertically into the sea. Waves crashed against the reef, splashing up huge sprays and making a rumbling sound.

Originally a castle used to imprison prisoners, its walls were built of Dorne's unique red sandstone, but now they have been reinforced by Obara, as if wrapped in a thick layer of iron. The iron gleams coldly in the sunlight, and the scars left by the craftsmen during the forging process are still visible on the iron layer, making it look particularly ferocious.

Ballistae were mounted on the cliffs on both sides of the castle, their muzzles pointing towards the sea, and poisoned arrows were faintly visible in their quivers, perfectly matching the description given by the Dorne spies captured by Daemon: "Quenched with the Tears of Lys."

"Your Highness, a scout ship!" Lorent's voice came from below. The speedboat suddenly turned, Theogood's dagger was already drawn, and Willie's longbow was nocked.

Three small, gray-painted boats emerged from behind the rocks. Their sails had no coat of arms, but were adorned with barbed chains, suggesting they were Dorne scout ships, specifically designed to entangle enemy vessels and buy time.

Willie's arrow flew first, the green-feathered arrow piercing precisely through the shoulder armor of a scout, who screamed and fell into the sea;

As the two ships drew near, Theogood leaped aboard the other vessel, wielding his twin short swords with lightning speed, instantly dispatching two crew members.

Lorent gripped his longsword and severed the entangled chains. The speedboat seized the opportunity to ram the scout ship's side, and amidst the flying splinters, the last scout ship was forced to surrender.

"Their supply ships are ahead!" Theogood pried the information out of the prisoners, pointing to the sea west of Grey Gallows.

Daemon looked in that direction and saw five cargo ships bearing the House Martell insignia approaching. The ships were heavy, clearly loaded with supplies. To make matters worse, two Tyrosh mercenary ships were escorting the cargo ships on either side, their decks filled with mercenaries in purple and green armor, each holding Myr crossbow.

"They're remnants of the Triarchy!" Daemon's heart sank. Obara was indeed still colluding with the Triarchy; the Tyrosh mercenaries from the previous interception battle were just the tip of the iceberg.

He immediately adjusted his orders. "Roland, take the longships and entangle the mercenary ships; House Velaryon's silver ships, circle around to the rear of the cargo ships and use the Dragonglass ballistae to shoot at the hull; I'll take the Glutton and burn the sails of the mercenary ships; and Grey Ghost, come with me and disrupt Grey Gallows's ballistae!"

As soon as the command was given, the Dragon Mark on his right shoulder felt slightly warm, and Glutton, in perfect unison with Daemon, began to swoop down, its huge wings creating powerful air currents that churned the sea into turbulent waves.

It opened its mouth, and jet-black Dragonfire spewed towards the sails of the Tyrosh mercenary ship. The sails instantly caught fire, billowing thick smoke that obscured the mercenaries' vision.

The mercenaries panicked. Some tried to put out the fire with water from the buckets, while others looked around with their crossbows, but they couldn't find their target at all.

Grey Ghost skillfully used its agility to stealthily circle around to the cliffs of Grey Gallows amidst the thick smoke and sea fog. Its dragon breath accurately struck the winch of the ballista, charring the wooden winch black. The Dorne crossbowmen frantically tried to put out the fire but had no time to fire. This cowardly dragon seemed to have mastered these professional tactics.

Roland's longship seized the opportunity to rush forward, and the Stormlands ' scions, shields raised, leaped aboard the mercenary ship.

Bryce Caron's dagger pierced a mercenary's throat with precision; his swordsmanship possessed the agility unique to Nightsong, much like his sister Elena's dance moves.

Alaric Dondarrion and Criston Cole fought back to back. Alaric's longsword cleaved through the mercenary's armor, while Criston used his shield to block incoming crossbow bolts. Their teamwork was as seamless as that of longtime comrades-in-arms.

The House Velaryon silver ship also circled around to the rear of the cargo ship, and the Dragonglass ballistae fired simultaneously, the arrows piercing the bottom of the cargo ship, and seawater surged in.

The Dorne sailors on the cargo ship screamed and jumped into the sea, only to be stopped by the Stormlands longships. They were either to surrender or be hacked down with axes. Although Borros did not go to sea, he had already arranged for Andrew Estermont to guard the sea with a ship to prevent anyone from escaping.

Seeing this, Obara on the Grey Gallows was so angry that she shouted on the city wall, her long hair flying wildly in the wind, and her spear slammed into the iron wall.

She hadn't expected that the "good-for-nothings" of the Stormlands would find their supply line so quickly, nor had she anticipated that the Targaryen's Black Dragon would be so swift. She had originally thought that the Tyrosh mercenaries and ballistae could delay the reinforcements to Dorne, but now that dream had vanished.

"Withdraw! Back to Dorne!" Obara ordered through gritted teeth, her voice filled with resentment.

She knew that if she continued to hold out, they would be wiped out. Grey Gallows's supplies had been cut off; without food and fresh water, they couldn't last three days.

So he had no choice but to turn around and shout to the soldiers behind him, "Pack your things and prepare to retreat! Hurry up!"

The soldiers dared not delay and rushed down the city wall to gather their belongings, throwing the castle into chaos.

Dorne's ships furled their sails and fled towards Cape of the Broken Arm. Glutton tried to give chase, but was stopped by Daemon's gentle touch on his back.

He knew that one should not pursue a desperate enemy, and that the Dornish Marches still needed to be defended, so he could not commit all his troops to the pursuit.

As the battle gradually subsided, the midday sun shone brightly over the Dornish Sea.

Most of the cargo ships were sunk or captured. The Tyrosh mercenaries were either dead or surrendered. Broken ship planks and scattered grain floated on the sea. The House Velaryon sailors were busy salvaging usable supplies, while the Stormlands youths cheered around the campfire, their faces full of victorious smiles.

Daemon rode the Glutton down onto the deck of the Blackfyre. The Grey Ghost immediately came over, a purple-green thread dangling from its mouth from the mercenary ship, as if it were showing off. Ever since it had ripped these things off the Lys ship once, it seemed to know that these threads were as valuable as treasure.

Daemon smiled and patted the little dragon's head, then looked towards Grey Gallows in the distance—the iron-clad castle was now deserted, with only the wind whipping the tattered House Martell banners, which fluttered forlornly on the walls.

"Your Highness, Lord Borros has sent word that Byron Swann has secured Stonehelm and the villages of Red Watch, and the Dorne mercenaries dare not launch any more attacks!" Rayford Rosby, who had rushed from the Stepstones, arrived hurriedly, holding the newly received message, his face beaming. "Also, we've received reports of ravens from the Stepstones; Prince Baelon has stabilized the defenses, and Duke Taimond has left three of his Westerlands ships to assist in the defense!"

Damon nodded, relieved. The crisis at Windfury Point was temporarily averted, the Dornish Sand Serpents were forced back, and the Stormlands' sea frontier was finally safe.

He walked to the ship's railing, gazing in the direction of King's Landing. The black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder was still slightly warm. Gai Gael should have received the ravens he had sent earlier, right? He wondered if she was eating well in King's Landing, and if she was thinking of him.

"What do we do next?" Roland walked over, holding a glass of ale, and handed it to Daemon. "Grey Gallows is empty, the Dornish have retreated, should we go back to the Stepstones to provide support?"

Daemon took the glass, took a sip, and the rich aroma of the ale spread across his tongue. "Leave a few ships to guard Mistwood, with Michael Metaling and Robin Bizbury in charge. We'll take the main force back to the Stepstones. The Triarchy isn't completely resolved yet, Racallio and Crahas are still in prison, and Lord Tyrosh might send reinforcements. We can't let our guard down."

As the sun set, the sails of the Joint Fleet gradually moved away from the Dornish Sea and headed towards the Stepstones.

Glutton and Grey Ghost circled above the fleet, the roars of dragons mingling with the sound of the waves, like a victory song.

Daemon stood at the bow of the Blackfyre, the Blackfyre planted on the deck, the dragon pattern on the hilt gleaming in the afterglow. He knew the war was not over, but as long as he had these brothers by his side, the Dragonfire and the Blackfyre, and the love of King's Landing's Landing, he could protect every piece of sea he needed to protect.

The distant Mistwood gradually shrank, and the torches of the Owl Tower lit up again, like a star guarding the Cape Wrath.

Daemon gently touched the amulet in his pocket and whispered, "Gael, wait a little longer, I'll be back soon."