Dragons roost at Crab Claw

The wind from Crab Claw Peninsula, carrying a salty, damp sea air and the humid smell of the swamp, greeted the fleet sailing from King's Landing.

Daemon hovered in mid-air, riding his Glutton, overlooking the land entwined with pine forests and swamps.

The coastline meanders like a snake, with light-colored sand beaches repeatedly washed by the waves. Further inland are groves of dark green pine forests, with swamps glistening with water visible in the woods. In the distance, the hills expose reddish-brown rocks, like a congealed bloodstain.

This was a desolate land, yet it was the foundation upon which he chose to embark on his path of conquest, the cradle of a future Westeros that would rival King's Landing's Landing.

"Your Highness, Earl Berna Dyre Den and the House Crabb are waiting on the shore." Jarman Waters's voice came from the transport ship below. He scanned the crowd on the shore with his one eye, his hand on the short sword at his waist, watching each figure warily.

Daemon swooped down, and the Glutton's dragon claws landed on the beach, stirring up a cloud of sand.

The Grey Ghost jumped off his shoulder, curiously rubbing its nose against the seashells on the ground, but was startled by a strange noise coming from afar and shrank back.

That was the flapping sound of waterbirds startled into flight from the swamp, exceptionally clear in this silent land.

On the shore, Count Bren Berna Brun, dressed in a dark brown outfit with a rusty longsword hanging at his waist, was followed by his cousin Rosso Brune, heir of House Bren of Brown Burrow Mountain, who had accompanied him to King's King's Landing at last year's tournament, and a dozen or so burly guards. Their robes were stained with mud, indicating that they had just come from the vicinity of the swamp that morning.

Rupert Crabb, who had returned to Crab Claw Peninsula ahead of time, stood beside him, but today he was unusually serious, just like when he first met Daemon on the tour. The marsh marigold emblem on his blue robe and white armor fluttered in the wind.

His appearance today was practically a carbon copy of his uncle, Clymont Crabb, who served as a member of the Kingsguard. Upon seeing Daemon, he immediately and solemnly knelt on one knee. "Rupert Crabb of the House Crabb of Crabclaw Crab Claw Peninsula, along with his family members, respectfully welcomes Your Highness!"

Seeing this scene, Berna couldn't help but wonder if his childhood friend and rival Raynavor, his thick-browed, big-eyed younger brother, had become a different person again. How could this boy still resemble the "half- Wildlings" kid from their Crab Claw Peninsula?

No, back then, when Raynavor and his uncle, Ser Clymont Crabb, were talking about Ser Clement Clayber, their father had told them about him before he died. When Ser Clymont Crabb first returned to Crab Claw Peninsula from King's Landing's Landing, he seemed to look just like this!

Although his thoughts had wandered elsewhere, Bernard immediately bowed, his voice tinged with reverence. "The Brun family of Dreadfort is willing to serve Your Highness with utmost loyalty."

After all, his father had taught him a lot about discernment by kneeling before His Majesty Clymont Crabb the Conciliator and his wife during their tour of Crab Claw Peninsula.

Daemon raised his hand to signal them to stand up, his gaze sweeping over the crowd behind them. There were farmers dressed in coarse linen clothes, private soldiers holding battle axes, and several hunters carrying bows and arrows. Their eyes held both awe for the dragon and unease about the unknown.

This is the essence of Crab Claw Peninsula: unruly yet yearning for stability.

"No need for formalities." Daemon's voice was steady, his Blackfyre slung across his waist, the dragon pattern on the scabbard gleaming coldly in the sunlight. "I have not come to conquer, but to make this land, which is considered barren by the world, grow crops and raise sails on the coast."

From this day forward, all who follow me shall be allocated land according to their labor, artisans shall be paid according to their skills, and all private soldiers I conscript shall be incorporated into the Crownlands's Guard, receiving the same treatment as the Gold Cloaks City Watch of King's Landing's Landing.

These words were like a pebble thrown into stagnant water; murmurs arose from the crowd, and the tense atmosphere eased somewhat.

An old farmer with a wrinkled face asked tremblingly, "Your Highness, crops can't grow in swamps, we—"

We can only make a living by hunting.

"Swamps can be drained, wastelands can be cultivated." Daemon pointed to the distant coastline. "The craftsmen of Myr will teach you how to dig canals to drain the water, and the farmers of Tyrosh have brought seeds of salt-tolerant crops. Within three months, I want the first wheat fields to appear on this land; within six months, the harbor docks will be able to accommodate ocean-going merchant ships."

He turned to Rayford Rosby behind him and solemnly instructed him, "Distribute supplies according to plan. Settle the refugees on the High Hermitage at the edge of the pine forest. The craftsmen should immediately build workshops and temporary fortresses. Earl Berna, you take men to clear the passages along the edge of the swamp. Sir Rupert, you lead your private army to patrol the coastline to prevent attacks by pirates and Wildlings."

"Yes, sir!" the two replied in unison, turning around to begin deploying their men.

Gael rode Dreamfyre to the side, her pale blue dragon wings gently sweeping across the ground, bringing a cool breeze.

She skillfully carried the food box to Daemon's side, opened it, and saw that it contained warm honey cakes. "I just had the servant heat these up, have some to tide you over."

Before leaving, Vaegon told us that while the celestial configuration of this land was indeed suitable for development, it also harbored malevolent energy, and that we should have the guards be extra vigilant at night.

Daemon took the honey cake, pinched off a piece, and handed it to Grey Ghost. Little Dragon immediately grabbed it and hid to the side to eat it.

He looked into Gael's light purple eyes and smiled faintly, "With the Glutton and Dreamfyre around, even if there's any malevolent energy, it will have to give us a wide berth."

It was hard on you who took Little Mei and Hannah to comfort the women and children, especially the refugees from Tyrosh and the slaves who had broken their chains. They were far from their homeland and needed reassurance.

Gael nodded, turned and walked towards the place where the refugees had gathered. Her light purple skirt looked like a blooming flower among the weeds.

She had Little Mei and the others take out the fabric and needles she had prepared beforehand, and, imitating what her mother, Queen Alysanne, had taught her, distributed them one by one to the women in the group. "These are for you. You can mend clothes in your spare time. You will be paid per piece for the finished garments. If there is no one to look after the children, I will have tents set up and people taught them to read."

Gratitude appeared on the women's faces, and their initial fear gradually gave way to anticipation.

A Tyrosh woman, holding a child, said Common Tongue broken Westeros, "Your Highness, may we—may we make our home here?"

"Of course," Gael nodded gently with a smile, "As long as you're willing to work, this is your home."

Just then, Jarman Waters strode over, his voice low. "Your Highness, Alys Rivers has arrived. She brought several natives who claim to be familiar with the mountain paths, saying they can help us subdue the Wildlings tribes deep within."

Daemon frowned slightly and turned to look. He saw Alys Rivers wearing a dark green cloak, the hood covering most of her face, revealing only her deep eyes.

Behind her followed three natives with skin tanned dark by the sun, wrapped in animal skins, holding stone axes, their eyes warily scanning the dragons and people around them.

"Your Highness," Alys's voice was slightly hoarse, "the Black Hill Tribe deep in the Crab Claw Peninsula has lived in caves for generations and is familiar with the secrets of the swamps and forests. Although they are unruly, they respect the strong. With my mediation, it won't be difficult to persuade them to surrender."

Daemon stared into her eyes, trying to read her mind, but saw only a deep, unfathomable calm.

He knew that Alys was hiding a secret, and he was especially surprised to learn for the first time that she had such a powerful network of connections that could win the trust of the Wildlings.

Moreover, if we can win over these Wildlings of Crab Claw Peninsula today, then tomorrow we can win over the swamp tribes from the Riverlands to the the Neck in the the North; the Mountain Clans of the Mountains of the Moon in the Vale; the Wildlings Free Folk Beyond the Wall the Wall; and even the refugees that have existed in Westeros since ancient times.

But this was a time when manpower was needed, Daemon couldn't and never wanted to think about it too much. After all, the mystery surrounding this woman, in Bethany Hightower's words, was sometimes even thicker than that of his own mysterious Black Dragon.

Moreover, her current assistance in recruiting Wildlings tribes like the Black Hill Tribe to build her territory will indeed save her a lot of trouble.

"Okay," he finally nodded, replying with feigned concern, "But you must take me with you the entire time, and you are not allowed to contact the natives privately. If they make any unusual moves, report to me immediately. I'm worried about your safety."

A meaningful smile appeared on Alys's lips. She did not refute, but turned to the natives and spoke a few words in an obscure language. The natives hesitated for a moment, but ultimately followed her lead and walked into the depths of the pine forest.

Jarman immediately gave Harlan Hunter a look, and the two of them followed silently.

As the sun set, the outline of the temporary camp fortress became visible on the High Hermitage.

The craftsmen of Myr quickly directed the refugees to build stone walls. The foundation was made of rammed stones, and thick wooden planks were piled on top. Although simple, it was quite sturdy.

On the distant coastline, several craftsmen were measuring the water depth and planning the location of the dock. The setting sun cast long shadows of them, like marks rooted in the earth.

Daemon stood atop the High Hermitage, watching the bustling scene before him. Glutton lay sprawled around him, their black dragon scales tinged with gold and red by the setting sun. Dreamfyre hovered low in the sky, and pale blue Dragonfire occasionally swept across the swamp, startling the hidden beasts into scattering in all directions.

He recalled once again the bloodstains on that nameless Red Grassland from his past life, and the thick fog on Dragonstone. Looking at this vibrant, wild land now, his heart was filled with determination.

"Your Highness, Larys and his men have sent a secret report from King's Landing." Rayford Rosby approached, holding a scroll of parchment, his voice low. "Otto Hightower proposed at the Small Council that a Royal Maester and an official of the Iron Throne be sent to assist you in governing Crab Claw Peninsula. It's clear he wants to plant spies around you."

In addition, House Tyrell of the Reach, through their heir Garlan Tyrell and his great-uncle Martyn, on behalf of their Duke Mathos Tyrell, also sent a letter today, offering to provide food aid on the condition that their wine be purchased in priority over goods from Arbor of Redwyne.

Daemon took the secret report, his fingertips tracing the words on the paper, a cold glint in his eyes. "Have Larys reply that the maesters recruited from the Citadel can come, but they can only be responsible for education and must not interfere in military or political affairs;

The summoned officials may also come, but they must obey our orders. After all, they are the ones who eagerly came to send people to serve us, so how could we bear to refuse them?

Those are all valuable human resources; our Master of Laws, Otto Hightower, is really willing to spend them.

Moreover, in Westeros, those who are literate, capable of reading and writing, and even able to assist in governance and local Westeros are extremely rare.

We can also take the House Tyrell ' grain; after all, it's a freebie. Duke Mathos was willing to agree to Martyn Martin and Garlan's offer to give us such a low price to build goodwill. Why wouldn't we take advantage of such a good deal?

As for purchasing wine, we should do so at market price and not treat it specially. After all, how many of these "Wildlings" on our Crab Claw Peninsula actually enjoy drinking the elegant wines from their Reach Highgarden?

If Otto wants to plant spies, then so be it. I want to see if his men can establish a foothold in this land.

He turned to look at Gael, who was instructing the craftsmen on how to build the clock tower. The afterglow of the setting sun shone on her, as if she were gilded.

Daemon knew the road ahead wouldn't be smooth; there might be Otto's schemes, the threat of the natives, and the spying of external forces, all lurking in the shadows.

But as long as there are dragons, Gael, and people willing to follow him in exploring, this wild land will eventually become a prosperous new city, the foundation upon which he protects everything.

As night deepened, the starry sky over Crab Claw Peninsula became exceptionally bright. Without the glare of King's Landing's lights, the Milky Way stretched across the sky like a dazzling ribbon.

A bonfire was lit in the makeshift fortress, and refugees sang around it. Craftsmen hammered iron in their workshops, the crisp sounds mingling with the low murmurs of the dragon, becoming the prelude to the first night on this land.

Daemon leaned against the Glutton, Gael sat beside him, her head resting gently on his shoulder.

The Grey Ghost curled up at their feet, a piece of unfinished honey cake dangling from its mouth, making satisfied snoring sounds.

"What do you think this harbor should be called?" Gael's voice was soft, like an evening breeze rustling through a meadow.

Daemon gazed at the distant, dark coastline, where the harbor lighthouse would rise, illuminating the shipping lanes of the Narrow Sea.

He said softly, "Let's call it Dragon's Roost Port, so that true dragons may rest here, and hope may take root here."

Gael smiled and nodded, her eyes reflecting the light of the campfire, like two tiny stars hidden within them.

In the distant pine forest, Alys Rivers stood in the shadows, watching the two embracing on the High Hermitage, her fingertips gently stroking the herb pouch at her waist.

She could see the future prosperity of Dragon's Roost City, and she could also see the hidden storms, but she didn't intend to say it.

Some destinies, in the end, must be navigated step by step by oneself.

The campfire flickered, the dragon's roar was deep, and the first night on Crab Claw Peninsula slowly passed by amidst the weariness and hope of pioneering. But the legend of Dragon's Roost Port had only just begun.