Black Hill bows
As the morning light of Dragon's Roost Port just spilled over the tops of the pine forest, the cold gleam of the Blackfyre illuminated the path along the edge of the swamp.
Daemon sat astride the Glutton's back, his deep purple eyes sweeping over the assembled ranks below. Rupert Crabb led two hundred private soldiers in a square formation, while the native warriors of the Black Hill Tribe gripped stone spears and battle axes, their animal-skin skirts swaying in the morning breeze.
Alys Rivers stood at the head of the group, her green cloak hood still covering most of her face, only her deep eyes were visible.
"Let's go." Daemon's voice echoed through the ranks through the dragon's roar. The Glutton spread its jet-black wings, the Grey Ghost it stirred up swirling the wild grass on the ground. The gray shadow followed closely behind, and pale gray-white Dragonfire swept across the low sky, startling the water birds in the swamp into scattering and fleeing.
The cave deep within Black Hill is hidden beneath a steep rock wall, its entrance concealed by dense bushes, from which roars can be faintly heard.
Daemon swooped down, the Glutton's dragon claws landing on the top of the rock wall, and jet-black Dragonfire spewed towards the bushes, instantly clearing the obstacle at the cave entrance.
The native warriors roared and charged into the cave with their weapons in hand, followed closely by Rupert's private army. The sound of swords clashing against shields echoed through the cave.
The interior of the cave is intricate and complex, with crisscrossing paths, and the stone walls are covered with damp moss.
The cannibals, dressed in tattered animal skins and with their faces painted with dark red paint, charged forward wielding stone axes and bone knives. They were hunched over yet exceptionally ferocious, emitting beast-like roars.
Daemon leaped off the Glutton's back, drew his Blackfyre, and with a flash of light, the two cannibals fell to the ground instantly. Warm blood splattered on the edge of his white suit, blending into the original dark red patterns.
"Hold the fork in the road!" Daemon shouted the order. Rupert immediately led his men to block the left passage, while the native chief led his people to guard the right, forming an encirclement.
Although the cannibals were fierce, they could not withstand the threat of the Dragonfire. The Glutton crawled into the main cave and spewed a mouthful of Dragonfire at the crowd. The pitch-black flames instantly engulfed most of the cannibals, and the rest scattered in terror, only to be intercepted and killed by the defenses that had already been set up.
Alys Rivers stood at the cave entrance with her men, her fingertips lightly brushing against the herb pouch at her waist, her eyes calmly watching the carnage inside, as if she were used to the bloody scene.
As one of the cannibals who had escaped her attack rushed at her, she dodged to the side, flicking a tiny poisoned needle from her fingertip. The cannibal groaned and collapsed to the ground, his body convulsing rapidly.
This scene was witnessed by Jarman, who happened to be arriving at the scene. A hint of vigilance flashed in his one eye, and he silently made a mental note of it.
Half an hour later, the roars inside the cave completely subsided. The native warriors cheered, holding up the cannibal's head, their faces filled with the joy of revenge.
The old chieftain walked up to Daemon, knelt on one knee, and raised his head high. "Your Highness, the Black Hill Tribe submits to you forever!"
Daemon gestured for him to rise, his gaze sweeping over the corpses and bloodstains in the cave. He said in a deep voice, "Clean up the battlefield, burn and bury the bodies to prevent the spread of disease. From today onwards, the Black Hill Tribe will be incorporated into the Prince's Domain Guard, and will be paid rations and land according to their merits in battle."
The old chieftain kowtowed repeatedly, his eyes filled with gratitude. Alys Rivers walked to Daemon's side, her voice still as soft as mist. "Your Highness, deep within the cave lies a stockpile of food and ore stored by the cannibals. Though not much, it can alleviate Dragon's Roost Port's immediate crisis."
Daemon nodded, instructing Rupert to lead the men in inventorying the supplies, while he himself rode the Glutton into the air, overlooking the newly pacified Black Hill —sunlight pierced through the clouds, illuminating the lush green forests; the once perilous land had now become a shield for Dragon's Roost Port.
Meanwhile, within the temporary fortress of Dragon's Roost Port, another covert struggle is unfolding.
Maester Maron sat in his tent, seemingly teaching the children to read, but his fingertips were secretly recording the number and distribution of the refugees on parchment. Every now and then, he would glance up at the workshops and docks outside the fortress, noting down the progress of the construction.
Ellyn Beesbury, under the pretext of checking accounts, frequently contacted the Tyrosh refugees in an attempt to find out Daemon's plans, but was closely watched by Rayford, who repeatedly checked every transaction of supplies, leaving him no opportunity to take advantage.
"Sir, His Highness has decreed that matters of education must not interfere with military and political affairs. You need not trouble yourself with the movements of these refugees." Rayford entered the tent, placed a stack of account books on the table, and spoke in a calm tone that carried an unquestionable authority.
Maester Maron paused, then forced a smile and said calmly, "Rosby too kind. I was just recording the number of children to facilitate the distribution of teaching aids later."
Rayford glanced at the writing on the parchment and sneered, "The distribution of teaching materials is handled by designated personnel. Scholar, you should focus on teaching."
After speaking, he turned and left. The moment the curtain fell, Maester Maron's face darkened instantly. He hid the parchment in his clothes, a hint of resentment flashing in his eyes.
On the other side, Gael was directing the craftsmen to build a textile workshop, and the weavers among the Tyrosh refugees had begun to test their looms, the silk threads gleaming in the sunlight.
"Your Highness, once this batch of cloth is woven, it can be used to make clothing and also to repair tents, which will be just right for next month's heavy rains." Mysaria handed over a bolt of freshly woven coarse cloth, her face full of smiles.
Gael nodded, her fingertips brushing against the coarse cloth, her gaze fixed on the direction of Black Hill, her eyes full of anticipation. "I hope everything goes smoothly for Little Daemon. Once Black Hill is pacified, the construction of Dragon's Roost Port can proceed more quickly."
No sooner had she finished speaking than the roar of the Glutton dragon echoed from afar, Gael immediately smiled—a sign of victory.
As the sun set, Daemon led his team back to Dragon's Roost Port, followed by a convoy laden with grain and ore.
Gael hurried forward, holding a warm bowl of honey cake in her hands. "I knew you would succeed! Vaegon sent word that the torrential rain will arrive in seven days, and most of the drainage ditches have been dug. With this food, the refugees can work with more peace of mind."
Daemon gently took the honey cake and first pinched off a piece to feed to the Grey Ghost who had been eagerly waiting and drooling. The greedy, cowardly dragon immediately snatched the honey cake and curled up at his feet as soon as it was given to him.
It put in a lot of effort fighting alongside the Glutton today, and this time it really exhausted it, which had been living a life of luxury since returning to King's King's Landing from Tyrosh after the Battle of the Stepstones.
He looked at Rayford and asked, "Have those men sent by our Lord Otto Hightower made any unusual moves?"
"Maester Maron was secretly recording information about the refugees and construction early this morning, while Ellyn Beesbury was trying to win over the Tyrosh refugees, but we stopped him both times."
As Rayford replied, he also handed over a secret report, "In addition, this is a letter that Jarman had sent back in advance. He discovered during the operation that Alys Rivers used an unknown poison needle when clearing out the cannibals, and the method was extremely strange."
Daemon's fingertips traced the hilt of the Blackfyre as his gaze swept over Alys Rivers, who was standing at the edge of the swamp not far away.
They were whispering something. "Continue to monitor her. I know what I'm doing with Alys Rivers."
He said in a deep voice, "Inform Larys to send a message back to King's Landing about Maester Maron and Ellyn Beesbury's movements, and see what Lord Otto will do next."
Night fell again, and the bonfire at Dragon's Roost Port burned even brighter than the night before.
The refugees sang around the campfire, the craftsmen continued to work, and the footsteps of the patrolling guards mingled with the sound of the waves.
Daemon leaned against the Glutton, Gael nestled on his shoulder, and Grey Ghost curled up at their feet, purring contentedly.
"Do you think that once our Dragon's Roost Port is completed, it will be even more prosperous than Lannisport?" Gael's voice was gentle, like an evening breeze rustling through the grass.
Daemon gazed at the emerging lighthouse in the distant harbor, a sharp glint in his eyes. "Yes, this will become the hub of the northeastern Narrow Sea, the foundation upon which we protect everything."
In the darkness of the distance, Jarman and Harlan Hunter remained hidden in the shadows, their eyes scanning every corner warily;
Inside Maester Maron and Ellyn Beesbury's tent, the candlelight still burned, and the writing on the parchment concealed a conspiracy;
Alys Rivers stood at the edge of the swamp, her fingertips brushing against the herb bag, a faint smile playing on her lips that went unnoticed.
Beneath the surface of Dragon's Roost Port's peace, undercurrents still surge. Otto Hightower's schemes, Alys Rivers ' secrets, and external spying all lurk in the shadows.
But Daemon always knew and understood that as long as he protected this land and the people around him, he could calmly deal with any storm.
Tomorrow, the docks of Dragon's Roost Port will begin to be paved with stone slabs, and the ore from Black Hill will be sent to the workshops for smelting. A new order is quietly being established in this wild land, and the legend of Daemon is just beginning a new chapter.