The prisoner of Dragonstone

As the morning light of Dragon's Roost Port once again swept across the long coastline of Crab Claw Peninsula, the Glutton dragon's roar once again shattered the tranquility of this morning.

The jet-black dragon spread its wings, which blotted out the sky. Its scales gleamed with a dark gold luster in the sunlight. Each flap of its wings stirred up a powerful gust of air, making the sails of the ships on the dock flutter loudly.

Daemon, dressed as always in black dragon scale armor, with his Blackfyre slung across his waist, the three-headed dragon pattern on the scabbard echoing the Glutton's dragon scales, flipped over and mounted the dragon saddle. A Grey Ghost shadow curled up in his arms, the light gray little dragon occasionally rubbing its nose against his wrist, making soft purring sounds.

"To Dragonstone," Daemon said in a low voice, his tone carrying an unwavering determination.

As if understanding his intention, the Glutton suddenly flapped its wings and took off. The wind generated by its huge dragon wings swept up the grass and pebbles on the ground, and it sped towards Dragonstone in the southeast direction of the peninsula.

The Dragon's Roost Port below gradually shrank, the newly built houses resembling scattered building blocks, the terraced fields like green ripples, and the ships at the dock reduced to mere shadows. Daemon gazed at this land he had personally cultivated, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes.

Since the call for talent was issued, talented people from all directions have gathered here, the immigration boom has gradually stabilized, and the foundation of the Crownlands has become increasingly solid. Today, he is going to Dragonstone to meet an opponent who has been forgotten by the world.

Dragonstone, located at the junction of Blackwater Bay and Narrow Sea, is an island formed by the eruption of the active Dragonmont. It is also located at the exit of Blackwater Bay, and there are rich Dragonglass deposits at the foot of the mountain.

At the same time, this island, composed of volcanic rock, is enveloped by salty sea breezes all year round, and the black reefs gleam with a cold, hard luster under the erosion of the waves.

The dragon's Dragonpit is faintly visible on the island, and the ancient stone walls are covered with moss, bearing witness to the vicissitudes of the Targaryen Lineage's escape from Valyrian Freehold to this place, and also marking the glory of Aegon the Conqueror's conquest of Westeros.

The Glutton's roar echoed across the island, causing the guards to look up. When they recognized the familiar dragon in the sky and the prince atop its back, they immediately lowered their weapons and bowed in reverence. The Daemon Blackfyre of today was no longer the prisoner of unknown origin in Dragonstone's dungeons two years ago—

Instead, he is the "Blackfyre Prince," a renowned Targaryen prince of the Seven Kingdoms, a powerful prince with his own domain under the Iron Throne of Westeros. This man, who wields the family heirloom Valyrian steel sword "Blackfyre" and rides the "Black Dragon" of the former "King of the Wild Dragons," Gluttony, is now a figure who commands the awe of all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

The Glutton skillfully and slowly landed in the square in front of the castle on Dragonstone. The ground trembled slightly when its massive dragon claws touched the ground.

Daemon flipped off the dragon saddle, and Grey Ghost flew out from his arms, circled once in the air above the plaza, and then landed beside the Glutton's dragon neck, curling up into a ball.

The captain of the guards remaining inside the castle hurriedly stepped forward and knelt on one knee. "Greetings, His Prince Blackfyre of Targaryen Lineage! What are your orders for His Highness's presence on Dragonstone today?"

"I need to go to the dungeon." Daemon's voice was steady, his gaze sweeping over the captain of the guard. "Find Crahas Hal."

The captain of the guard was taken aback, clearly not expecting Daemon to seek out this forgotten prisoner.

Crahas Hal, former Prince of Myr, former Commander of the Triarchy Navy, "Crabfeeder," a legendary general who swept through the Stepstones and defeated Volantis, was imprisoned in the Dragonstone after being captured during the Battle of Stepstones.

After the Triarchy suffered a crushing defeat and was preoccupied with its own problems, Tyrosh replaced him as Highlord. Myr and Lys made no mention of ransom for him. Crown Prince Baelon, who also served as Hand of the King, remained King's Landing for a long time. Dragonstone was managed by a few stewards. This former formidable foe of the Iron Throne gradually became a forgotten figure in the dungeons, only provided with food and drink according to orders, but no one cared about his life or death anymore.

"Your Highness, that—that prisoner has been imprisoned for over a month, I'm afraid—" The captain of the guard hesitated, wanting to say something, but was interrupted by Daemon raising his hand.

"Just lead the way." Daemon's tone left no room for argument, and the scabbard of the Blackfyre gently struck the armor, producing a crisp sound.

The captain of the guard naturally dared not say another word to Daemon and quickly got up to lead the way.

Walking through the castle's corridors, the Targaryen Lineage's three-headed dragon coat of arms hangs on the ancient stone walls, and sunlight filters through the carved latticework of the high windows, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

The guards along the way bowed and gave way to Daemon and his party, their eyes filled with awe and curiosity. Daemon walked through the corridor, his thoughts drifting back to two years ago—

In 97 AC (the year of the Conquest calendar), he first arrived in this world a hundred years ago, waking up in a dungeon on Dragonstone. At that time, he had nothing, but now he held power. The dramatic change in his status made him marvel at the wonder of fate.

The dungeon entrance was hidden in a secluded corner on the west side of the castle. The heavy iron gate was rusty and exuded the damp, musty, and rusty smell that Daemon was familiar with.

When the guard pushed open the iron gate, it made a piercing creaking sound that was just as familiar to Daemon, as if a giant beast that had been sleeping here for a hundred years had been awakened.

As you descend the steep stone steps, the light grows dimmer, and the damp air is filled with the smell of earth and decay. The torches on the stone walls flicker with weak flames, casting distorted and eerie shadows.

"Your Highness, the prison where Crahas Hal is being held is just ahead."

The captain of the guard stopped and pointed to a solitary cell ahead, lowering his voice, "For the past few months, apart from the jailer who brings him food, no one has dared to approach him. I've heard he's violent and has even injured a guard who tried to provoke him."

Daemon nodded, signaling the captain of the guard to step back.

He walked forward alone. The iron bars of the cell were cold and sturdy, and a figure was huddled inside.

The man was wearing tattered prison clothes. Only a few months after the war, his hair was already disheveled and hanging over his shoulders, covering most of his face. He was so thin that he was almost unrecognizable. Only his eyes, in the dim light, still shone with an unextinguished flame.

Hearing footsteps, the man slowly raised his head, revealing a face covered in stubble, with wrinkles at the corners of his eyes etched with vicissitudes and resentment.

It was Crahas Hal, the former "Crabfeeder," who struck fear into the hearts of pirates on the Narrow Sea.

Prince Myr, who swept across the Stepstones.

He was taken aback when he saw Daemon outside the iron bars, but then he recognized the black dragon scale armor and the Blackfyre slung across his shoulder.

"Blackfyre— " Crahas's voice was hoarse and dry, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time, "I never expected it would be you who came to see me."

Daemon looked at him, his mind drifting back to the 96 AC (the year of the Conquest calendar) in Crahas's past history.

Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr set aside their past grievances and formed Triarchy, defeating Volantis in the frontier battle and driving them out of the Disputed Lands.

Subsequently, Admiral Crahas of the Myr Navy led his fleet to sweep across the Stepstones, eliminating all pirate strongholds and restoring safety to the Narrow Sea trade routes. At that time, he was in high spirits, invincible, and the sharpest sword of the Triarchy.

It wasn't until the beginning of the year, when he officially went to war with the newly formed Joint Fleet of the Iron Throne, that he suffered his first crushing defeat and became a prisoner.

"They've all forgotten you," Daemon said calmly. "The Tyrosh have a new Highlord, the Lys are busy licking their wounds, and even your own people, the Myr, have no time for you. After all, you're just a defeated prisoner."

Crahas let out a low, sinister laugh, a bitter laugh filled with self-mockery and resentment, tinged with pain. "Forgot? They never really cared about me."

The Triarchy is merely a union of interests; Selos of Tyrosh only wants to seize power, the nobles of Lys only care about trade, and the council of Myr fears my military power.

Now that I've lost, they're naturally happy to see me fend for myself.

He slowly stood up, his back straight despite his thin frame, like a withered tree growing tenaciously in dire straits. "But I, Crahas Hal, am not a coward to be forgotten."

While I was sweeping across the Stepstones, your Targaryen fleet was still circling in Blackwater Bay:

When I defeated Volantis, your Uncle Baelon hadn't yet become your Hand of the King.

"I only lost to your Targaryen Dragonfire, not to the battlefield."

Daemon raised an eyebrow, a hint of approval flashing in his eyes. He had seen too many people who were crushed by defeat, but he hadn't expected that Crahas, after being imprisoned in the dungeon for two years, would still maintain the pride of a warrior.

What are you trying to say?

"I heard about your recent activities from the guards."

Crahas's gaze fell on the Blackfyre, his eyes filled with a complex emotion. "The Prince Blackfyre of Targaryen Lineage, lord of Crab Claw Peninsula, riding the most ferocious King of the Wild Dragons on the island, Glutton, defeated the Triarchy, subdued Racallio, even the Ironborn have to bow down to you."

You are indeed worthy of the name represented by the Blackfyre sword at your waist, and worthy of the dragon blood of you Targaryen.

He paused, then his tone became firm. "I spent two years in this dungeon, reliving that war every day."

I am not reconciled, I am not reconciled to losing so inexplicably, I am not reconciled to being forgotten like this.

"Daemon Blackfyre of Targaryen Lineage, I want to fight you again!"

Daemon was stunned, then instantly understood what he meant.

Crahas wasn't seeking revenge, but rather a fair duel, a contest between warriors, to prove his dignity, even if he lost, he would die without regret.

"In your current state, you probably don't even have the strength to wield a sword."

Daemon bluntly stated, "Although Uncle Baelon didn't deprive you of your food, the torture in the dungeon has already emptied your body."

If I accept your challenge and fight you today, wouldn't that be taking advantage of someone in distress?

"I have!" Crahas gripped the iron bars in front of him tightly, his knuckles turning white. The flames in his eyes burned even brighter. "I train every day in this prison, even in this tiny space, even with my hands and feet bound by chains, I have never given up."

I am Crahas Hal, a warrior who swept across the Narrow Sea, not a prisoner clinging to life!

His voice was hoarse, making the iron bars vibrate. "I know you despise victory achieved by taking advantage of others' misfortunes, just as I did when I was young."

But I need this duel; it is my last vestige of dignity as a warrior.

If you think I'm too weak to fight, you can just kill me with one sword; it's better than letting me rot in this dungeon!

Daemon fell silent. He looked into the unwavering determination in Crahas's eyes, at the still-burning edge of his former rival even in dire straits, and recalled his initial resolve after traveling back in time: to protect those worthy of protection and to respect opponents worthy of respect.

Crahas may be an enemy, but his pride and persistence deserve respect.

"Okay." Daemon nodded slowly, his voice resolute. "I promise you."

Crahas's eyes lit up instantly, like a flame on the verge of extinction being rekindled by Daemon. He released the iron bars he was holding onto, his chest heaving violently, too excited to speak.

Daemon turned and shouted towards the outside of the cell, "Guards! Open the cell door!"

The captain of the guards, who was standing not far away, rushed over, his face full of hesitation. "Your Highness, this—this prisoner is violent by nature. If we release him, he might cause trouble."

"If anything goes wrong, I'll take responsibility." Daemon's tone left no room for argument. "Do as I say."

The captain of the guards, naturally, dared not disobey the orders of Prince Daemon before him, and had no choice but to obediently have his men produce the key, which he then tremblingly used to unlock the cell door.

The heavy iron door slammed open, and Crahas slowly walked out of the cell. Sunlight streamed quietly through the dungeon's ventilation shaft, causing him to squint involuntarily.

How many months had it been? He finally felt the warmth of the sun again from beyond the narrow iron bars of the dungeon dome, a scorching heat that, though blinding, carried a sense of rebirth.

He glanced down at his tattered prison clothes, then at Daemon's magnificent dragon scale armor, a self-deprecating smile playing on his lips, "Unfortunately, I have no decent weapons now, not even a suit of armor that fits properly."

"I'll have someone give it to you," Daemon said, "But not now. Come outside with me first and get some fresh air."

Crahas did not refuse and followed Daemon up the stone steps.

When the jailers along the way saw Crahas being released, they all backed away in fright, their eyes filled with terror.

They still remembered the ferocity of the Triarchy's naval commander, Myr Mill, "The Crabfeeder," when he was brought in. He had injured three jailers that very day. Now that he was out in the light of day, no one knew what he might do.

Stepping out of the dungeon's iron gates, the sea breeze of Dragonstone blew in, carrying a salty, damp scent and ruffling Crahas's disheveled hair.

He raised his head and looked at the sea level in the distance and at the gluttons hovering in the sky. A trace of complicated emotions flashed through his eyes, including confusion, emotion, and a trace of the throbbing of regaining freedom.

The sea breeze, carrying a salty, damp scent, brushed against Crahas's face. He followed Daemon up the stone steps, the chill of the dungeon gradually dispelled by the sunlight behind him.

My fingertips touched the rough stone surface of the castle's outer wall; it was a long-lost sensation, a feeling that didn't belong to a prison.

He turned his head to look at the Glutton circling in the air. The shadow of the dragon swept across the ground, and a warrior's heart stirred again in his long-dormant chest.

Daemon's figure was not far ahead, his black dragon scale armor gleaming coldly in the sunlight. Crahas clenched his still stiff fist.

This long-awaited duel was not only to wash away the humiliation of defeat, but also to prove to themselves that the edge of the Narrow Sea had never truly been extinguished.