Winds over Bloodstone, a fated encounter
The warm winds of the Narrow Sea, carrying salty, damp air, swept across the rugged, rocky shores of Bloodstone Island.
Thirty black-sailed warships, like lurking sea monsters, were quietly anchored in the newly built harbor on the southeast coast of the island. The axe-handle-shaped anchorage was surrounded by reinforced stone dikes. The menacing rams on the hulls still bore the scorch marks left from the Battle of the Summer Isles, when they pursued the remnants of the Ironborn stationed in the Summer Isles. Daemon's personal red flag with three Black Dragon fluttered at the top of the mast, facing off against the Iron Throne's black flag with three red dragons flying in the harbor.
Daemon leaned alone against the railing of his ship, the Blackfyre, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the hilt of the Blackfyre. The cool touch of Valyrian steel seeped through the leather sheath, calming his chaotic thoughts slightly.
When he led his troops to the Summer Isles, he was preoccupied with the urgent need to head south to the Summer Sea and "rescue" the Summer Isles.
Now returning to port, the fleet replenished its fresh water and medicine under the arrangement of the Governor's Office of the Stepstones on Bloodstone Island, and handed over the trade agreement entrusted by Corlys House Velaryon. They finally had time to take a closer look at the battlefield where they had fought bloody battles at the beginning of the year.
Bloodstone Island truly lives up to its name as the "largest island in the Stepstones." Grey Gallows is faintly visible to its south, and the cliffs on the northwest side of the island plunge straight into the deep sea, with the roar of waves crashing against the rocks sounding like ancient war drums.
Unlike the desolation I remembered when it was occupied by the Triarchy, Bloodstone Island has shown signs of life six months after the Iron Throne took over.
The houses and barracks in Xifumian are neatly arranged, with stone houses replacing the temporary tents of the past. Smoke rises from the chimneys, mingling with the salty smell of the sea breeze and the fragrance of burning wood.
The trading district on the East Axe was bustling with activity, with merchant ships bearing not only the flags of Westeros but also cargo ships from the Free Cities, clearly indicating that it had once again become an important transit point between the Narrow Sea and the Summer Sea.
Only on the exposed rocks in the center of the island, charred marks from the Dragonfire remain, like unhealed scars on this land, silently telling the story of the brutal war that took place at the beginning of the year.
"Your Highness, Lord Crahas has come ashore alone again." The servant's voice interrupted Daemon's thoughts.
Daemon looked in the direction indicated by his attendant and saw the tall Myr man walking slowly down the stone steps of the dock.
Crahas Hal was still wearing simple black leather armor, but the sword at his waist had been changed from the admiral's command sword from the Triarchy days to the one Damon had given him on Dragonstone Daemon.
His steps were steady, yet carried an indescribable heaviness. His gaze swept over every scene in the harbor, as if he were identifying something, or perhaps confronting his past self.
Daemon stepped off the ship's railing and onto the newly paved stone path, which was slightly cool from being soaked by the seawater.
Stonemasons at the docks were reinforcing the embankment, slaves hurried back and forth carrying buckets of fresh water, and officials from the governor's office appointed by the Iron Throne were checking supplies; everything was in perfect order.
He followed in Crahas's footsteps and soon caught up with the former Prince of Myr in front of an open beach.
This is the "crab feeding ground" that Crahas became famous in the Narrow Sea six months ago.
The pirate corpses that he had ordered to be nailed to the stakes had long been swept away by the tide, leaving only the rotten foundations of the stakes buried in the sand, faintly visible near the high tide line.
The beach is now covered with salt-tolerant wild grasses, which create green waves when the wind blows, covering up the bloodshed of the past.
Crahas was crouching beside a huge black rock, his rough hands gently stroking its surface.
There is a faint Myr symbol engraved there, a mark left by him after he led his army to occupy Bloodstone Island.
His profile looked particularly rugged in the sunlight, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed to hold endless memories. The eyes that once burned with fire because of killing now only had a complex calm.
"Do you remember this place?" Daemon walked up to him, his gaze falling on the decaying wooden stakes.
Crahas slowly rose, his voice slightly hoarse. "How could I forget?" He raised his hand and pointed to the cliff at the end of the beach, "In three months, I nailed three hundred and seventy-four pirates and deserters to this spot."
At high tide, their cries could be heard throughout the bay, and crabs would gnaw at their flesh bit by bit until the tide swept away their bones.
"Back then you were Prince Myr, the naval commander of the Triarchy, our mortal enemy," Daemon said softly. "Now you're comrades fighting side by side. How unpredictable life is."
Crahas chuckled self-deprecatingly, his fingertips tracing the short blade at his waist. "I once thought I would die from the Dragonfire of the Targaryen, but I never imagined I would end up following you, a Targaryen unlike any other."
He gazed at the Black Sails Fleet in the harbor, his eyes hardening. "The winds of Bloodstone Island have changed, just like my fate. The greed of the Triarchy has destroyed everything. They turned the tollbooth into a place of plunder. The Lys people traffic women and children, and the Tyrosh demand exorbitant tolls. They are more hateful than pirates."
Daemon followed his gaze and saw several soldiers from the Royal Fleet exchanging supplies with officials from the governor's mansion.
The soldiers of the Iron Throne wore uniform chainmail, the three-headed dragon emblem on their chests gleaming in the sunlight.
Images of the war at the beginning of the year suddenly flooded my mind: Dragonfire tore through the sky, the warships of the Triarchy burned in the Narrow Sea, Crahas ' flagship "Myr's Fury" clashed fiercely with Corlys's "Sea Snake," and the soldiers on the deck fought hand-to-hand, their blood staining the azure sea red.
"In that war, we won control of the Narrow Sea," Damon said softly, "But Greyjoy of the Iron Islands is stirring up trouble in the Sunset Sea, and the seas of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros have never truly been calm."
"Pirates and raiders will never disappear."
Crahas's gaze sharpened. "Just like I thought when I nailed those pirates to the ground, only iron and blood can bring temporary peace."
You did a good job in the Summer Isles, destroying supply depots and freeing slaves. You know better how to uphold justice than many of your high-ranking nobles in Westeros.
As the two were talking, a white sail appeared on the distant horizon.
At first, they were just a few blurry dots, but as they got closer, the outline of the fleet gradually became clear.
It was a massive fleet, with the sails of the warships embroidered with the seahorse emblem of House Velaryon and the three-headed Targaryen. The silver-white and black-red sails were particularly striking in the sunlight, forming a stark contrast to the pool sails of Daemon's fleet.
"That's the flag of the Royal Fleet." The naval commander beside Daemon narrowed his eyes. "It's quite a large fleet, at least eighty rowboats. They must be the elite forces dispatched from Dragonstone base."
Daemon's heart skipped a beat.
According to previous reports from King's Landing's Landing, Corlys House Velaryon has been ordered to oversee the logistics of the campaign against the Iron Islands, and the elite of the Royal Fleet will be led by a special commander to reinforce Daemon Targaryen, who has already ridden Caraxes to the Riverlands.
The presence of this fleet here indicates that it is stopping at Bloodstone Island to resupply on its way to the Riverlands.
The fleet quickly sailed into the anchorage and anchored orderly next to Daemon's Black Sails Fleet.
The flagship at the head was exceptionally tall, with bronze armor plating on its hull. In addition to the Targaryen three-headed dragon banner, House Velaryon banner, representing the commander's status, also flew atop its mast.
On the deck, a man dressed in silver chainmail and a navy blue cloak was directing the soldiers to dock. He had the same typical silver hair and purple eyes as the House Velaryon, and his handsome face carried a hint of arrogance. He was none other than Vaemond House Velaryon, the eldest of Corlys House Velaryon's six nephews.
Vaemond had clearly noticed Daemon's Blackfyre Fleet as well. When he saw the iconic Blackfyre on the side of the ship, a look of surprise flashed in his eyes. He then quickly stepped off the gangplank and headed towards Daemon.
His steps were steady, his cloak fluttering in the sea breeze, followed by two city guards in Gold Cloaks and several House Velaryon knights.
"Your Highness Daemon Blackfyre?" Vaemond stopped a few steps away from Daemon, giving a slight bow. His tone carried just the right amount of respect, yet retained a noble's pride. "I never expected to meet you again on Bloodstone Island. I just wonder if you still remember me?"
I am Vaemond House Velaryon, and by order of Lord Corlys, Earl of the Master of Ships, I command the elite Royal Fleet to the Riverlands to join Targaryen Daemon Targaryen in the conquest of the Iron Islands.
Daemon looked at the man before him, a complex mix of emotions welling up inside him.
He knew perfectly well that in the original history, Vaemond's future fate was that this eldest nephew of the House Velaryon would publicly question the legitimacy of Rhaenyra Targaryen's son in order to inherit Tidehead Island, and would ultimately be hunted down by Daemon Targaryen, beheaded, and fed his body to the dragons.
Of course, there are also bards who say that he was beheaded by Daemon Targaryen with the Dark Sister before he "spoke out his nonsense" in front of the Iron Throne in King's Landing Red Keep of King's Landing.
And now, they meet again on this fateful Bloodstone Island, allies heading towards different battlefields.
"Vaemond," Daemon returned the salute, his Blackfyre gleaming coldly in the sunlight, "The fleet you commanded today was magnificent, truly worthy of being one of the most powerful navies in Westeros."
"The glory of the Royal Fleet has never faded."
With pride in his voice, Vaemond said, "Since the time of Aegon the Conqueror, House Velaryon has controlled the Royal Fleet. One hundred and sixty ships on Dragonstone are ready to go, and fifty warships in King's Landing's Landing are also ready to set sail."
In this campaign against the Iron Islands, we followed the plan you presented to my uncle, Corlys House Velaryon, at the Small Council. We joined forces with the fleets of the Riverlands and the Westerlands to completely blockade the Sunset Sea, ensuring that Greyjoy's Iron Fleet would never return.
Crahas stood behind Daemon, silently observing Vaemond.
As a former comrade-in-arms who fought alongside the House Velaryon at sea, he had a deep understanding of the family's navigation skills and fleet strength.
The innate aristocratic air that Vaemond possessed was exactly like that of his uncle Corlys House Velaryon, except that he lacked some of the "Sea Snake's " composure while gaining a sharp edge unique to young people.
"The Iron Fleet of the Iron Islands is known for its speed and ferocity, and excels at coastal raids and night raids," Daemon cautioned. "Their warships have a shallow draft and are agile, so they may not be a match for the Royal Fleet in a head-on confrontation, but do not underestimate them."
Big Daemon should already be waiting in the Riverlands. Once you rendezvous, you must quickly seize control of the Iron Islands coastline and cut off the Iron Fleet's supply lines.
A hint of approval flashed in Vaemond's eyes. "Thank you for the reminder. I had already received a letter from my uncle Corlys reminding me of the Iron Fleet's habits."
The Royal Fleet's oar-powered ships are now as fast as the Iron Fleet's, and they are also equipped with more powerful ballistae and improved rams. Once a blockade is established, they will have no chance of escape.
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the scenery of Bloodstone Island. "The changes here are truly remarkable. Six months ago, when I went on this expedition with my uncle and you, this place was still in ruins. Now it has taken shape."
"The Iron Throne needs a secure transit point in the Narrow Sea," Daemon said. "The Stepstones are strategically vital; controlling them will allow us to control the passage between the Summer Sea and the Narrow Sea, and curb the expansion of the Free Cities."
You're right.
Vaemond nodded. "Although the Triarchy was defeated, the strength of Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh remains, and they will return sooner or later. However, right now, the primary task is to resolve the troubles of the Iron Islands."
He looked at Daemon's fleet. "I heard you achieved a great victory in the Summer Isles, destroying Greyjoy's supply depot and freeing thousands of slaves?"
"I just did what I was supposed to do."
Damon said calmly, "Gorn Greyjoy's indulgence in the slave trade and plundering of his people violates the laws and beliefs of the Iron Throne and the entire Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, and he deserves to be punished."
The tribes of the Summer Isles have signed a trade agreement with us, under which they will supply the Seven Kingdoms with spices and timber, and serve as outposts to monitor the Sea of Summer and the Dornish on its northern shore.
A flicker of surprise crossed Vaemond's eyes, quickly replaced by admiration. "Your Highness Daemon's methods are truly admirable, striking at both the enemy and expanding trade. My uncle has praised you repeatedly in King's Landing recently, saying that you are not only brave and skilled in battle, but also possess foresight..."
Strategic vision.
Daemon smiled but didn't reply.
He knew that Corlys's praise reflected both an acknowledgment of his abilities and a consideration of forming an alliance with the House Velaryon.
In this world where power is intertwined, there are no permanent friends, only permanent interests.
But at this moment, facing this House Velaryon nobleman destined for tragedy, he felt more of a fatalistic mockery.
"Vaemond," Daemon's tone shifted, becoming serious, "This expedition is fraught with peril. The Drowned God cultists of the Iron Islands are extremely fanatical; they are fearless of death and intimately familiar with the currents and reefs of the Sunset Sea. His Highness, Big Daemon, though valiant, can sometimes be too impulsive. I hope you can offer him some guidance, urging him to prioritize the greater good in all matters."
Vaemond was slightly taken aback, then understood what Daemon meant.
He was well aware of the "Rogue Prince's" reputation; he acted as he pleased, brave but lacking in composure.
"Thank you for the reminder, Your Highness Little Daemon. I will certainly take it to heart," Vaemond said solemnly. "The Royal Fleet will fully cooperate with His Highness Big Daemon to ensure the success of the campaign."
The two talked for a while longer, discussing everything from the war in the Iron Islands to trade in the Narrow Sea, and then to the current situation of the House Velaryon.
When Vaemond spoke of the prosperity of Tidehead Island, his tone was full of pride, but he made no mention of the possible future succession rights.
Struggle.
Looking at his spirited appearance, Daemon couldn't help but sigh inwardly, realizing that the threads of fate had already quietly entangled him, yet those caught in them were completely unaware.
At this time, the resupply work of the Dragon's Roost Port Fleet at the port was also nearing completion.
Daemon's fleet was loaded with fresh water and medicine, and the trade agreement entrusted by Corlys House Velaryon had been handed over to the governor's officials.
Alyn Redwyne boarded the flagship and reported to Daemon, "Your Highness, everything is ready; we may set sail."
Daemon nodded and looked at Vaemond: "Vaemond, until we meet again. I wish you a successful journey and a swift pacification of the Iron Islands."
"Until we meet again, Daemon Highness Damon," Vaemond said, bowing slightly. "May you have a safe journey and return to Dragon's Roost Port soon."
Daemon turned and boarded the Blackfyre, Crahas following closely behind. Standing on the ship's railing, he took one last look at Bloodstone Island.
Sunlight spills onto the island's cliffs, where scorch marks from Dragonfire appear and disappear in the light and shadow, as if telling tales of past bloodshed and glory.
Vaemond stood on the dock, watching their fleet go. The sea breeze ruffled his silver hair, and his figure looked particularly tall and straight in the sunlight.
"Weigh anchor! Raise the sails!" Daemon shouted the order.
The sailors responded in unison, their voices echoing throughout the harbor. The anchor chains were slowly retracted, and the red sails unfurled one after another, billowing in the warm wind of the Narrow Sea like giant outstretched wings.
Thirty red-sailed warships sailed away from the anchorage in succession, heading towards Dragon's Roost Port in the northwest.
The ship's hull cut through the azure sea, leaving white wakes as it gradually distanced itself from Vaemond's Royal Fleet.
Crahas walked to Daemon's side, followed his gaze to the receding Bloodstone Island, and whispered, "This place witnessed my defeat, and it also witnessed my rebirth."
Daemon turned to look at the former Prince of Myr, a hint of approval in his eyes. "The past is past; the future is what matters. Crahas, you are an excellent general, and you will surely leave your mark on world history."
A flicker of emotion crossed Crahas's eyes, and he bowed slightly. "I am willing to follow Your Highness, even unto death."
Daemon gazed at the distant horizon, where the waves of the Narrow Sea were growing larger, and the Blackfyre Banner fluttered at the top of the mast.
He knew that new challenges awaited him upon returning to Dragon's Roost Port.
The political maneuvering in King's Landing's Landing, the progress of the war in the Iron Islands, and the undercurrents in the Free Cities —everything is developing in an unknown direction.
This encounter on Bloodstone Island was merely a ripple in the long river of fate, yet it made him realize more deeply that in this world of intertwined ice and fire, everyone is struggling in the game of destiny, and his appearance may change the fate of many.
The fleet continued sailing, Bloodstone Island gradually became a small dot on the sea surface, eventually disappearing from sight.
The sky over the Narrow Sea was a clear, deep blue, and several seagulls circled above the fleet, emitting clear cries.
A few days later, Daemon leaned against the ship's railing, the Blackfyre in his hand gleaming with a cold light, his mind filled with a myriad of thoughts.
He didn't know what the future held, but he knew that as long as he had the Blackfyre in his hand and Dragonfire by his side, he would be fearless.
Dragon's Roost Port is faintly visible in the distance, its lighthouse gleaming softly in the sunlight.
Daemon took a deep breath. In addition to the salty smell of the sea breeze, the air also carried a hint of sulfur, a scent unique to Dragonstone.
He knew that a new journey was about to begin, and that the legend of Daemon Blackfyre was only just beginning.