Blackfyre's Edge

Beneath the cliffs of Whispering Castle, the roar of waves crashing against the reefs sounded like ancient war drums. In the distance, at the edge of the Crabb Lands, Daemon Blackfyre raised Blackfyre. Morning light reflected off the blade, piercing the mist before the Wildling formation. Behind him, the breathing of more than twenty young followers mingled with the snorts of warhorses, taut as drawn bowstrings.

"Remember, we're here to save people." Daemon's voice was not loud, yet every man heard it clearly. "Glutton will cover you, and I will lead from the front."

Before his words had faded, Glutton's roar exploded like thunder. The Black Dragon spread its sky-shrouding wings, and black dragonfire swept over the cliffs, throwing the Wildlings' vanguard into chaos. Dreamfyre followed close behind, its pale blue flames like flowing lightning as they tore a breach through the Wildling ranks.

"Charge!" Daemon dug his heels into his horse's flanks. The steed reared, carrying him into the enemy formation like a black whirlwind.

Blackfyre traced a perfect arc. The first Wildling to pounce did not even have time to scream before he was cleaved in two.

Warm blood splashed across Daemon's face, but it did not slow him in the slightest. He sent the second Wildling flying, crushed the third's ribs beneath his horse, and by the time the fourth man's head rolled to the ground, Blackfyre was already pointing at the towering figure in bearskin among the Wildling ranks.

"That's their leader!" Lubert Crabb shouted from behind him, his voice trembling with excitement.

Daemon did not turn around. He could feel his followers breaking through their fear behind him.

Rayford's sword pierced a Wildling's throat. Mys Rivers, the bastard of the Mooton Household, smashed another Wildling's skull open with a hammer. These young second sons and bastards who had been discussing amusing tales from King's Landing only yesterday now wielded their weapons with trembling hands, covering one another.

"Kill!" Someone shouted first, and then more than twenty swords roared in unison.

For the first time on a battlefield, these young men suddenly understood the weight of the word "warrior," beneath Daemon's fierce edge and amid the dragons' roars.

The Crabb Lands folk trapped at the edge of the town had been resisting in despair. But when they saw that black figure cutting through the enemy as though no one stood before him, when they saw the flames of two dragons illuminate the sky, they suddenly erupted in earthshaking cheers.

A farmer with one arm broken picked up a pitchfork from the ground and charged at the nearest Wildling with a howl;

Several women stuffed stones into cloth bags and hurled them at the enemies climbing over the palisade.

At last, Daemon's Blackfyre collided with the Wildling leader's battle-axe.

With a sharp clang, both men's hands went numb from the impact. The Wildling leader stood a head taller than Daemon, with arms as thick as tree trunks. Red and black paint streaked his face, but his eyes held none of a savage's ignorance—only the coldness of a seasoned warrior.

"Silver-haired boy." The Wildling leader's Common Tongue was heavily accented as his battle-axe swept toward Daemon. "This is not your castle."

"As long as our people are here, it is." Daemon sidestepped the blow. Blackfyre slid along the axe's wooden shaft and severed several of the man's fingers.

The Wildling leader cried out in pain. The moment his battle-axe fell from his hand, Daemon's sword point was already at his throat.

The surrounding Wildlings roared and rushed forward, only to be driven back by Glutton's dragonfire.

Dreamfyre swept low overhead, seized two Wildlings attempting to sneak in an attack with its claws, and flung them far out into the sea.

Daemon glanced over the battlefield. Though his followers fought bravely, three had already been unhorsed. One had been speared through the thigh and lay on the ground groaning;

The town's palisade had been breached in several places, and many Crabb Lands folk lay dead upon the ground;

And though the Wildlings were in disarray, they still outnumbered them several times over. They were gathering behind the ruins of Whispering Castle, apparently hesitating over whether to retreat.

"Take your men and get out of the Crab Claw Peninsula." Daemon withdrew his blade, and drops of blood fell from Blackfyre onto the ground. "If I see you again, losing a few fingers will be the least of your troubles."

The Wildling leader stared at him in disbelief, touched his bleeding hand, and finally gritted his teeth and roared, "Retreat!"

As though granted a pardon, the Wildlings helped their wounded away and scrambled back toward distant Whispering Castle. Before long, they vanished beyond the other side of the cliffs.

The waves passed through the hollow ruins of Whispering Castle with a mournful wail, as if lamenting a battle not yet finished.

Daemon swung down from his horse and saw Rayford had just taken out a waterskin.

The young squire took a huge gulp, only then realizing that his arm was trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the exhaustion that came after the adrenaline faded.

"It'll pass soon. Count the casualties," Daemon told Rayford. "Have the maester treat the wounded, whether they are ours or Crabb Lands folk."

The town was a complete mess. Roofs had been torn off houses, vegetables in the gardens had been trampled to mush, and several dead townsfolk lay beside the well, terror still frozen on their faces. Baron Kleb's eldest son was directing people to repair the palisade. When he saw Daemon enter, he hurried over, his eyes red. "Your Highness, thank you... I'm the baron's eldest son, Raynavor. My father, he..."

"What happened to the baron?" Daemon asked quickly.

"Father was shot in the chest by a Wildling arrow while resisting them. He's still unconscious." Raynavor's voice choked. "If you had come even a moment later..."

Daemon patted his shoulder. "Let the maester treat him properly. He'll be all right."

The maester who had accompanied them, along with Gael, had already joined the Crabb Lands maester and several women in their work.

They cleaned wounds, wrapped bandages, and pressed herbs against bleeding flesh. Their movements were unpracticed, but they carried a stubborn resilience.

Daemon watched Jarman Waters, the one-eyed bastard of the Buckwell Household from Staghorn Castle, awkwardly feed water to an injured little girl. Suddenly, he felt that this victory meant more than he had imagined.

By evening, bonfires had been lit in the town square. The people of the Crabb Lands slaughtered the few remaining pigs and roasted them until they sizzled.

Lubert Crabb approached Daemon with a bowl of wine, dropped to one knee, and said, "Your Highness, you saved all of us! But the Wildlings will return sooner or later. Please stay!"

The surrounding townsfolk all joined in:

"Please stay, Your Highness!"

"We are willing to follow you!"

Baron Kleb was carried out, his chest wrapped in thick bandages and his face pale as paper. Seeing this, he called weakly, "Lubert! Do not be rude! His Highness has his own journey to continue..."

Raynavor also frowned. "Brother, don't trouble His Highness."

"Sit and rest, Baron." Daemon helped Lubert to his feet, his gaze sweeping over everyone present. "And you, Ser Raynavor. Your brother has done nothing wrong. He is merely fighting for his home."

He walked to the bonfire and planted Blackfyre in the earth, its hilt gleaming darkly in the firelight. Everyone fell silent, watching the young prince.

"I know what you fear." Daemon's voice echoed through the night, carrying a force that pierced the heart. "The Wildlings will return, and the chaos of the Crab Claw Peninsula will not end with a single victory. But remember this: you are subjects of the Iron Throne, subjects of the Targaryen Lineage!"

He drew Blackfyre and pointed its tip at the sky. "I, Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen, swear upon Blackfyre and Glutton in the heavens—so long as I still live, I will never stand by and watch you perish!"

Cheers erupted from the crowd. Daemon raised a hand for silence and continued, "The brothers who charged with me today—I will report your deeds truthfully to His Majesty the King. Your names will appear in royal commendations!"

"There are vast stretches of abandoned, unclaimed land on the Crab Claw Peninsula." His gaze passed over the young followers, then over the people of the Crabb Lands. "They await true masters to cultivate and defend them. Those willing to continue fighting at my side shall receive those lands as their reward!"

"I will not force those unwilling to continue." Daemon's voice softened. "You may remain here to rebuild your homes, or leave now if you wish. The Crown and I will reward every one of you for the blood you spilled today."

He raised Blackfyre again, its point aimed directly toward Whispering Castle. "But hear me—from this day onward, the Crab Claw Peninsula will no longer be a forgotten corner! I will stand here, before you, and with this sword and Glutton's flames, I will cut down every threat in your path!"

"Those willing to follow me, raise your weapons!"

"Roar!" More than twenty young followers were the first to raise their swords. Rayford's voice rang out the loudest: "We swear to follow Your Highness unto death!"

The men of the Crabb Lands hesitated for a moment before raising their axes and pitchforks as well. Raynavor glanced at his father. The baron gave a weak nod, and Raynavor tightened his grip on his sword and joined the cheers.

Most unexpectedly, several women who had just been tending the wounded stepped forward as well. One gray-haired old woman, still holding bandages in her hands, declared loudly, "We women of the Crabb Lands are no worse than men! If His Highness goes to war, we can go with him!"

The other women responded one after another, and the atmosphere in the square reached its peak.

Just then, hoofbeats sounded from outside the town. Count Bren arrived belatedly with his army. When he saw the scene in the square, surprise and conflicted emotion flashed through his eyes.

His son, Berna Blount, followed behind. Looking at Daemon surrounded by the crowd, at the fervor in the young followers' eyes, he suddenly clenched his fists.

He thought of his father's hesitation before setting out, of those calculations about reaping the fisherman's profit, then looked again at the high-spirited prince holding Blackfyre aloft. Suddenly, an answer became clear in his heart—this was the man he had always wanted to follow!

Daemon noticed the father and son. Smiling, he raised Blackfyre in greeting. Bonfire light danced across his face, reflecting in eyes that seemed to burn with flame.

The night on the Crab Claw Peninsula was destined to be sleepless. And the legend of Daemon Blackfyre had only just written its most blazing stroke upon this desolate land.