The Sevenstreams checkpoint
The source of the Blue Fork transforms into countless streams in Sevenstreams, winding like silver threads across the muddy land.
When Daemon and his group arrived nearby, the midday sun was making the road surface steam with heat, but the atmosphere at the entrance of the town was even colder than the battlefield of Seagard. A dozen guards in leather armor held long spears horizontally, blocking the narrow entrance completely, and the rust on the spear tips gleamed eerily in the sunlight.
"Stop! Inspection!" A bearded guard stopped a caravan wagon, his rough hands reaching directly into the cargo box, pulling out a half-full bag of spices, and stuffing it into his own pocket. "Things have been tense lately. According to the rules, the toll will be doubled."
The merchant, his face flushed with anxiety, said, "Sir, last time you only wanted one silver deer—"
"Last time is last time!" The bearded man shoved him. "Thieves are rampant around here now! How can you do business in peace without our protection! If you don't pay up, we'll dismantle your car wheels!"
On the Glutton's back, Daemon's gaze swept past the crowd and landed on the other side of the checkpoint.
A nobleman carrying a yellow banner was reining in his horse. The two crossed, rusty black-handled axes on the banner, along with the black crown in the center, were particularly striking – this was the House Dustin of the the North Barrow Hall. The nobleman was about thirty or forty years old, his blue-gray eyes filled with impatience.
He was stopped by two guards, one of whom was rubbing his hands and muttering, "May the noble lord grant me some money for wine?"
"They dare to stop any noble with a name?" Daemon Targaryen, perched on Caraxes's back, murmured. "The Frey Household is getting bolder and bolder. Do they really think the people of the the North are pushovers? Or are they just reckless fools like the House Dustin?"
Just then, the shadow of the three-headed dragon completely swept across the checkpoint. The Glutton's deep roar caused the ground to tremble slightly, and the dragon breath of Caraxes and Dreamfyre condensed into white vapor in the air. The guards' spears clattered to the ground, and even the guard who had extorted the Dustin nobleman froze in place, his face ashen.
A tall, thin man emerged from the ranks of guards; as he bent down to pick up a spear, his profile, which was visible, looked as sleazy as a weasel stealing chickens.
He's about 70% similar to the previous Walder Frey.
He hurried to Daemon, his robes splattered with mud, but he forced a fawning smile, "Your Highnesses! Your Highness! Please don't be angry, please don't be angry! I am the nephew of Marquis Frey, the heir to Sir Haigh, Awood Haigh!"
He pointed to the badge on his chest—a black pitchfork with gold stripes on a brown background. "This area has been quite turbulent lately; bandits are rampant. My cousin, Walder the Thin —the third son of my deceased aunt and Lord Marquis Frey —mysteriously disappeared a while ago and hasn't been found since. He's nowhere to be found, neither alive nor dead! That's why we've intensified the search these past few days. Please forgive us for disturbing Your Highnesses!"
Daemon didn't speak, but the black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder suddenly became hot, as if a ball of fire was burning under his skin.
He glanced at the checkpoint, where a thin-faced guard was using the pretext of inspection to reach out and touch the waist of a merchant's wife. The woman screamed in fright, and the merchant tried to resist but was held down by another guard.
"The Glutton suddenly lowered its head, spewing out a small ball of Dragonfire that landed with a 'boom' at the feet of the thin-faced guard, instantly scorching the soil black and making him jump up."
Smoke was rising from the soles of the boots.
Awood Haigh's smile froze on his face. Daemon lightly Glutton, his purple eyes sweeping over him. "A search is permissible, but follow the rules." His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried a scorching heat like Dragonfire, "But if you dare to use this as an excuse to make things difficult or extort money—"
The Glutton let out a threatening growl, and its huge wings whipped up a gust of wind that made Awood's robes cling tightly to his body.
"No! No!" Awood waved his hand hastily, "Let them through! Let His Highness's entourage pass!"
The guards hurriedly made way, and even the House Dustin nobles who had been stopped earlier were taken aback. They then nodded slightly in Daemon's direction and spurred their horses to follow.
As Daemon's group passed through the checkpoint, he noticed that most of the houses in Sevenstreams were low and the mud walls were crooked. Only one stone house in the town center was decent, with the House Haigh's pitchfork flag and the Frey Household's blue twin towers hanging at the door, clearly indicating that it was the Haigh family's residence.
"The Frey Household, whether descendants or in-laws, truly lives up to their name." Daemon Targaryen flicked his cane and sneered, "They've even mastered the art of collecting tolls."
Riding her Dreamfyre, Gael gazed at the crisscrossing streams outside the town with her light purple eyes. "He brought up the disappearance of Walder Frey. It seems the Frey Household has already discovered what happened in Oldstones."
Daemon glanced back at the checkpoint. Awood was directing the guards to block the way again, but this time they were much more restrained, even looking at the merchants with apprehension.
He touched the brand on his right shoulder, the heat gradually fading. "It doesn't matter if they notice. They have no evidence, and they wouldn't dare challenge the dragon."
"Your Gael, rest assured, I handle things with utmost care. Even if they suspect something, what can they possibly think? The probability of it being 'bandits' or a shootout is far greater," Larys Strong heard the voice coming from the low sky above the group.
He even chuckled on his grey donkey, saying, "And I guarantee it will be absolutely true that they'll disappear without a trace, dead or alive. These weasels wouldn't dare offend the real dragon; they're just trying to take advantage of the situation and rob us of more toll money."
The group passed through Sevenstreams and headed towards the Witch's Mire outside the town.
The source of the Blue Fork here transforms into countless mudflats, with green algae floating on the surface and the air filled with the pungent smell of humus.
The nobleman Dustin's entourage followed behind, and the nobleman spurred his horse to catch up with Daemon and his party. "I am Rodrik Dustin,"
"It was the Earl of the Barrow Hall. Thank you, Your Highnesses, for your help."
"Why would people from the the North come to the Riverlands?" Daemon Targaryen asked.
"Going south to discuss some fur trade, and while we're at it, to stock up on some food for the winter; this spring is colder than usual." Rodrik's gaze fell on the Glutton, filled with awe. "But I never expected Sevenstreams to become like this. The Frey Household is really going to become more and more outrageous."
Daemon didn't respond, but urged the team to speed up. The treacherous path of the Witch's Mire stretched ahead, with occasional bubbles rising from the mud, like some kind of creature breathing.
The Glutton flew at the forefront, occasionally succumbing to its whims and landing to rest. But its enormous claws sank into the mud, leaving deep footprints, and its angry tail swept across the roadside thorns, stirring up a cloud of mud and water.
Awood Haigh's figure grew smaller and smaller at the town's entrance. Daemon knew that this checkpoint in Sevenstreams was nothing more than a microcosm of the House Frey's greed.
Once they leave, the extortion here will only intensify until the next "true dragon" appears.
But he had no time to worry about that. The mist in the Witch's Mire began to spread, obscuring the sunlight and making the path ahead unclear. Only the roar of the three-headed dragon echoed in the swamp, guiding them through the mud.