"The Ironborn Are Coming"?

The gravel on the River Road crunched softly under the horses' hooves, and the wind from the Westerlands, carrying the chill of the mountain rocks, finally dispelled the lingering fishy smell that had lingered in the Three Sisters.

As Daemon reined in the Glutton's dragon saddle, his gaze swept across the winding mountain road ahead, and for the first time, he caught a glimpse of the outline of Golden Tooth. The fortress, built against the mountainside, resembled a piece of gold embedded in the limestone layers. The sunlit stone walls gleamed with tiny lights, supposedly traces of mineral veins. From afar, it truly looked like a sun suspended in the sky, sandwiched between mountains, perfectly matching the House Lefford's coat of arms. "Sky blue background with gold pillars reflecting the sun."

"At least it doesn't stink like Sisterton anymore." Mysaria supported Gael's back, her platinum curls stained with dust from the mountain path. She sniffed, the disgust in her eyes finally gone from Bay of Crabs. "The mountains in the Westerlands are much steeper than those in the Riverlands, Your Highness. Look at those stone steps, weren't they carved directly from the rock?"

Upon hearing this, Gael leaned closer, her pale purple eyes sweeping over the bushes beside the mountain path. "The book says that Golden Tooth guards the Westerlands gateway, and it truly lives up to its reputation. If a few boulders were placed to block this mountain path, even a thousand troops would have a hard time getting through." She suddenly pointed downwards, "But look at those people down there, aren't they peasant soldiers?"

Following her gaze, the crowd saw a dozen or so men dressed in coarse cloth crowded around the bend in the mountain path, holding rusty hoes or sickles, some even carrying sharpened wooden sticks, their faces ashen as the rocks of the Westerlands.

A knight in leather armor rode a skinny horse, his whip cracking loudly, but no one was willing to move forward.

Step by step, a few teenagers hid behind the bushes, shouting at the top of their lungs, "Ironborn is coming again!" Their voices didn't contain much fear, but rather a hint of mocking amusement.

"They don't look like they're going to war." Rupert Crabb reined in his horse, the shoulder armor of his white armor gleaming coldly in the sunlight. He pointed to a peasant soldier squatting on the ground, the man secretly wiping away tears with his sleeve, a half-eaten rye bread tucked into his pocket. "They look like they're going to their deaths."

Larys Strong, riding his gray donkey, had somehow ended up next to the peasant soldiers.

The gray donkey, probably it was about to burst with impatience, stretched its neck to peck at a chicken in a peasant soldier's arms as soon as it stopped, causing the soldier to jump up and curse. Larys quickly grabbed the reins, the hem of his black robe sweeping across the pebbles on the ground, his tone carrying its usual slyness. "Fellow villager, don't get angry with an animal. This group of you looks more like you're going to the market than to war."

Seeing his respectable attire and the dragon-riding troop, the peasant soldier couldn't resist complaining. "War? What war! Last month, that Ironborn Dagon Greyjoy, wrote that he was going to burn Lannisport, and the lord sent us to defend it. This is the third time! The first two times we set off before dawn, and when we got to the harbor, we didn't even see a trace of the Ironborn, just their longships floating in the distance. The House Lannister lords were hiding in their castles drinking, and we didn't even get half a silver stag's bounty!" He grew angrier as he spoke, slamming his hoe into the ground. "If we run away empty-handed again this time, my kids will go hungry!"

"Dagon Greyjoy?" Colin Celtigar suddenly leaned closer, clutching a nautical chart he'd brought from the Three Sisters. "Looks like King Alton's youngest son, right? Could that Urragon from Seagard be his brother?"

The peasant soldier paused, then nodded, "That's right! I heard from the Lannisport sailors that the Ironborn's old king is dying, and his three sons are vying for the throne, all trying to establish their authority through plunder. Last time, that Urragon you mentioned went to raid Seagard, and ended up being burned to ashes by the Iron Throne's dragons. This Dagon wants to raid our Lannisport, but he doesn't dare actually come; he just writes letters to scare us!"

Upon hearing this, Daemon's black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder suddenly felt slightly warm—from Urragon in Seagard, to the smugglers of the Three Sisters, and now to Dagon threatening Lannisport, the internal strife in the Iron Islands had begun to spread to the Westerlands. If Casterly Rock did not handle the situation properly, it could escalate into an even bigger problem. He turned the Glutton's head and said to Larys and the others who had rushed back, "Hurry up, to Golden Tooth."

The group sped along the mountain road, and the outline of Golden Tooth became clearer and clearer.

This fortress lived up to its reputation, divided into three levels according to the mountain's terrain. The gate of the bottom level was reinforced with thick iron, and the sun emblem of the House Lefford was engraved on the lintel. The middle level was riddled with arrow slits, and on the top level Watchtower, several guards were looking through binoculars. Upon spotting the Glutton and the dragon shadows of Dreamfyre, they immediately blew their horns, the sound echoing through the valley.

As soon as they reached the city gate, they saw a group of Lannister envoys in red armor mounting their horses. The lead knight had a livid face and was cracking the reins loudly.

Beside the city gate stood a burly man, dressed in a sky-blue brocade robe embroidered with golden stakes and sun emblems at the hem. He was none other than Earl Humfrey Left of Golden Lefford Golden Tooth. He gave a perfunctory nod to the envoy's retreating figure, without even a smile on his lips, his fingers unconsciously stroking the gold-hilted dagger at his waist—the dagger's scabbard was inlaid with small pieces of gold ore, clearly a local product.

"Your Highness! Your Highness!" Humfrey's voice suddenly rose, his previously cold face instantly breaking into a smile, even the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes crinkling together. He strode forward, completely ignoring the Lannister envoy who had already walked away. "The arrival of a true dragon in Golden Tooth truly brightens this stone city! I told the maester this morning that with such clear skies today, distinguished guests would surely arrive, but I never expected it to be Your Highnesses!"

His change of heart was so swift that Mysaria couldn't help but tug at Gael's sleeve and whisper, "He's even better at reading the political winds than the smugglers from the Three Sisters."

Gael suppressed a laugh and nodded gently, her gaze falling on the gold ore decorations on Humfrey's brocade robe. The ore wasn't finely polished, but it exuded a straightforwardness unique to people from the Westerlands: We have gold.

Humfrey, completely oblivious to the girls' subtle movements, enthusiastically pulled Daemon toward the city. "Your Highness, please come in! I've had a feast prepared, with fresh gold leaf wine just retrieved from the mines, the fattest roasted wild boar from the Westerlands, and even your dragons will have a share—I've had thirty plump sheep herded, all freshly selected from the pastures, guaranteed to satisfy your Glutton and dreams!"

The main hall of Golden Tooth was simpler than I had imagined, yet it exuded wealth in every way: the beams and pillars were wrapped in gold leaf, the walls were adorned with tapestries embroidered with the coat of arms of the House Lefford in gold thread, and even the legs of the long table were covered with a thin layer of gold.

Several knights of the House Lefford were already seated in the hall. Upon seeing Daemon and his party, they all rose to bow, their gazes darting back and forth through the window towards the direction of the Glutton and Dreamfyre, their eyes filled with curiosity.

"Your Highness, please have a seat!" Humfrey personally pulled out a chair for Daemon and then had a maid serve mead to Gael and Mysaria. "This mead is made with honey from Fair Isle, sweeter than King's Landing's. Please try some." As soon as he sat down, he clapped his hands again, and several servants carried in a wild boar that was roasted until it gleamed with oil, a golden apple still in its mouth, drawing gasps of amazement from the crowd.

The liveliest place was the open space outside the castle. A dozen servants were herding a flock of fat sheep toward the Glutton and the Dreamfyre. The sheep bleated and some tried to burrow into the grass, but were surrounded by the servants.

The Glutton first warily exhaled a breath of dragon breath, the black flames grazing past the flock of sheep, startling the servants into retreating. But when it smelled the muttony odor of the sheep, it couldn't resist lowering its head, picking one up, roasting it, and swallowing it whole. A hint of disdain appeared in its dragon eyes, probably because it thought it wasn't as fresh as the fish from Dragonstone.

Dreamfyre, on the other hand, was much more elegant. It gently held down a sheep with its dragon claws, then breathed fire and began to nibble at it. Its pale blue dragon wings even deliberately shielded it from the splashing, half-cooked juices, causing Mysaria to breathe a sigh of relief, "Thank goodness Princess Dreamfyre is so refined, otherwise this scene would have been terrifying."

Halfway through the banquet, Daemon, seeing that Humfrey was enjoying his drink, casually brought up the subject. "My Earl, just now on the mountain path, I noticed the peasant soldiers looked unwell, saying they had been busy with the Ironborn several times?"

Humfrey waved his hand dismissively, took a sip of his gold-leaf wine, the gold dust glittering in the candlelight. "Your Highness, are you referring to that brat Dagon Greyjoy? Ha, a mere infant! Last month he wrote to Lannisport threatening to burn our ships, but all he did was hover around Ironborn Bay three times, never even setting foot in Lannisport!"

He scoffed, "Our Lord Taimond of the House Lannister in the Westerlands is Lord Master of the Seas in Master of Ships King's Landing. Casterly Rock is currently being managed by two children and the Lord's cousin, Ser Loreon, who is also in charge of the Lord's twin sons, Jason and Tyland, who are only eight or nine years old. Loreon is known for being a kind old man; he can't even bear to collect rent from his own tenants. I guess that Dagon is just taking advantage of that, trying to scare them and distract us so he can plunder a couple of small villages and make some profit. If they really clash with the army of the Westerlands, those bastards aren't even worth it!"

Rupert Crabb put down his roast meat, frowning. "But what if he really dares to come? Lannisport is the gateway to the Westerlands. If we lose it—"

"Don't worry, it won't be lost!" Humfrey slammed his hand on the table, his gold-hilted dagger bobbing on it. "Our Golden Tooth's iron mines alone can forge countless pieces of equipment, not to mention the garrison at Casterly Rock isn't to be underestimated! Besides, don't we have Your Highness's dragons? As long as the Targaryen dragons are here, not only Dagon, but even the entire Iron Islands would be reduced to ashes by their Dragonfire!"

As he spoke, he deliberately raised his glass to Daemon, "Your Highness, rest assured, the House Lefford will keep an eye on things in the Westerlands. You can continue your journey with peace of mind. If any trouble arises, I'll send you ravens immediately!"

Daemon raised his glass with a smile, but secretly he made a mental note: Humfrey's optimism was perhaps a bit blind. He had heard about the Ironborn's madness in their struggle for the Ironborn in his previous life, Dagon's three provocations were not just empty threats.

Moreover, with a young lord and veteran ministers in power, Casterly Rock is not necessarily stable internally. Beneath the "wealth" of the Westerlands, there are probably many hidden dangers.

He glanced at Larys sitting in the corner, who was picking at a piece of mutton with a silver fork, his dark eyes gleaming thoughtfully, clearly having also noticed the loophole in Humfrey's words.

As night deepened, the atmosphere of the banquet remained lively. The knights of House Lefford and Daemon's followers began to compete in swordsmanship, some even taking out short-handled axes and hammers used in the mines, and their swordplay was fierce and impressive.

Mysaria followed Gael to see the gold mine samples in Golden Tooth. When she returned, she was holding a small, shiny piece of gold ore, her eyes full of wonder.

Larys rode off on a gray donkey, disappearing somewhere. When he returned, the hem of his black robe was stained with mineral dust, but a strange smile played on his lips.

Daemon stood on the castle terrace, gazing at the distant mountain path. In the moonlight, the outline of Golden Tooth resembled a lurking behemoth, guarding the gateway to the Westerlands, while in the darkness at the end of the mountain path, the shadows of Ironborn longships seemed to sway.

He touched the brand on his right shoulder; the warmth there gradually faded, leaving behind a strange sense of unease—beneath the gold and feasts of the Westerlands, the shadow of the Ironborn was drawing near, and could the young lord and veteran ministers of Casterly Rock withstand the impending Storm?

The Glutton growl came from below. The Black Dragon, having probably eaten too many sheep, was dozing on the open ground, while Dreamfyre curled up to the side, its pale blue wings gleaming softly in the moonlight.

Daemon gripped the hilt of the Blackfyre, a resolute glint in his purple eyes. Whatever the Ironborn's purpose, he was determined to find out during his tour of Casterly Rock and Lannisport. He could not allow the chaos in the Westerlands to become another disaster before the Dance of the Dragons.

The lights of Golden Tooth shimmered in the night like countless scattered gold pieces, while the large lamp hanging on the Watchtower shone towards the River Road, as if lighting a faint but resolute light for the challenges to come.