The late golden lion
The fires in Lannisport burned ever brighter in the twilight, thick smoke like a giant black serpent coiling across the Westerlands sky. Daemon reined in the Glutton's saddle, the Black Dragon's breath spewing scorching white steam, the dust clinging to its black scales swept away by the wind, revealing a cold, asphalt-like sheen beneath.
"Jarman, Harlan!" Daemon's voice pierced the chaotic wind, and the one-eyed Jarman Waters and the longbowman Harlan Hunter immediately spurred their horses forward. "Take Larys, Beren, Mysaria, and Alys Rivers to Casterly Rock. Tell Loreon that the Ironborn has breached the Ironborn and to quickly send reinforcements. If we're too late, Lannisport will be nothing but ashes!"
Jarman's single eye swept across the distant firelight, his fingers unconsciously tightening their grip on the bowstring. "Your Highness, rest assured, we will reach Casterly Rock within half an hour." He dismounted, helped Mysaria onto the saddle, and patted Larys's gray donkey—the donkey's legs were covered in mud, yet it still held its head high, much like its owner's eccentric nature.
Larys, leaning on his cane, the hem of his black robe brushing against the gravel, said, "Your Highness, take care. I will urge the reinforcements from Casterly Rock to arrive sooner." He glanced at Beren, who was clutching a notebook and gripping the pen nervously, and added, "Little Beren will record the military intelligence along the way, which will make it easier for you to review later."
Alys Rivers, her green dress clinging to her body in the wind, leaned against the carriage doorframe. She glanced at Daemon's right shoulder, her gaze seemingly able to see the black three-headed dragon brand through his clothing, and whispered, "Even dragons need to conserve their energy. Don't push yourself too hard." Mysaria nodded, a few sparks dappling her platinum curls, but she still slipped a handkerchief embroidered with blue fork grass into Gael's hand. "Your Highness, wipe your sweat."
Gael took the handkerchief, tucked it into her bosom, and climbed back onto Dreamfyre's back. "Let's go! Little Daemon, we need to hurry and stabilize the defenses!"
Daemon, already aboard the Glutton, was ready to go. The black dragon's wings gleamed like obsidian. Daemon turned the dragon's head, his purple eyes filled with determination. "Stay close to me, Gael, and don't let the Ironborn burn the inner harbor again!"
Two colossal dragons soared into the sky simultaneously. The Glutton's black flames were the first to tear through the night sky, like a bolt of dark lightning, heading straight for the Ironborn longship in the outer sea.
Dreamfyre followed closely behind, its pale blue flames dancing like elves, landing on the wreckage of ships near the shore, burning the small boats trying to reach the shore to charred remains.
Lannisport below was already in chaos. The Red Armored Guards who were supposed to be stationed at the docks had either dropped their spears and run into the city, or cowered behind the warehouses trembling. A few tried to organize a resistance but were cut down by Ironborn battleaxes, their blood flowing down the stone slabs into the sea, staining the nearshore waters red.
Ironborn longships crowded the harbor, their sails adorned with gleaming golden sea monster emblems in the firelight. Pirates roared as they charged ashore, their iron hooks grappling the wooden planks of the warehouses, dragging away the stolen silk and gold.
"Follow the same method as last time at Seagard!" Daemon roared, his voice mingling with a dragon's cry. The Glutton swooped down, black flames erupting from their breath and sweeping across the outermost row of longships. The pine hulls instantly burst into flames, splinters and sparks flying everywhere. The Ironborn's screams were consumed by the flames. Some pirates tried to jump into the sea to escape, but were scalded by the boiling water and soon fell silent.
Gael immediately understood, and the pale blue flames of Dreamfyre turned towards the near sea. "Clear the ships near the dock! Don't let them land!" This second battle was familiar to the girl and her magnificent dragon. She commanded Dreamfyre to fly low, and the flames landed precisely on the masts of every longship that tried to dock. The sails were instantly burned to ashes, the ships lost their balance, and crashed together, blocking the near-shore waterway.
This was the same tactic they used with Daemon Targaryen in Seagard last time: Glutton would construct a wall of fire on the open sea to prevent Ironborn reinforcements from escaping; Dreamfyre would clear landing ships near the shore to buy time for ground troops.
Although the crimson flames of Daemon Targaryen and Caraxes were absent, the Glutton's black flames were even more intense, and their coordination with the Dreamfyre was even more precise. The two dragons, one on the outside and one on the inside, showed a level of synergy that was even greater than the previous coordination between Daemon Targaryen and Gael.
Chaos began to spread among the Ironborn. The once arrogant pirates looked up and saw the shadows of the Black Dragon and blue dragons. Some threw down their weapons and hid in the cabin, while others tried to turn the ship around and escape, but were caught up by the Dragonfire of the Glutton and burned into Fireball along with their ships.
Burning shipwrecks floated on the sea, billowing thick smoke, and even the sea breeze carried the smell of burning metal. Ironborn sea monster flags fell one after another in the sea of fire, like molten gold.
"Your Highness! We're here!" Rupert Crabb's roar came from below as he led Rayford, Colin, Myles, and other followers of Daemon, swords raised, towards the Ironborn who had landed.
Rupert's white armor was stained with blood, yet he remained valiant, his longsword felling a pirate wielding a hook;
Rayford commanded the rest to form a shield wall, blocking the Ironborn's counterattack;
Colin's spear pierced a pirate's throat with pinpoint accuracy, while Myles's battle axe split another pirate's head in two.
In stark contrast to them were the belated reinforcements from the Westerlands.
When the hundreds of Lannister soldiers in silver armor arrived, their spears were still crooked, and some were not even wearing helmets. When they saw the sea of fire on the sea and the dragon in the sky, they froze in place, not knowing whether to move forward or backward.
A knight tried to give orders, but no one listened. The soldiers either stood around the burning warehouse in a daze or shrank back into the city, like a swarm of headless flies.
"Let them go and clear out the remaining enemies in the inner harbor!" Daemon shouted down, and the Glutton spewed black flames again, burning a Ironborn longship that was trying to break through the wall of fire in half.
The crisp sound of the ship breaking echoed in the night sky. Seawater rushed into the cabin, and burning wood chips floated on the surface of the sea like a burning duckweed.
The battle dragged on from dusk until the first light of dawn.
As the first rays of sunlight pierced through the thick smoke and shone on Lannisport, nine out of ten ironclad Ironborn on the sea were gone. The remaining few took advantage of the Dawn fog and fled along the coastline toward Ironborn Bay. The Glutton wanted to give chase, but the dragon's wings were too weak to droop due to the fire they had breathed all night, and they could only let out angry growls.
Dreamfyre was also exhausted; its pale blue Dragonfire were as weak as candlelight. Gael gripped the dragon saddle tightly, her face as pale as paper.
"Stop chasing." Daemon's voice was hoarse. He patted the Glutton's neck, and the Black Dragon flicked its tail unwillingly. "We—and the people in the harbor—can't hold on any longer."
The Lannisport below was a scene of devastation. The wharves were charred, and shipwrecks piled up on the sea, some still smoldering.
Weapons and corpses were scattered in the streets, and blood mixed with seawater congealed into dark red scabs on the stone slabs;
The surviving civilians crouched behind the broken wall, some weeping for their loved ones, others picking up scattered grains, their eyes filled with despair.
Daemon's followers leaned against the wall, all wounded. Rupert's armor was ripped open, Rayford's arm was slashed, and Myles's battle axe was dulled, but no one complained, they just breathed silently.
Gael landed beside Daemon on her Dreamfyre. The girl's silver hair was stained with cigarette ash, and her pale purple eyes were filled with exhaustion. "There are still quite a few survivors in the harbor. We need to get the people from Casterly Rock to rescue them."
Daemon nodded, about to speak, when they heard the sound of horses' hooves in the distance. Looking in the direction of the sound, they saw a group of people in magnificent formal attire riding towards them. Leading them was Lord Loreon Lannister, who wore a deep red tuxedo embroidered with gold thread, a House Lannister lion brooch at his collar, and his hair, though meticulously combed, couldn't hide the panic in his eyes.
Two servants each carried a boy of eight or nine years old. The boys were dressed in the same style of white silk dress with miniature lion patterns embroidered on the collar. They were rubbing their sleepy eyes, clearly having been woken up from bed.
"Your Highness Daemon! Princess Gael!" Loreon dismounted, the hem of his robes sweeping across the scorched earth. He stared at the carnage before him, his face turning deathly pale. "This—how could this be—"
"This is your Westerlands ' supposed invincibility." Daemon's voice was as cold as the sea at Dawn. He pointed to the fleeing Ironborn ships in the distance, then looked at the ruins in the harbor. "Three threats lowered your guard, the garrison became lax, and reinforcements were helpless. Now— Lannisport is in this state."
The two twin boys were put down by the servants. Tyland rubbed his eyes and whispered to Jason, "Brother, why does it smell so bad here?" Jason also frowned, staring at the bloodstains on the ground, and shook his head in confusion.
Their white uniforms contrasted starkly with the surrounding charred and bloodstained surfaces, like two cotton flowers that shouldn't have appeared on the battlefield.
Loreon's face flushed red. He opened his mouth to explain, but seeing the horrific scene before him, he couldn't utter a word. He had originally dressed in formal attire with the twins, preparing to go to the port to welcome the "Patrolling Dragon," completely disregarding the intimidation from the barbarians of the Iron Islands, thinking it was just a minor skirmish like before. But what he hadn't expected was a war that raged Dawn, and a home in ruins.
As the morning light gradually rose, it shone on the weary figures of the Glutton and Dreamfyre, on the wounded faces of Daemon's followers, and on Loreon's magnificent yet inappropriate attire.
The wind still blew through Lannisport, carrying the stench of burnt blood, as if silently accusing this disaster caused by negligence, and foreshadowing that the peace of the Westerlands had long been burned away by the flames of the Ironborn.