Chapter 56: Blackwater Ferry Rise, Protest of the Dragon Law
The Blackwater Rush had become the artery of Daemon's domain — a living river of men, ships, and gold.
Where once the southern Crownlands were ravaged by raiders and bandits, now rose order under dragon's flame. The forests and sandbars that had long sheltered outlaws were cleared; watchtowers marked every bend of the King's Road; and the commonfolk who once cowered in the woods now worked Daemon's lands as free farmers, fishers, and craftsmen.
Longships of dark oak cut across the waters, their black sails emblazoned with the red three-headed dragon. These were Daemon's fleet — a host of Sistermen captains, Crownlander sailors, and fisherfolk turned oarsmen. They patrolled the Blackwater Rush and the Vendel River, hunting down brigands who dared to strike at travelers or merchants.
The ferries that once carried fear now carried trade, and on both banks rose Ice Snow Fort to the north and Flame Castle to the south, twin guardians of Daemon's expanding domain.
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The Rise of Daemon's Lands
Prosperity spread like wildfire.
In the fields, golden barley bent beneath the wind; in the orchards, apples and blackberries filled the baskets of laughing women. The air smelled of honey and roasted grain.
Daemon's estates were no longer mere fiefdoms — they were enterprises.
He provided his farmers with plows, livestock, and seed, and in return they worked his lands for coin and bread.
At the docks, fisherfolk hauled nets heavy with silver-scaled catch. Young, strong men joined Daemon's river fleet as "tax soldiers," guarding his waterways and collecting tolls from passing merchants.
Wool mills, slaughterhouses, and breweries hummed with work. The Hog's Head ham workshop, overseen by Mary of the Marsh, filled the air with savory smoke. Honey from Daemon's apiaries was packed in golden jars, while plum and apple wine flowed freely from his breweries.
His apple wine and mead soon became famed throughout the Crownlands — sweet, strong, and cheap enough that even Flea Bottom drank like lords.
Blacksmiths forged tools and swords alike. Shipwrights built longships, and Daemon spoke of greater things still — merchant cogs and oared war galleys, to rival even the Sea Snake's fleet.
Yet none of these ventures matched the profits from the Red Harbor, Daemon's newest creation at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush.
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The Red Harbor and the Trade of Flesh
Where other lords saw a river mouth, Daemon saw an empire.
He built docks, taverns, and inns — and beyond them, a district of pleasure and vice that came to be known as the Scarlet Court.
Here, under red lanterns, danced the beauties of Lys and Tyrosh, Myrish courtesans, and Braavosi singers. There were whispering priestesses from the Summer Isles, silver-haired slaves from Yunkai, and exotic performers said to have once served khalasars beyond the Bone Mountains.
Every taste of the known world could be bought — for a price.
Merchants and captains came from far and wide to rest, trade, and sin.
Within months, the harbor was crowded with Braavosi galleys, Pentoshi traders, Ibbenese whalers, and Summer Island swan ships.
From gold and grain to flesh and honey, Daemon taxed them all.
The river, once ruled by outlaws, now flowed with silver — all to Blackwater Ferry, Daemon's seat of power.
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The Cleansing of the Kingswood
But prosperity could not last while bandits still plagued the hinterlands.
Daemon took to the skies on Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, his crimson scales glinting like molten steel. Beneath him rode three banners: Richard Storm, Qidan Massey, and Windsgrace Greyjoy, each leading armored knights and footmen.
From the air, Daemon saw their lairs — hidden in marshes, caves, and wooded isles. He gave no quarter.
Caraxes's roar split the forest. Orange fire poured forth, consuming men and trees alike. The screams of bandits were drowned by the roar of the Blood Wyrm's wings.
Daemon leapt from the dragon's back mid-flight, landing like a falling comet, Dark Sister flashing black in the sun. The blade sang as it cut through leather and flesh.
By nightfall, the bandit lords were ash, and their followers shackled. The worst were impaled along the King's Road as warnings — their corpses picked by crows.
Those who survived were driven to labor at Daemon's castles. Each stone they lifted repaid a sin.
Soon, watchtowers dotted the roads every three leagues, each manned by seven sworn knights and serving as both inn and stronghold. The King's Road became safer than it had been in living memory.
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The Young Squires
Among Daemon's camp were three young squires:
Tylan Lannister, second son of Casterly Rock; Matthew Tyrell, heir of Highgarden; and Tom Staunton, heir to Dragonstone — a boy with moss-colored eyes who dreamed in green.
They watched in awe as Daemon fought beneath his dragon's wings.
After the battle, they wiped his armor clean of blood and soot.
"Prince Daemon," asked Tylan, "when will we be knights of war?"
Daemon laughed. "When your hands no longer tremble at the sight of death. For now, polish steel and learn to stand straight."
Of them, Daemon saw promise only in Matthew Tyrell — calm, observant, and proud. "That one," he murmured to Caraxes later, "will make a knight of true worth."
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The Law of Dragons
In the days that followed, King's Landing glittered with revelry.
The celebration of King Jaehaerys's fiftieth year upon the Iron Throne had drawn lords, merchants, and envoys from across the world. Pantomimes and plays filled the streets, while Flea Bottom grew fat from foreign coin.
But beneath the laughter, tension brewed.
Foreigners flocked to the Dragonpit, eager to glimpse living dragons. Some sought more. When Daemon learned a green-bearded Tyroshi had been caught trying to steal an egg, his face darkened.
"Close the Dragonpit," he ordered Captain Delaine of the Dragon Guard.
"No more visitors. If they wish to see dragons, let them watch Vhagar, Vermithor, or Silverwing from afar."
The captain hesitated. "But the King and Queen promised the guests—"
Daemon's gaze turned sharp as steel. "Then they shall see them from a distance, not from within our walls."
He knew too well what foreign hands would do with dragon eggs — hatch ruin.
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The Royal Banquet
That night, the courtyard of the Red Keep shone with a thousand candles.
Upon the dais sat King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, radiant and weary alike.
Before them gathered the might of Westeros:
Ellard Stark, Warden of the North, who brought furs of snow-bear and white wolf.
Grover Tully, Lord of Riverrun, who gifted a trout of red gold.
Tymond Lannister, Duke of Casterly Rock, who presented twin golden lions.
Lady Jeyne Arryn, Warden of the East, who gave a sapphire falcon.
Matthew Tyrell, now Lord of Highgarden, bearing a rose of carbuncle and emerald.
Beaumont Baratheon, of Storm's End, who brought a golden stag inlaid with gems.
Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, whose gift was a warship named King Jaehaerys.
Lord Hightower of Oldtown, with rich incense and tomes.
The High Septon, veiled in white, offering a seven-colored crystal star.
And Gavin Greyjoy, self-styled King of the Iron Islands, who bore a bow of dragonbone.
When the gifts were done, Jaehaerys rose, his voice carrying over the feast.
> "For fifty years, the dragons of House Targaryen have united this realm. Yet power breeds envy, and fire must be bound by law.
Therefore, I proclaim the Dragon Law:
All dragons, wild or tame, and all dragon eggs in this world belong solely to House Targaryen.
Any man, highborn or low, who rides, steals, or hides a dragon or egg without our leave — shall die."
The murmurs began at once.
Tymond Lannister's smile was thin.
> "A harsh law, Your Grace. What lord would not wish his daughter wedded to dragon's blood?"
Gavin Greyjoy laughed from his cup.
> "Shall we then claim all iron for the Ironborn, by your leave?"
Corlys Velaryon's voice cut smooth and sharp.
> "If every law ends with the sword, soon no one will have tongues to praise the crown."
The High Septon folded his hands piously.
> "The Seven teach humility. To hoard the flame of the gods may draw their wrath."
And from Oldtown, Lord Hightower added,
> "Wisdom, too, can be burned if fire grows without restraint. I urge the crown to reconsider."
Then came a sound that silenced them all — a thunderous roar.
The feast darkened as shadows passed overhead.
Prince Baelon descended on Vhagar, vast as a castle, her wings blotting the sun. Beside him swooped Daemon on Caraxes, his Blood Wyrm hissing flame, and Princess Gael on Dreamfyre, gleaming silver-blue in the dusk.
Three dragons circled above the Red Keep — symbols of power absolute.
Below, the lords of Westeros and the envoys of Essos gazed upward in awe and fear.
Daemon met his grandfather's eyes across the torchlit courtyard, his voice carrying above the roar of wings:
> "The law is passed, and the world will remember it."
The flames from Caraxes's maw lit the night sky like dawn.
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