Game of Thrones: The Black Dragon King

Meereen.

A slender, long, scarlet dragon with a snake-like neck and wing membranes on its hind feet appeared in the sky.

As it flew, its scales shimmered with a breathtaking red glow in the afterglow of the setting sun. With each flap of its wings, it stirred up gusts of wind, causing the surrounding clouds to churn.

"Bloodworm" Koraksh

Inside the Great Pyramid below, a commotion arose as men and women in their finest attire awaited the start of the welcoming ceremony.

As if sensing the gazes of the crowd below, Kolachu let out a unique hiss.

The sound echoed throughout the city of Meereen, and then the colossal creature slowly landed on the platform in front of the Great Pyramid, its enormous wings casting shadow over half of the platform.

The rider on the dragon's back is dressed in black scale armor, with flowing hair, and carries the Valyrian steel sword "Dark Sisters" at her waist.

The Wandering Prince, Prince of the Capital, Lord of the Flea Nest, Damon Targaryen.

"It is an honor to have you here, Your Highness," said Lord Darcy Graza with a smile, bowing and speaking in his not-so-fluent Valyrian.

"Prepare live food for my dragons," Damon said bluntly in High Valyrian. As he hovered in the air, he noticed a number of scorpion crossbows placed on the walls and pyramids of Meereen. Although they were not strung, they made Korakshu feel unsafe and uncomfortable.

"Of course!" Darcy laughed, then waved his hand.

The prepared slaves swiftly led over fat pigs and goats, which had been scrubbed and tidied up, ready to be offered as food to the dragon.

A splendidly dressed maid with silver hair, purple eyes, and a distinctly Valyrian appearance approached, carrying small pieces of bread and salt.

"In Meereen, we do not have a traditional ceremony to confirm a guest's rights. But to show our respect for you, we have combined the welcoming rites of Westeros and Valyria."

Damon leaped off the dragon's back, tore off a small piece of bread, dipped it in salt, and ate it. After completing the ceremony, he scanned the surrounding crowd with piercing eyes.

"I didn't come here to visit your pyramids."

"Of course, Your Highness. Your arrival itself is already a response to our request, and in return and as a token of our gratitude, Meereen will do its best to meet your needs. The banquet is ready; please follow me, and we will discuss the details there."

Damon nodded and followed Darcy into the Great Pyramid. Corakheu, on the other hand, stayed outside to enjoy his own private meal.

The interior of the Great Pyramid is resplendent with gold and lavish decorations, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle outside. Exquisite reliefs adorn the walls, depicting the history of Meereen, and the air is filled with the intoxicating aromas of spices and flowers.

Inside the banquet hall, a huge long table was laden with all sorts of delicious food and drinks. Guests, dressed in splendid attire, sat around the table, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Damon and Darcy, surrounded by their entourage, slowly entered the banquet hall.

"Please allow me to introduce you to some important guests," Darcy said with a smile, pointing to several figures in the banquet hall: "They are the great lords of Meereen, envoys from the city-states of Yunkai, Astapor, and New Gith, as well as leaders of renowned mercenary groups."

As is customary for guests, Damon nodded to each of them.

Among these guests, some wore magnificent silk tocas, tied with colorful ribbons and copper plates, and covered in gold and silver jewelry, showcasing their noble status; others wore simple yet exquisite handmade clothing, revealing a low-key luxury; and still others clearly exuded the dangerous aura of someone who had lived a life of danger.

What they had in common was that they all looked at Damon with flattery and anticipation, after all, fighting with the support of dragons always made them feel safer.

"Dorn?" Damon keenly scanned several guests dressed in desert attire, their red and yellow flame emblems on their chests quite conspicuous.

"Yes, they are also advisors invited by the Council of the Great Lord," Darcy explained softly.

"They are indeed very experienced in withstanding dragonfire," Damon sneered.

"We are equally experienced in slaying dragons," Fowler retorted.

"Whoosh!" The Valyrian steel sword gleamed as it pointed directly at Fowler Uller's nose.

The latter looked at Damon with a provocative expression.

The guests' conversations instantly fell silent, and the atmosphere in the banquet hall became subtly tense. Everyone's gaze unconsciously focused on Damon and Fowler.

The air was instantly filled with a tense atmosphere.

Damon's gaze was icy cold, and the tip of his Valyrian steel sword trembled slightly. Fowler, though his expression was defiant, also harbored wariness in his eyes; Damon was known for his unpredictable temper and fiery temper.

"Your Highness, please don't do this. They are guests as well," Darcy quickly stepped forward to dissuade them, trying to ease the tense atmosphere. "Today is our banquet. Don't let such a trivial matter spoil everyone's enjoyment."

Damon narrowed his eyes slightly, sheathed his sword, but his imposing aura remained undiminished. He gave the prison gate knight a cold look: "With these gophers around, even the best feast will smell like shit. I can't eat it."

After saying that, he turned to Darcy and bluntly ordered, "You should know which of these people have met or fought with that dragon rider. Have them come to me later." With that, he strode away, leaving Darcy bewildered in the wind.

"Someone come here! Explain to me what's going on!" Darcy roared, his face dark. He had messed things up and needed an explanation.

A clerk slave well-versed in history trotted forward and whispered in his ear to explain the matter.

As a descendant of the Geese, whose lust for dragons borders on insatiable, Darcy's knowledge of the Dragonflight family's history seems somewhat inadequate. Damon's branch, as direct descendants of Queen Rhaenys, still has their great-grandmother's remains missing, and Miracis's skeleton is left to dry outside the Gates of Hell. To expect him to dine at the same table as the Ullers? The fact that they didn't start filming on the spot is a testament to the earlier provision of bread and salt.

Similarly, during the darkest hour for Dorne, known as "Dragon's Wrath," each Dornish castle was burned by dragonfire an average of three times, while Prison Gate Castle received special treatment, burning more than nine times. The fifth Earl of Prison Gate Castle died a violent death, and hundreds of his direct and collateral relatives died either from dragonfire, assassination, or "accidents." Mere verbal sparring was already the greatest restraint one could muster.

……

Later, the guest rooms of the Great Pyramid

Unlike the tense atmosphere before, Damon's room was filled with the aroma of wine and laughter.

"Valley people fighting sheep?"

Damon sat on the soft couch in the guest room, holding a glass of Qingting Island Golden Wine, looking quite content.

Several nobles from Meereen were sitting around him, discussing various strange and unusual events, and the question came from one of the young slave owners.

"That's an interesting question." Pardara raised an eyebrow and said, "I've heard that the people of the Valley have some peculiar customs. They like to have young men make a ritualistic contact with sheep during the harvest season to pray for a bountiful harvest and peace in the coming year."

"Ha! That's utter nonsense!" another guest laughed. "The Vale people of Westeros are notoriously rigid and conservative; how could they possibly have such an absurd custom?"

"Because the women there are rigid, domineering, sharp-tongued, and mean-spirited, as cold and uninteresting as a block of wood in bed." Damon imagined the image of a bronze-clad woman, piling up adjectives, then laughed, "In contrast, the men of the Valley prefer the ass of big-tailed sheep."

A burst of laughter erupted in the guest room.

The maid with Valyrian features immediately nestled into Damon's arms, acting like a little bird seeking shelter, and opportunely declared: she would never let the Dragon King have such a terrible experience with her; she would soothe the Dragon King's cold heart.

These words once again filled the room with laughter among the men, greatly easing the tense atmosphere, and the guests raised their glasses.

Hizdala was clearly not comfortable in this situation. Unlike the group of playboys who were accompanying him, he had done some homework in advance: Rhea Royce, the lady of Runestone, was Prince Damon's legal wife. Their unhappy marriage was the source of the story of "The Valley of the Sheep". What if he blatantly agreed with her and incurred the wrath of the unpredictable Damon?

"Speaking of which, Your Highness, shouldn't you have summoned us here to find out about that person?" Sizidara steered the conversation toward the main topic at the right moment.

"You're right. We do need to talk about that person." Damon put down his glass and shifted into a more comfortable position. "Relax and tell me your thoughts on the dragon rider and the dragon that suddenly appeared. Say everything you can think of."

"The dragon was enormous. Each column of the Unsullied was about 25 yards wide. By comparison, the length of the black dragon's head and tail must have been at least 100 yards."

"Besides dragons, what other trump cards does he have? Maybe he has a sizable army that makes him so arrogant that he's already certain of victory before the battle even begins." Sitz paused, organizing his thoughts before continuing, "Moreover, even though he's officially declared war, and the declaration vehemently denounces slavery, I don't sense that he's shown much hostility towards us slave owners. This surprises me. Logically, he should be wary of, or even hostile towards, our cities and people."

"That dragon rider was arrogant. As the victor, he could have taken our family's Valyrian steel sword, but he didn't."

"He had a sense of superiority over us, or rather, contempt. He treated slaves, prisoners of war, commoners, and nobles with the same indifference; he despised us all equally."

"Not surprising," Damon said, swirling his glass in his hand, a hint of appreciation in his eyes. "The Valyrian Dragon Aspects despise everyone outside their own kind."

“Not entirely, my lord,” Sizdala echoed. “His contempt wasn’t born of anger or malice, but of a calm and profound insight, a pride that runs deep. This attitude makes me both uneasy and inexplicably admiring.”

"Admiration?" Damon raised his eyebrows slightly, clearly surprised by the word.

Hitzdala nodded, his eyes flashing with complex emotions. "This is how I feel when I'm facing him."

"He also told me to wear a red feather in my hair when we met again, so that I would not be burned to death on the battlefield and could serve him after the war."

"Plug in a red feather?" Damon chuckled. "Is he showing his tolerance and benevolence? Or is he provoking him?"

"No, he probably just wanted me to live."

······

"He's not someone who's particularly expressive, but he's definitely good at gathering information..." Pardara said confidently. "He's very principled, or rather, stubborn. The time I ambushed him on the outskirts of Meereen, the box of gold coins I promised was bait. Afterwards, he insisted that I keep my promise and send him the money."

"His friend, the Pentos merchant Eurylis, once said one of his favorite sayings, or perhaps his tribal proverb: 'Words are gold!'"

"A man of his word?" Damon repeated. "He values ​​promises highly?"

Pardara shrugged and said, "They do value fulfilling contracts and forcing others to fulfill them."

"In a world full of lies and betrayal, this is a bright spot."

"Yes, sir," Pardara chimed in, "He not only adheres to his principles, but he is also very adept at concealing his true intentions. When dealing with him, you can never guess what he will do next."

"His view on money is also strange. Before coming to Meereen, he won an attack on the Dothraki with his excellent command and elite troops. These people could have been sold for a lot of money, but..."

"He holds grudges. Someone insulted him in the arena, so he wrote down their family crests in a small notebook. That very night, he started looting, setting fires, and even released a 'long-winged dragon' that was kept in the arena, causing great damage to Meereen..."

······

"Your Highness, I was once a follower of Ouilis, a merchant from Pentos. In my memory, that dragon rider first appeared in Pentos disguised as a mercenary. At first, he only had about thirty men, less than ten of whom were armored, but he quickly won a reputation. 'His word is his bond' was his motto at that time. In one year, he built a small castle in Pentos with nearly a thousand men, all of whom were elite veterans..."

"He was definitely a nobleman, because only nobles would equip their soldiers with those coats of arms with heraldic markings, a red coat with a black, menacing dragon on it..."

"Red background with a black dragon? Nobles?" Damon frowned, seemingly trying to match this identity with that family.

But his passion for swordsmanship, taverns, gambling dens, and brothels meant he was truly uninterested in his studies. He couldn't recall anything from the accounts in "The Genealogy and History of the Major Noble Families of the Seven Kingdoms," nor the related content in "Herbalism of Nobility." Perhaps he should send a message to the Academy City to help him look it up?

"If that's the case, why did he end up in Pentos, becoming a mercenary?"

“That’s exactly what’s puzzling us, sir,” Sizidala continued. “All the clues end a year ago on the outskirts of Pentos, as if he appeared out of thin air. But whatever his identity, his abilities and ambitions cannot be denied.”