Chapter 103: Where Lies the Shadow of the Dragon

"I'm afraid nothing we offer can truly satisfy you." The elder shook his head regretfully. "To be honest, the Green Men have been in decline for a very long time. I'm the only one on this island who can control multiple beasts as a skinchanger. The remaining skinchangers are either too old or too weak. To put it bluntly, they might not even be able to best one of your soldiers. However, the trees tell me that soon, a very talented boy will emerge from the swamps. We will send him to your domain to serve you as recompense for our intrusion."

Draezell shrugged. "You can't just not pay any price, tell me what information you know."

The elder pondered for a moment, listening carefully as the ravens let out shrill cries. Finally, he looked up, his voice cautious. "The children see a green dragon wandering through the marshes and along the coasts, as if preparing to fly northeast or southeast. That enormous beast has destroyed thirteen villages and two forests. I can hear the children's cries."

"Vhagar heading to the Vale? The Crackclaw Point? Or perhaps the islands of the Narrow Sea?" Draezell muttered to himself. Daemon's search also covered that area, with Moondancer patrolling the Vale. As for Princess Baela, though young, her courage and dragon-riding skills were unmatched. He wasn't too worried about a Vhagar raid catching the Vale unprepared. As for Dragonstone… wait a minute. Did Rhaenyra fail to leave a dragon behind to guard Dragonstone? But then again, that wasn't his concern. Even if Vhagar raided Dragonstone, the old beast couldn't take away any dragons there. No valuable figures remained on the island either. Draezell absentmindedly rubbed his fingers at the thought.

"The new greenseer—our emissary, the Three-Eyed Raven—will be born of your bloodline, Your Grace," the elder continued. "The next two greenseers will carry your blood."

Draezell's brow furrowed sharply. "My bloodline?"

The elder nodded solemnly. "Indeed, Your Grace. Your bloodline."

Draezell fell silent for a moment before dismissively waving his hand. "Well, my grandchildren will have their own fate to contend with. Just as long as you haven't set your eyes on my sons or daughters."

The elder shook his head. "The northern Heart trees still need several decades to prepare the magic for raising a chief greenseer. You need not worry."

Draezell gave an ambiguous shrug and grabbed the saddle's handguard. "Let's go, Vermithor. Nothing more to linger for here. Thanks for the information, Green Man." With that, Vermithor lazily swept his gaze across the grove of weirwoods, spread his massive wings, and ascended into the sky.

It wasn't until Vermithor disappeared into the clouds that a few small, furtive figures emerged from the forest. "So terrifying, so terrifying," a girl said, patting her chest. "I felt like that dragon could burn our whole island with one breath."

"And that guy was scary too. I could smell the blood on him," another young Green Man remarked in awe.

"Enough of your gossiping about people behind their backs." The elder smacked the younglings one by one with his staff. "Now get back to practicing your skills. You can't even pay your debts when someone comes knocking at the door!"

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"Your Grace."

Daemon took the bread offered by the kneeling saltpans maester and stuffed it into his mouth in a few bites. Caraxes, too, tore into the sheep provided with ravenous hunger. This Bread belonged to house cox of Saltpans, who were only a moderately wealthy landed knightly house. They dared not offend either the Black or Green factions, opting instead to hide in their small castle on the island, praying daily to the Seven.

"Bring me the one who saw the dragon," Daemon said impatiently when the Maester struggled to form a coherent sentence. He turned his gaze to the boy who had claimed to see Vhagar.

The boy trembled as he stepped forward and fell to his knees before Daemon with a thud. "M-My lord, I saw the green dragon burn the village to the north, then it flew towards the mountains."

"Which mountains? Which direction?"

"South. It went southeast," the boy said after a moment's thought, even gesturing with his hands to confirm.

Daemon immediately rose, prying a silver clasp from his armor and discreetly pressing it into the boy's palm. "Buy yourself some bread and meat, lad." With that, the old prince strode purposefully toward Caraxes. The blood-red dragon crushed the sheep's bones in his jaws, devouring the last scraps of flesh and bone in one gulp. With a turn of his neck, he fixed his gaze on his rider and readied himself.

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The Vale.

Draezell descended atop Vermithor, landing in a fishing village south of Candlewood Keep. As Vermithor touched down, the villagers fell to their knees, heads bowed, not daring to look up.

"Who knows what happened to the village to the west?" Draezell asked, his voice carrying authority as he looked down upon them.

"Milord, the village to the west?" an elder, who appeared to be the village head, cautiously approached the massive dragon. Vermithor's cold gaze swept over the man, causing him to freeze mid-step. Vermithor then withdrew his neck, disinterested, and the elder halted, speaking from a safer distance. "We saw it last night, milord. That dragon—larger than Candlewood Keep itself—burned the village to the west. I ordered everyone to hide."

"Well done." Draezell fished a small piece of gold from his breastplate and tossed it to the ground. The gold clinked off Vermithor's scales a couple of times before landing in front of the elder. The old man hastily scooped it up and tucked it into his coat. He would never dare pocket it for himself—this single piece of gold could buy enough pigs or sheep to give the entire village a hearty feast, or it could fill their granaries for the coming winter. "Did anyone see which direction the dragon went?"

"South!" a burly woman shouted. "I saw it this morning when I went out to fish."

Draezell nodded and patted Vermithor's back. The dragon let out a deafening roar, shaking its wings before taking to the skies.

As the massive beast disappeared into the distance, the woman stood frozen for a moment before the village elder shuffled over, swaying slightly. "It's more than enough that these lords leave us anything. Go gather the women—we'll prepare the granary. This gold will buy us plenty of oats and rye."

"Can't we get some wheat too, elder?" The woman, quickly abandoning any lingering disappointment at being unrewarded herself, asked eagerly.

"Wheat's too expensive." The elder rapped her on the head lightly. "You don't know how to manage a household."

---

Two dragons flew in tandem toward Crackclaw Point and the islands of the Narrow Sea, searching for any sign of Vhagar.

But in the Riverlands, a great battle was on the verge of breaking out.

"Northmen, why have you come?" Lady Sabitha Frey, née Vypren stood atop the walls of the Twins, gazing down at the mounted soldiers bearing the queen's quartered banners and the direwolf of the North.

Each rider was grizzled and gray-haired, their beards unkempt, their armor a mix of ancient chainmail and ragged fur cloaks. Yet in the eyes of every old wolf burned a deadly resolve and an unwavering will to fight until the end. The Northmen rode unarmored shaggy horses, and leading them were the venerable Lord Rodrik Dustin, "the Old," and Robb Ryswell.

"We come to die for the Dragon Queen, woman!" the Old Lord bellowed impatiently.

"Well, what a coincidence—I'm ready to die for the Dragon Queen too!" Lady Sabitha laughed heartily. "Open the gates! Let these old ghosts cross the bridge." She turned back to the Northmen's ranks and shouted, "I'll spare you the toll, lads—save those coins to pay the Stranger!"

The Old Lords answered her with booming laughter.

The Northmen's army galloped across the Twins' bridge.

Meanwhile, the lions marched out from the Golden Tooth. Lord Jason Lannister's forces finally entered the Riverlands.

Awaiting them was Daemon's carefully prepared defensive line along the Red Fork.

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