Chapter 364: Tideshead Isle

Though she had recently encountered the Gatekeeper and the Rat Chef, Dany didn't change her plans. That very night, she took Maester Aemon and left the Wall.

As for Stag and the Night's Watch refusing to believe the story about the Rat Chef, she didn't bother trying to prove anything.

When she saw Fat Sam sucking the bone marrow out of the Rat Chef's thigh bone, she turned and left without saying a word.

If Stag wanted Castle Black, then let him have it!

Dany had come to understand something: even putting aside the fact that Jon and the other Night's Watch members had not seen the Black Gate again, even if Stag forced Sam to open it, even if he and Melisandre entered, it didn't mean they could follow her path—entering the blue wind sphere and hearing the Song of the Wind.

Back then, she had both her second soul of the Nine-Colored Whirlpool and the Belt out, along with the help of two dragon souls. Only then did she break through the blue wind barrier and enter the wind sphere.

She didn't believe Melisandre's magic was stronger than hers combined with two dragons.

So, Dany left without guilt.

Though the old maester kept muttering, "The Mad Axe still lives, the Wall cannot rest easy," they found no sign of the blood-colored phantom after scouring Nightfort. All he could do was give Melisandre a few words of caution before departing with the Dragon Queen.

Dany rode the white dragon. Barristan and the old man rode the black dragon. They departed around 1 a.m. and, just before dawn, found a forest near Dreadfort, pitched tents, rested for three hours, took a nap, and ate two of House Bolton's cows before continuing their journey.

By around 3 p.m., they reached Blackwater Bay.

Dany left Aemon and Barristan to rest on the sea-facing cliffs of the Crackclaw Peninsula—Dany could sleep on a dragon's back, but they could not. Still full of energy, she rode her dragon around Dragonstone's skies. Seeing that the garrison had two or three hundred men, she flew west toward King's Landing, trying to find Brawn's fleet.

Hmm, there were many ships in Blackwater Bay, but Dany couldn't tell which belonged to Count Brawn—or if Brawn had already arrived at Tideshead Isle.

She and Brawn had originally agreed to meet at Tideshead Isle.

So, Dany decided to find Velaryon.

The Velaryon castle was built atop a seaside cliff. To the south was the ocean, to the west was High Tide, and to the north stretched a small plain dotted with villages.

The main fortress was built against the mountain, with structures at varying heights, surrounded by eight towers. Six defensive watchtowers blocked the mountain path from the front, and an observatory stood on the eastern side.

At the center of the fortress was a courtyard of about a thousand square meters, surrounded by flowers like starflowers and white daisies, with a dragon tower in the center.

Of course, the Velaryons had a dragon tower for dragons to land and take off.

However, it wasn't tall. Due to the cliff terrain, it only had four stories. Its top was about 200 square meters wide—much smaller than the one in Valyria.

When Big Black and Little White landed, it was a bit cramped. Half of their tails drooped off the edge of the tower.

"Your servant, Monterys Velaryon, humbly welcomes Her Majesty the Queen."

After the two dragons circled the sky and landed, a round-faced child in ornate clothes, followed by seven or eight knights, knelt in greeting.

"Sigh, how tragic. The Velaryons are left with only you, a child." The Dragon Queen, forgetting her own upbringing, felt a pang of pity for the little boy.

"Your Majesty…" Little Monterys looked at her in confusion, not knowing how to respond.

"Rise, all of you! I am Daenerys Targaryen," Dany declared as she swept her gaze across the knights and maesters behind the boy. "I intend to reclaim Targaryen lands—Dragonstone."

The hunchbacked old maester subtly nudged the young count's back. The boy immediately straightened and replied respectfully, "House Velaryon pledges loyalty to Your Majesty."

"We pledge our loyalty to Her Majesty!" the knights echoed like an oath.

Dany sighed. "Let me borrow your dragon tower for a few days. We'll speak downstairs."

The dragon tower had originally been built to host visiting Targaryens. But with dragons gone for over a hundred years, the bedrooms and parlors below hadn't been used in ages, and the furnishings were somewhat outdated.

By nightfall, the servants had managed to change the bedding, curtains, chairs, and sofas.

In the drawing room, with the fireplace roaring and a chandelier overhead, a long table stretched out. Dany sat across from the little earl. On either side sat knights and two maesters.

Handmaidens entered in a line, bringing Arbor gold grape wine, steaming bread, freshly churned butter, thick beef soup, salad made of green peas, onions, and beets, fish in almond milk, roast duck, plump chicken, and golden roasted lamb chops.

It was a lavish feast.

Both sides had already made introductions. Aemon and Barristan were long-time acquaintances, so by now everyone had become familiar. The dinner atmosphere was warm and lively.

After a couple rounds of toasts to the Dragon Queen, Dany got down to business.

"Monterys, and you knights—none of you seem surprised by my arrival?" she asked, puzzled.

The young earl glanced at his maester, then softly said, "We received a raven from the Citadel a week ago."

"Heh, those bastards made the first move," Dany immediately understood and sneered. "I suppose they didn't speak well of me?"

"Well…" Little Monterys hesitated.

"They claimed you violated guest rights and murdered the archmaester who treated you as an honored guest," said the hunchbacked maester, setting down his wine cup and sighing bitterly.

"What?!" Barristan exploded in fury. "I never imagined the Citadel could sink to such shameless depths!"

Dany, on the other hand, wasn't that angry. If scholars had a lower limit, then taking the absolute value would match their upper limit.

"Maester Newton doesn't seem to believe the Citadel's story?" she asked, more curious about the Tideshead maester's stance.

"I suspect it was the Citadel that violated guest rights," the hunchbacked maester said bleakly.

"If the Citadel did it, it has nothing to do with you." Dany consoled the old maester who still had a sense of justice, then proceeded to recount everything that happened that day—including the "real world" and the truth behind the Dance of the Blood Dragon.

The group at Tideshead was first stunned, utterly in disbelief. But once they came to their senses, they flew into a rage, slamming the table and cursing loudly.

"This time, the Citadel may have shot itself in the foot," said old Aemon, his expression complex. "Archmaester Perestan isn't even dead. In fact, he's currently sending letters for aid to every count and above in the Seven Kingdoms."

He loathed what the Citadel had done.

The pain of the dragons' extinction was something the Targaryens could never forget, and he could never forgive the Citadel for orchestrating it. Yet he also understood deeply that the Citadel had served Westeros for thousands of years, with immense contributions—it was indispensable.

If the Citadel were to lose all its credibility, the nobility would no longer place their trust in the maesters. And without the support of the nobles, the Citadel—stripped of honor and trust—would not survive.

But the nobles and Westeros couldn't do without the maesters either!

"The Citadel is foolish. Nearly all the archmaesters know the truth about the Dance of the Dragons. They can guess why the Citadel is targeting me. Dozens of archmaesters—can they really silence all the voices?

Even if none of them speak, I'll always be able to capture a few as prisoners. Wouldn't the truth come out then?" Dany sneered.

"All the archmaesters know?" Ser Dink exclaimed in disbelief.

"So many people know, yet the secret never got out?" Ser Sothorys asked suspiciously.

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To be honest, Dany was curious herself. The records were right there in the library vault. Every archmaester had the right to access them. Over the centuries, so many archmaesters had come and gone—why had none of them ever spoken of it?

And the past Targaryens—"careless" wouldn't even begin to describe them.

How foolish must they have been to never catch even a hint of it?

In fact, Dany had misunderstood two things. First, before the Targaryen dynasty fell, the vault had no records about the Dance of the Dragons or the "real world." At that time, ordinary archmaesters knew nothing about the Citadel's core secrets. Second, the Citadel's promotion system to archmaester was far more rigorous than she imagined.

If any archmaester harbored "unwholesome" thoughts—like leaking secrets to outsiders, especially to the Targaryens—the others would make sure he suffered a mysterious "accident" before he could act.

Take Marwyn the Mage, for instance—a scholarly brute who could wield a sword as well as a pen. Even he feared the Citadel deeply, always worried that one wrong word might lead to him being quietly poisoned.

Forget the Targaryens—even Varys the Spider had no idea the Citadel harbored such grand ambitions, like creating a "real world."

"Your Grace, what do you intend to do with the Citadel?" the hunchbacked old maester asked with concern.

"Sigh... those maesters and archmaesters who are guilty—let them wear black and atone. As for the Citadel itself, I won't abolish it. Perhaps relocate it, give it a new name. But it must undergo a thorough reform."

"Your Grace is merciful!" Old Newton let out a long breath, visibly relieved.

"Shall I deliver your message to the Citadel tonight?" he asked with a flattering smile, testing the waters.

Dany waved her hand, her tone firm. "No. Take Dragonstone first. Let Maester Aemon represent me and deliver the verdict."

"Yes, yes! That's how it should be." Maester Newton nodded repeatedly, clearly in agreement.

Still, that very night, a letter was sent—delivered by Maester Newton on behalf of the Dragon Queen to Lord Adrian Celtigar on nearby Claw Isle.

It was late into the night.

Having learned the details about the White Walkers, the hunchbacked maester and Ser Dink left with solemn faces, escorting the drowsy young earl.

By the fireside, old Aemon nestled in a fur-lined chair and murmured, "When attacking Dragonstone, Tidehead Isle may aid you—but afterward, it will become a burden.

I fear King's Landing won't tolerate an enemy so close to their doorstep. A battle is inevitable.

When that time comes, you must protect Earl Monterys. He is your vassal, and the last heir of House Velaryon."

"If I burn the Red Keep with dragonfire, will the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms see me as the second Mad King?" Dany asked coldly.

"They definitely will," the old maester replied with certainty.

"To the Targaryens, the Red Keep is what Winterfell is to the Starks, or the Eyrie to House Arryn. Your Grace, you may have no affection for the Red Keep, but that doesn't mean it has no symbolic value," Ser Barristan also advised.

"That's exactly why I don't want to recruit too many former Crownland lords. Forget their loyalty—just protecting their lands would cost more than the help they offer," Dany said helplessly.

But Tidehead and Claw Isles were different. Whether she came or not, whether the young earl swore allegiance or not, once she seized Dragonstone, King's Landing would consider those islands part of her domain.

The Velaryon retainers understood that well, and so did the Lord of Claw Isle.

It was precisely because he knew how deeply marked he was by House Targaryen that Lord Celtigar had fled without hesitation—even before the Dragon Queen marched in, he was already preparing to raise the three-headed dragon banner.

"I just hope Lord Celtigar can hold his ground. I don't ask him to help me much—just staying alive is enough," Dany sighed.

Old Aemon's eyes gleamed, and he smiled. "Actually, there's another force you can rely on. They are utterly loyal to the Targaryens. In fact, they only serve House Targaryen.

Not only are they numerous, they're also brave and fierce—and they won't become a burden."

"Who?" Dany asked, intrigued.

"The southern wildlings," the old maester replied, his tone strange.

(End of Chapter)

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