Multiply was quite the task... and so he left baby batter in those tight caves before leaving.
And afterwards, it was just a matter of hitching a ride.
Accordingly, a Bronze Junk was doing a routine trade in the near trading ports... so Ronan just commandeered it to head to the Stepstones.
With just its motley crew of new-batch Bronze Orders who had only been around Westeros.
Which should be enough.
Cause, yeah... there was no time like the present. Especially when a trip from Blackwater Bay to that fractured Arm of Dorne is traditionally a week or so away.
But that should be cut short when a great draft is caught and night trips could be done... especially when there's the standard-issue compass to fall back on.
As for the reason for the rush when he could have waited for greater backup and better ships from back home...
Well... he wanted to race... against the teleporter.
The previous messenger, Ser Addam or something... who literally only took the span of the father-daughter conversation and the Velaryon huddle to finally hand over the message to Daemon...
Such a feat, only for the man to just get gobsmacked by a helmet.
Setting aside that unfortunate beatdown, Ronan really wanted to try and beat that kind of ludicrous speed.
Even when he knows that it was just editing magic. It's his Don Quixote moment, in a way.
Then again, it was all in good quixotic fun. An amusing thought to not bore himself during this impromptu trip.
In any case, they did arrive at the destination... in record time at that.
Probably before the Velaryon huddle... or even way before that... which means that he might have actually won.
But yeah... instead of going to Dwarfstone... Ronan had the ship head towards Bloodstone instead.
Consequently and strategically, it was under the cover of midnight and by docking at a place that was inconspicuous enough against the two opposing parties.
While the war was at a lull... and when he can do some very sneaky carnage.
With just Lamentation and his helmless armor.
However, the armor is Royce legend come to life... prototyped from the expired ancestral armors back at Runestone.
Runed armors that were thought to make its wearer immune to injury.
And yep, he made one that's fresh and working... with design improvements like actually being able to sleep with it snugly on.
Cause, why not? Why not be like Bofuri's Maple?
Granted, he actually wasn't going to be sleeping this night... because he was going to be giving others the eternity package.
Rampaging by his lonesome in caves that were different than the one Rhaenyra has.
Battering in a different way as well. The bludgeoningly painful kind.
Granted, the slice and dice was much more efficient... a process of elimination via Lamentation… while he had something else in mind for the leftover Crabfeeder.
Save the best for last, as they say.
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Per the usual, Daemon was quick to saddle on Caraxes as soon as possible.
Leaving the Sea Snake and his kin to argue and strategize... while he and his dragon leave early to hopefully catch that Crabfeeder off guard.
At this point, it has become day after day of the same. Yet it was still to no avail.
Those caves were a dragon's bane, but Daemon still let Caraxes breathe fire on what they can... to force out a group or two.
And when that doesn't work out... they usually just lay waste on the open dunes to let out their frustration...
From all those early errors and that wound still relatively fresh in mind and body.
A torture that drained him so.
Daemon felt that this go-around was not going to be any different, however. But it still had to be done.
To attain that much-needed glory that evaded him all this while.
Nevertheless, it really didn't take long for Caraxes and him to reach the sky above the biggest isle in these Stepstones.
The sky they first circled high, to not be reached by stray arrows and the catapulting of flaming stones.
But oddly enough, there was none of that now.
With the ground below having not much activity.
Eerily quiet... which should not be the case.
So, it was safe to assume that it was most probably another trap.
To make him complacent and lure him into whatever plot they have designed.
But then and there, Daemon spotted something.
Something that was the color of bronze leaving one of the caves... dragging another that was somewhat gray in tow.
And as Caraxes slowly and inevitably descended, Daemon saw it clearer and clearer.
His eyes almost unbelieving of what it's seeing...
For it was actually a warrior in bloody bronze armor... tugging on none other than Craghas Drahar with a rope!
So...
"What in the fucking Hells?!" Was all that the Rogue Prince could freaking blurt out!