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Creative Writing
Maekar the Maker (ASOIAF SI)
Thread starterUmodin
Start dateAug 24, 2022
Tagsasoiaf dragons self-insert
Maekar the Maker (ASOIAF SI) RSS
Created atAug 24, 2022Index progressOngoingWatchers884Recent readers0Threadmarks5
Maekar Flowers knew much in this second life. He knew that though he was bastard born, the royal blood in his veins was a blessing. He knew that war was coming, regardless of his actions. And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wanted nothing to do with it. How will the Dance of Dragons shift when a new dragonrider enters the fray, unwilling to play the game of thrones?
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Umodin
Aug 24, 2022
#1
129 AC
Dragonstone
Maekar Flowers
"We're leaving soon," came the voice from the hall, startling me from my book on the strategies of the Ghiscari empires of old. I put the thing down carefully, wary of tarnishing the time-weathered papers further, and looked over toward the hall, frowning at the brown haired, brown eyed figure leaning in the doorway. He was a young man, tall but wiry, wearing the teal and white colors of House Velaryon.
I cocked an eyebrow at him, but offered a bow of the head regardless. "Then I wish you good fortune in the war, Prince Jacaerys. Just as I did this morning."
The Prince of Dragonstone frowned at my cheek, shaking his head. "Walk with me, Flowers."
Silently, I stood from my desk, carefully put my book away, and did as bade, for one does not reject a prince, especially when they're a lowly scribe of a bastard nature. We walked through the halls of Dragonstone together, past scullery maids and washerwoman, up a flight of thinly curved stairs decorated in obsidian and scale cuttings of stone, until we reached a dais overlooking the island that this castle was named for. It was a glorious site, truth be told. The black-grey slopes of the Dragonmont gave way to the lower fishing towns, rife with activity, where the bite of Blackwater Bay stood stark against the cloudless blue sky overhead. It was a beautiful, impressive sight, one that I was gladdened to be able to take part in from the comforts of the castle.
But more impressive than anything was the sight of the castle courtyard, or more frankly what was in the courtyard, where fan array of beasts of varying sizes were being handled, winged creatures of awe and splendor. Dragons.
Silverwing, Vermithor, Sheepstealer and Seasmoke were there, with their newly determined dragonseed riders at their sides, as were the remaining dragons of the Blacks here on Dragonstone: Syrax, Vermax and Moondancer. Prince Joffrey and his dragon Tyraxes were missing, heading to the North to treat with the Starks of Winterfell. Princess Rhaena had joined Prince Joffrey, taking with her three dragon eggs clutched by Syrax, bargaining tools for the Vale of Arryn, on the way to Winterfell. Prince Daemon and his dragon Caraxes were stationed over Harrenhal, and the princes Aegon and Viserys, along with Stormcloud, dragon of Prince Aegon, had been shipped to Pentos for fostering and protection until the war was over.
The dragons were breathtaking, all of them, and every time I looked at them, my throat constricted with want.
"It puzzles me, Maekar." the prince said, leaning his frame against a ledge of carved obsidian in the shape of a sphinx, also looking down at the wyrms in the yard. "That you did not even attempt to mount one of the dragons when I made the call-to-arms. You know more about the dragons than anybody else; their habits, their roosts, even their preferences of food and when they like to eat it. But when I allowed you seeds the chance to sprout, you remained in the muck. Why? Why would you refuse this offer?"
I hummed, still staring at the beasts from afar. "I admit, I am envious of them. These dragonseeds. The blood of the dragon runs thick in me, it's true. Few can say their own father was a prince of the blood. I think I could have been a rider."
"Then why did you refuse to even try? You would have been able to rise above your bastardly station with one fell swoop."
Tilting my head in his direction, I pondered that thought myself. I had wracked my head over the subject for days, and in the end, though there were many reasons, the most notable answer was as cowardly as it was fair.
Fear.
Few could say they knew what happened after death, and far fewer wouldn't be called madmen or fanatics for speaking of such uncertainties. I, however, was quite certain of at least one thing on the subject: death is not a finality, but instead the start of something new. And I knew this to be fact, for I had already lived one before this, if not more.
The details of my previous life do not matter, and they will not be spoken outside of the seldom. But I remembered much. Indeed, the manner of my death is perhaps the most clear memory of my former life that I still possess.
I died choking on a chicken bone. Embarrassing, I am well aware. But more to the point, the last thing I saw upon closing my eyes for the final time was the spine of Fire and Blood sat atop my bookshelf, the, at the point of my passing, most recent update to George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series, outlining the lore and history of half of the Targaryen rulers, back when dragons were more monster than myth.
And when I awoke, it was in the body of a babe named Maekar Flowers, snugly held in the arms of a young girl of thirteen years, in a dingy little apartment overlooking the streets of Oldtown. This girl, Myrali, was my new mother.
Suffice it to say, my early life in Westeros was an odd affair. I struggled to accept this second life, that I had been born at all, let alone in a world of brutal fiction, and even felt a certain amount of dysmorphia whenever I saw my reflection in a bucket of water or the odd glass pane, not recognizing that which I had known for nearly thirty years. Where my hair was once brown and beginning to thin with age, it was now silver-gold and lusciously thick. Where my eyes were once laughing and blue, they were now haunting and violet. Where I was once short and stocky, I was now tall and… well, also stocky. Perhaps the only thing I recognized to have shared with my old body were the freckles racing over my torso and arms and face, though the skin they sat atop was of a healthier coloring than I was accustomed to still.
But over time, those struggles of self shifted. I had, after great exertion, accepted the truth for what it was, and chose to embrace this new chance. This new life. I played in the streets with the children of Oldtown, did what I could to help my young, haggard mother with her work as a Citadel cook, and looked for means to make a name for myself, unlikely though that was given my young age. I would often take to the ports and offer myself to assist dockmasters with their works, with the hope of finding an apprenticeship when I neared my coming of age, hoping to turn our economic tide by eventually becoming a merchant.
Then, as if to spite me for my intentions, upon my ninth name day, after a great torrent of rain and heavy ocean wakes had me return to our home earlier than the norm, I came across my mother, now a woman of twenty-two years, fearfully sitting across a tall man that held to my colorings.
It was then I learned. I had always known I was a bastard and felt no shame for it. Flowers was a common enough name in Oldtown, what with House Hightower being so populace a family, as well as the many knights and lords and such that would pass through the harbor. I knew my mother bore me by laying with a highborn man and thought nothing more of the matter.
I did not know he was a prince.
Vaegon Targaryen was his name, the seventh child of the Old King Jaehaerys I Targaryen and the Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen, their fourth-born son. Being a boy with little interest in martial pursuits, dragon claiming, or line growing, but with a strong brain and bookish nature, it was almost a natural progression that he take the path of a maester once he came of age. King Jaehaerys had heirs and spares aplenty regardless, and though many lords and ladies were saddened by his departure to the Citadel, if only because of the courtly power they would gain with his name, few remembered he existed after only a handful of years away. And Vaegon thrived in the Citadel, even becoming the archmaester of mathematics and economics, bearing the mask, rod, and ring of yellow gold.
My siring came when many other bastards were born, during the Great Council of 101 AC. King Jaehaerys' heir at that point, Baelon Targaryen, had died from a burst belly, and the king knew not who to name as his next heir from his grandchildren, the daughter of his firstborn son or the son of his secondborn son. So, he called Vaegon forth from the Citadel, for his sound and educated advice.
My mother had been part of Vaegon's traveling party to King's Landing, the daughter of his taste tester. I do not know the circumstances of their coupling, nor did I ever desire to learn, but when I was introduced to this violet eyed man and told that he was my father, my immediate reaction was disgust.
My mother was thirteen when she had me, and twelve when she was bedded. Vaegon had been thirty-eight. Even in Westeros, where the term age of consent was as foreign as the Dothraki language, twelve was considered too young.
Disgust turned to hatred, however, when I was informed, just moments after learning his identity, that I was being shipped off to Dragonstone, to apprentice under Maester Gerardys who oversaw the castle. Princess Rhaenyra had fallen with child, and Prince Vaegon felt it best to offer the maester of Dragonstone an assistant with blood ties to the ruling family. It was a rare opportunity, I was told, to apprentice under such a man. I was to learn much of the lessons of a lord, as well as the duties of a scribe and the tasks of a castellan, granted an education rare for any not of a lordly station, and be allowed to care for, presumably, the future king of Westeros.
Honestly, I would have been happy with this proclamation, ecstatic even, had it not been for the ultimatum demanded of me by my sire.
"My seed spread strong and grew into a Flower," he said, sounding horribly annoyed for it. "And I will do right by that. But you belong where the seeds of my family are meant to be, boy. I'll not have my disgrace near. Nor will you ever come here again. Swear it."
Had he said anything else, anything at all, I think I might have been able to forgive him for his actions against my mother. But the truth was plain; though he offered me a boon, it was solely to keep me away from him and the Citadel and from ruining his reputation further. The oath he demanded of me was a hard one, for not only was I to leave Oldtown and never return, but my mother was also to remain. My mother and I were close, caring deeply for each other on a level seldom seen, and to leave her from then on hurt to even consider.
But, in the end, no matter how upset I was or how much I pled for an alternative course, be in it another land or a differing role or for my mother to follow, Vaegon's mind was set, and I was willing to infer that, should I reject his offering, that son or not I would not live long. His cold, unflinchingly pragmatic nature made him an ideal maester of economics in that sense.
And so, upon accepting his offering, I was ushered away by a guard of his knowing and sent off to Dragonstone by way of the Rose Road. I was prepared to be disappointed.
As luck would have it, there was little disappointment to be had. I was given more food than I'd had as of yet and was offered comfortable quarters in the royal wing. It was also helpful that Maester Gerardys was a very different man when compared to Vaegon. Short and stout but full of life, Gerardys was an extreme talent in the art of healing, and quite open to helping to commonfolk out with birthings and sicknesses when unneeded by his Targaryen overlords. My tutelage with Gerardys was beyond beneficial, and our bond was strong.
More to the point, he allowed me many freedoms. I was allowed to spend my free time as I chose, so long as it was beneficial in some manner. Be it studying tomes unneeded, parsing through the castle for secrets, or even taking up new skills, such as painting or smithing or alchemy, I was at peace. In fact, through Gerardys, and through Dragonstone as a whole, I had begun experimentation into the development of concrete.
It was somewhat awkward to create, considering I never knew the recipe for the stuff, save for that limestone and ash were somehow involved. I didn't know much of anything regarding manual labor really, and it took years of trial and error to produce something to start with. From there, through much perseverance, as well as an inclination towards random factoids from my love of Jeopardy, I was able to piece together a working recipe using the volcanic ash from the Dragonmont for stability.
Alas, concrete was not made the norm in building as I'd hoped it would be. In fact, nobody really used it, even on Dragonstone, where it was discovered and able to be made plentiful due to the volcanic ash. No matter what Maester Gerardys and I said, people were stubborn, and Queen Rhaenyra, though she was still a princess at the time of the creation of concrete, was probably the most stubborn person I'd ever met in either of my lives. Undeniably beautiful and worthy of her epithet as the Realms Delight, Rhaenyra was a pretty picture. But simple stubbornness did not do her justice; she was steel, and if she chose not to bend, she simply would not.
And what care did she have of a new building material brought about by the bastard cousin of her kingly father? In her mind, the builders knew best when it came to building, and if they had no desire to make use of concrete, then that was that, neatly sidestepping the simple fact that if she'd simply ordered it, they would make use of the stuff.
Suffice it to say, I did not have the greatest of relationships with the queen. I was cordial with her, for anybody that wasn't was likely to lose a tongue, but I could not truly say that I liked her.
Her sons however, them I liked.
Which neatly returned me to the present, taking in the Prince of Dragonstone and his contemplation of me. I feared not being burned alive in the dragon-claiming process, for I knew that there was life after death, but the shifting of the song that was to come. I was not fool enough to believe that my existence did not cause ripples in the intended story of the world, but my preference was to risk my life with as little change as possible so that I might live a longer life this time around.
That said, I still planned on trying to claim a dragon.
"Though I did not claim one of the dragons in the yard, there are others to be had," I said, fiddling with the sleeve of my robe, a nervous habit developed over the years.
Jacaerys raised both brows my way. "Truly? There are only two free dragons remaining, and their names tell their own tale: the Cannibal and the Grey Ghost. One is known for eating everything that approaches, including dragons, and the other is known for rarely being spotted. Some even think the Ghost is just a superstition, a trick of the mind brought about from staring at the steam of the Dragonmont for too long. I am inclined to believe them. Unless you mean to smuggle yourself into King's Landing and make for the Dragonpit?"
I smiled secretively his way. "Well, I can speak it plainly, if only to wean you off such theories. The Grey Ghost is quite real, and I know where he roosts."
The eyes of the prince lit up. His eyes were always alight when speaking of dragons. "You do?" he asked, excited. "Some of the smallfolk trekked what seemed like the whole of the Dragonmont looking for him to claim. There were no signs."
I nodded, sharing his excitement. I was twelve years his senior and had been allowed to take part in the education of him and his brothers upon his sixth nameday, when I was halfway through my eighteenth year. While histories and numbers never truly held his interest, we shared a bond on our mutual fondness for dragons, and we would often have deep conversations on the subject in the presence of Vermax. Jacaerys was a good lad, never caring of my bastard nature. In his mind, it was the blood, not the name, that made the difference. Had he been the Prince of Dragonstone years earlier, I probably would have been given an opportunity to claim a dragon in peacetime on my own merit.
Still, a dragon was a dragon and opportunity was at hand. I'd tame one during wartime for advantage all the same as peacetime for merit.
"The signs weren't on the caverns of the Dragonmont that the other dragons preferred, my prince, but on the shores of Dragonstone itself, nearer to the ports." I explained. "It has everything to do with diet. The Grey Ghost has a taste for fish more than the red meats the other dragons prefer, and thus never took to roosting on the western or southern slopes of the Dragonmont like the others did, where grazing livestock would roam. Instead, he lived on the other side of the island, on the eastern bank, desolate of grass but plentiful in sea life."
I'd spent years looking into this. Ever since deciding to try my hand at dragon taming when the time came, I scoured for information on the Grey Ghost, as well as the secret tunnels of the Dragonpit in King's Landing. My plan was simple: get a dragon that wasn't being used during the Dance. That meant one of the remaining wild dragons, or one of the chained dragons that had lost their riders, such as Shrykos, who was hatched by the young Prince Jaehaerys, son of Aegon II Targaryen, recently murdered in the incident known as Blood and Cheese, the final nail in the coffin that inflamed this conflict into civil war. For the Greens, at least.
The Grey Ghost was simply going to be my first attempt.
"Then we must make haste!" Jacaerys exclaimed, smiling brightly. He grabbed me by the wrist and tugged me towards the stair, leading me toward the courtyard.
"Where are you taking me, Prince Jacaerys?" I asked, bewildered, huddling along. Jacaerys stood half a foot sorter than I, and his grabbing me did not make walking comfortable.
"To Vermax! He may be young, but he can carry two passengers for short flights, and to a dragon, flying from either side of the Dragonmont is short. We'll go and find the Grey Ghost, and I'll finally be able to say I've seen all the dragons still living."
"W-Well," I stuttered. "I am happy you are so enthusiastic, but my intention was to wait until after you and the seeds had left. They've been practicing their riding for weeks, and I did not wish to disturb your military plans."
"Then you'll stay behind," Jacaerys decided, tugging me into the courtyard. Knights of grand colors and ladies of splendorous beauty were crowded around the hulking dragons and their riders, intent on watching the spectacle of their leaving. "You'll be the island's defense and practice your riding every chance you can. Perhaps Baela and Moondancer will have their first flight with you. But that depends only on your ability to tame the Grey Ghost. If he rejects you, would it not be best to have a dragonrider ready to be of aid before you are roasted?"
…He made a fair point.
Grousing, I could not find anything wrong in his words. "Fine, my prince. We will try things your way. We'll need some coin though. My plan involved copying what was done with Sheepstealer, only I'd bargain with fish instead of sheep."
"They will be happy to yield their ways to their prince!" Jacaerys boasted.
At that, I let out a snort. "Please tell me you are japing."
He smiled a wan thing my way, rolling his eyes, letting me know that yes, he was. "Of course I am. Nothing loses you the love of the smallfolk faster than taking away their coin, or what makes them coin in this case. I always have some gold in my purse, and I always carry my purse wherever I go."
Well, I couldn't fault him for being sensible. That was part of the reason why I liked him so.
We made way through the dragons, and I had to keep myself in check in their presence. Seasmoke was nearer to Silverwing's size than I had expected, and Sheepstealer seemed slenderer than I remembered. His rider, a Dornish looking woman named Nettles, eyed me with a sly smile from the side of her mount.
Approaching Vermax, Jacaerys hopped atop his back. When he was settled into his saddle, he proffered his hand down for me to take. Nervously, I approached Vermax's flank, quietly taking in the cyan scales of the dragons hide, mottled with white. Truly, naming this creature after the Valyrian god of the sky was appropriate with his coloring. I knew this beast, and he knew me, but there was still something special about approaching a dragon, that intimate knowledge that one wrong move would be the end of your life.
Then, steeling myself, I took Jacaerys's hand and hauled upward, quickly wrapping my arms around the younger boy, finding purchase just around the middle of Vermax's back. Once settled, Jacaerys snapped the reigns of his saddle, and with a running start, Vermax brought us into the sky.
Flying was an experience difficult to put into words, but certainly, from the perspective of the Valyrians, it was understandable why they considered themselves to be living gods. Nothing makes a man feel more powerful than to be above his fellows, in quite the literal fashion, thanks to the presence of dragons. That only made the humility of Jacaerys all the better, as the future king of Westeros. The wind buffeting our bodies, the cool clouds above, the world below like ants to a boot – dragons made men greater than they could hope to be, and I felt blessed to have the chance to tame one.
Together, we made way to down to the one of the eastern ports, where goods were ferried from Essos. We purchased three wicker baskets of fish, enough to sate the appetite of one of the larger dragons as an afternoon snack, and flew further eastward. From above, we could make out the outcropping of steam-toting vents, small shoots of magma constantly flowing a slow pace out of them, year by year increasing the landmass of Dragonstone inch by inch.
Vermax roared at the behest of Jacaerys, and a sibilant hiss was his response, near a cave stowed beneath a cliff. As Vermax descended, that hissing became all the louder, and when he landed, it turned into an agitated roar that rippled the waves of the sea. Our target was here.
"Keep Vermax away," I told my prince, dismounting. "Far away. The Grey Ghost is shy, but territorial like any dragon, especially so far out from the others. I fear that they might perform a death dance should he get too close."
"Then it is ideal that you decided to tame him now," Jacaerys said. "Sheepstealer was no easy mount to train combatively, and the Grey Ghost will likely be all the more tricky. Hopefully, with the seeds and I departed, working him will be made more manageable."
"Hence why I intended to wait," I drolled, untangling the rope holding the fish to Vermax's belly. Vermax was a genuinely patient dragon, with a temperament almost reminiscent of Dreamfyre. Jaecaerys had done well with his mount.
"Good luck then, my friend." Jacaerys said, before urging his mount to fly away. They circled overhead, keeping a watching eye on my actions, but in the end, I was essentially left to my own devices.
Taking a deep breath, I exhaled slowly, and entered the cavern with my fish at the ready.
It was a dark cave, misty with steam, with the scent of the salty sea and bloody remains overloading my senses. Stalactites and stalagmites littered the entrance, looking like a great gaping maw of patchwork stone.
And in its center, my target stared my way.
The Grey Ghost was a somewhat smaller beast than I had initially anticipated, though larger than Vermax by a fair margin; roughly the same size as Queen Rhaenyra's Syrax. His scales were a light grey color that kept him perfectly camouflaged in this steam filled cavern, and his wing membranes and horned appendages were colored a darker, more menacing grey, akin to smoke. His eyes were red like wine, and as he bared his teeth, I glimpsed a pale-white fire brimming from beneath those black daggers.
I could not help but exclaim. "You're perfect," I breathed, awed beyond expectation.
And with those words, the Grey Ghost reared back, closing his mouth with a loud click. Curiously, he tilted his head to the side, and I was gladdened to know he understood my words.
Dragons were not intellectual in the sense that a human was, but they were far superior to dogs when it came to understanding commands and language. With the right upbringing, a dragon could come to know the tongues of man to great effect.
His knowing my words clarified another curiosity I had held: his origin. Obviously, being a dragon, the Grey Ghost called the isle of Dragonstone his home, and was hatched here, for nowhere else in the known world could boast such. But wild dragons rarely survived on the island, what with the Cannibal skulking about. The Grey Ghost must have been a hatchling raised by House Targaryen that escaped captivity before a rider could approach him.
Likely, this happened during the early reign of King Viserys. With Rhaenyra so young and her father yet to anounce her as his heir, Prince Daemon was the Prince of Dragonstone, and though the Rogue Prince was a surprisingly able administrator when push came to shove, one of the reasons this designation was so important, especially in this day and age, was the responsibility of looking after the dragonlings. Prince Daemon spent much of his time in the Red Keep however, leaving his tasks on Dragonstone to lesser leaders, and accidents unspoken were said to have occurred. Bandits found footing, traders grew bold with their products, tax collectors became greedier than the norm, and now, it seemed that even dragons had escaped.
Bravo, Prince Daemon. Bravo.
"I come with gift, o' might dragon," I said, bringing the baskets closer. I lined them up, the one with the smallest amount of fish closer to the Grey Ghost, and the one with the largest nearer to me, the middling sized basket between them.
Tentatively, flicking his tongue out, the Grey Ghost approached the offerings, his movements causing the cave to rumble with sheer weight. Sniffing the fish, he appeared to mull over accepting before concluding there was no harm, and attacked his afternoon snack. The basket lasted longer than I could have thought possible, for the Grey Ghost ate his fish one at a time, as if testing his offered gifts with great hesitancy. When the fish of the first basket were finished, he let out something similar to a hum, and looked to the remaining fish with more interest.
The Grey Ghost then made for the middling basket. This time, he went through it quicker, though still far slower than I ever would have expected a dragon to eat. The smell of fish guts now overpowering that of the sea.
Finally, after what had to be fifteen minutes of slow, methodical consumtion, he approached the third basket. From this distance, he was close enough to touch. If only I reached out. The thought was tempting… but temptation had a habit of biting me in the ass. Staying my hand, I instead waited for the dragon to finish his meal.
When the Grey Ghost had ended his feast, it felt as if over an hour had passed. He lifted his head and stared at me, red eyes meeting purple.
"I would ride you," I told the dragon. He shifted at those words, somehow scrunching up his nose in a manner that didn't appear threatening, only perturbed. "Blood and death come for your home, dragons will dance and fire will follow, and I intend to have no part in such madness. I doubt you want to be involved either. Allow me to ride you, and I promise you, with every fiber of my being, upon my very soul, that we will leave. We will live."
And with those words, a chill went through the beast before me.
There was no true guaranteed way to claim a dragon, no ritual of sharing blood nor the proving of an unburnt nature before a beast that was judge, jury, and executioner all. Gods, wouldn't that have been much easier? Alas, dragon taming, like the taming of other beasts, was a matter on understanding the personality of the dragon one wished to tame in particular.
This was why wild dragons were so rare to be tamed. The personalities of dragons that had been previously ridden were better recorded and young hatchlings were far more malleable. Rumor had it that prior to Prince Aemond taming Vhagar, he'd researched Queen Visenya, Prince Baelon and Lady Laena with an almost obsessive compulsion, they who had been the previous riders of the great dragon. The reason Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer were able to tame Silverwing and Vermithor was because Ulf actually knew how to read and concluded that the dragons would only take riders if both were taken at the same time, such was their bond. Addam Velaryon had spent much of his time since his legitimization with his grandfather Lord Corlys, and learned the nature of Seasmoke through him.
Each dragon had a tick, something that made them unique. No dragon looked perfectly alike, and no dragon acted perfectly alike. When somebody understood those differences, that somebody, regardless of being Valyrian blood, though it certainly helped, had a chance at taming a dragon.
And I knew the Grey Ghost better than any other man alive. I knew his shy nature, realized his origin, and understood the true reason he roosted so far from the other dragons of the island.
The Grey Ghost was a coward.
Mind, a coward dragon was still a dragon, and wouldn't hesitate to burn a man out of existence if appropriately offended. Or just in the mood for a bit of mischeif. But fighting other dragons? Now that was where the issues of my prospective mount lied.
The Dragonmont was host to what could only be described as semi-regular territorial disputes among the roosting dragons. Dominance was in their nature, and Dragonstone had never before been host to so many dragons in its existence. With the Dance of Dragons now in full swing, dragon fights would no longer just be a dispute of territory, but would now be a struggle of life and death, winner takes all.
So, naturally, the Grey Ghost, being a dragon of a shy, quiet nature, was not about that life.
And here I was, offering him an out to what was more than likely going to be his death.
With my intentions made clear to the great beast before me, I felt it appropriate to give in to that temptation from before. Without hesitation, for dragons understood body language better than they did words, I lifted my hand and slowly reached for his muzzle. The Grey Ghost went stock still, black pupils turning into thin slits as he stared down my approach appendage, and I knew in that moment that if I faltered, my hand would be gone.
Slowly, almost delicately, my hand grazed the rough scales of the Grey Ghost's snout, and as we locked eyes with one another, a shudder ran through the body of the dragon before me. For a single, pulse-pounding moment, this beast appeared to weigh its options. His lips drew back with a snarl as I ever-so-gently nudged my hand along his jaw.
Then, with a tentative movement, he lowered his nape to the ground, closed his eyes, and allowed me to do as I would.
The bargain was struck. The die had been cast. He had accepted.
Adrenaline filled my core as I made my way around his body, never letting my hand leave his scales, stopping at his flank, where his shoulder was perfectly poised for climbing. With little effort, for I understood the importance of exercise, queer though my routine was to those that saw me in action, I vaulted atop the neck of the Grey Ghost and settled myself between a pair of particularly spikey plates.
The Grey Ghost stood, and with a heave of effort, ran towards the entrance of the cave, his steps scattering those spikes of stone that had made this roost so menacing to see. His wings extended, and before I knew it, the sky was before me, the wind was mine, and we were flying.
Last edited: Aug 26, 2022
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Umodin
Aug 24, 2022
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Umodin
Aug 27, 2022
#23
The Grey Ghost, though shy and a veritable coward when it came to fellows of his species, did not fear for making an entrance to those of mine. Somehow, without needing to voice any words or direct him by whip, for which I do not even own, my dragon understood that now that he was a creature tamed, he need return to the castle of Dragonstone.
I felt as if I could not smile any harder when the horns cried out, signaling an approaching dragonrider. Me. The Grey Ghost made for the courtyard, and I queerly noticed that it was empty of dragons. When we landed, men and women scurried my way, and when they saw my face, their own faces revealed simultaneous bouts of relief and worry.
Dismounting the Grey Ghost, I kept my hand against his jaw and spoke to the first servant to approach me, an elderly man known simply as Lom, who was the lead dragonkeeper on the island. We knew each other well enough, and I knew him as the kindly man that taught me some of the more subtle habits of nested dragons when I first began to shadow Maester Gerardys, recognizing me to be a lost boy of nine, Targaryen bastard or not.
"Flowers," Lom greeted, frowning harshly. "You return a dragonrider, to a wild dragon never tamed, for I know all that have come to this castle, and that is grand. But you return at an ill time, my friend."
"Ill?" I asked, scrunching my face. "What could be ill about my taming a dragon? Prince Jacaerys himself brought me to the Grey Ghost's cavern. Where is he? He wished desperately to see all the dragons in the known world. His chance has come."
Lom took on a somber face, beckoned me to follow him. I did so, the Grey Ghost awkwardly lumbering at my side. We walked through the courtyard, out from the castle walls, where an array stone Valyrian sphinxes guarded an eternal sentry, and made way to the beachhead. I quickly felt bile rise through my throat at the bloody mess was staining sand, stone and stair alike.
Prince Aegon's dragon Stormcloud, scaled black and blue like the rolling thunders she was named for, was horribly wounded and crooning in pain. Blood flowed from a pair of harpoon bolts piercing through her hide, one through her belly and the other through her neck. Prince Aegon, her young rider, was beside himself, crying and shrieking and similarly bloodied, though fortunately not similarly punctured by spears. One of Maester Gerardys's assistants was tending to him, or trying to, at least. It was clear that Aegon refused to be moved, no matter his injury, for he would not be parted from his dragon. Nobody approached Stormcloud though, whose wounds were quickly ebbing her life away.
I felt tears brim forth from my eyes as I took in the sight, for to see such a noble beast as Stormcloud felled so low was a difficult thing to accept. Memories funneled through me, and only then did I remember what was to come. I understood in that moment what had happened, who had done it, and who was next. Gods, I thought I had more time! "Where is Prince Jacaerys? Where are the dragonseeds?"
"Gone," Lom grunted. "The queen was the first to come down. She rushed to the banks with a speed faster than I'd ever seen from her. When she learned Prince Viserys had gone missing, likely swept away by the tide, she fainted dead away and her guards carried her off to her chambers. Prince Jacaerys then mounted Vermax, the dragonseeds following, and went after the warships that attacked the young princes, for revenge and the hope of finding little Viserys somehow still living."
"When did they leave?" I barked. Was there still time?
"Near a half-hour past I'd say," Lom said. My heart sank at the revelation, for I knew then that I would not be able to reach Jacaerys.
I sent a prayer to the Seven, the Old Gods, the Red God, and all the other gods of this world that came to mind. Let Jacaerys live. Before he was my prince, he was my friend. My memories of the dance of the dragons had been greatly diminished over these near twenty-nine years, and yet I felt a fool for forgetting this moment. So much unneeded death could have been avoided, had I been smart enough, swift enough.
Staring at Stormcloud… I resolved myself. I must at least try. I must do something.
Without warning, I hoisted myself atop the Grey Ghost once more, and somehow understanding my panic, he darted into the sky, back towards Dragonstone. We raced along the castle, banking at the southern parapets, where the apothecaries stored their supplies. Fortune was on my side, for the largest window was open, likely to let the sea breeze moisten some of the more delicate medicinal spices. I signaled my mount toward the entry and dove inside, breaking beakers and knocking over plants and herbs aplenty with my ungraceful actions, causing the folk inside to scream in startled shock.
I felt my ribs burn as I made to stand but forced myself through the pain.
"Poppy!" I roared. There were three people in the room, a matronly septa and two apprentices from the citadel yet to earn their chains. "Bring me milk of the poppy! All of it!"
"You don't need none for that fall," one of the boys said, sounding angry. Likely for the damage I had caused.
I backhanded him for that. Hard. He fell with a flail of limbs, and the other two quickly did as bade, unwilling to risk pain at the hands of a larger man. I never cared much for acting with violence, but it was undeniable that it made things go quicker. Four kegs were rolled my way, and I directed them rolled towards the window while I grabbed a supply bag strung along a desk. I deposited great spools of thread, stacks of rag cloth, and some of the fallen herbs that held the property of being a cooling agent when properly applied inside my bag. Before rushing away, I too grabbed an ornamental bravosi sword with a ringed hilt that had been mounted on one of the walls, slinging it through my belt. That was when I made to leave.
The Grey Ghost truly was a clever dragon, and I felt beyond blessed to have him as my partner. With very little direction, he used his hind legs and grabbed one barrel of poppy milk in each of his taloned claws. My ribs twinged once more as I dove atop his back with my supplies in hand, and this time, recognizing that I did not have a particularly good grip on his body, for there was no easy way to mount him with from a window ledge with supplies in hand, the Grey Ghost returned to the beach at a more sedate pace, even with our rush.
When we had witnessed the scene initially, my dragon had silently walked with Lom and I. Upon our return, there was no silence to be had, though Lom had apparently returned to his duties at the stables. The Grey Ghost descended carefully, dropping the barrels onto the sand as softly as he could, his wings beating hard, and when they were clear, he landed by their side. Stormcloud warbled pitifully in protest at an unknown dragon being so close to her and made a truly pathetic tail swipe at us.
The Grey Ghost might have been a coward, but Stormcloud was nearly three times smaller than he, still considered a hatchling by and large, and he did not feel fear. He stomped the she-dragons tail down assertively and bore over the younger drake with a loud snarl, smoke wafting from his mouth. The message was clear: submit or suffer.
Stormcloud let out one last croon, a truly miserable sound, before lolling her head back into the sand in submission.
"NO!" Prince Aegon screamed from behind. The maesterly assistant treating him let out a protest, and I turned to see the young prince rushing at my dragon with fear and hatred in his eye. "Don't eat her!"
"Aegon!" I called, catching his attention. I grabbed the boy at his shoulders and stopped him cold before he could do anything stupid. He turned those fearful eyes my way, and I saw no recognition. His panic had taken that away. "Aegon, it's me. Maekar. I help you with your High Valyrian, remember? We learned about dragons and the histories together. You used to bring Stormcloud with you to our lessons when she was still small enough to fit through the castle doors and laughed when she would lay dung on the carpets."
He rubbed at his eyes, and when he looked up with those red-rimmed violet eyes, watery snot was running down his wobbly lip. "M-maekar? What- whose dragon is that?"
"Mine," I admitted. "I went out to tame him earlier today."
"He won't eat Stormcloud?"
I shook my head. "No. The Grey Ghost is a gentle dragon, all things considered. He's not trying to hurt Stormcloud, he's trying to save her. As am I. I need your help Aegon. To save your dragon."
"You can help her?!" He exclaimed, shrieking with surprised cheer.
My face must have been answer enough, for his excitement quickly waned away. "I hope to, but I must be honest with you. I do not know if it possible. Her wounds are great and there are no guarantees. But to even consider trying, I must be able to approach her without worry. Even with my dragon calming her, Stormcloud will trust none but you. Will you help me?"
Resolution burned through him, and Aegon nodded with all of his strength.
"Good, good!" I told him, patting his silver-gold hair. I turned him towards our dragons and had him walk with me. I beckoned the assistant over as well, the chain bearing man approaching with ill-concealed fear.
"Those barrels on the sand have milk of the poppy in them. I am going to remove the harpoons from Stormcloud's side, and not only will the pain be great for her, but should she flail to strongly, the wound could grow out of control. There would be no chance at saving her then. Though she is losing blood, the harpoons will keep her alive longer in her flesh than not for now. Aegon, I need you to have Stormcloud drink the milk, so that her pain will be lessened and her mind dulled. Only after she has done this may I make to remove the spears without fear of her reaction. Can you do this?"
He did not give me a verbal answer. Instead, he raced towards the barrels, grabbed one, and rolled it towards the muzzle of his drake. She warbled wheezingly at the sight of her rider and did not fight him when he snapped a fang from her maw. I watched, incredulous, as he then stabbed at the barrel with his makeshift dagger, until it burst open at the tip. Aegon said some words to Stormcloud, and she began to lethargically lick up the milk of the poppy from the keg as if it were a watering bowl.
Shaking my head, I turned to the assistant. "Your name?
"Tollard," the maesterly assistant said.
"Do you know surgery, Tollard?"
He shrugged nervously, eyes darting towards young Aegon. "A little. But nothing outside of the birthing bed and what books are available."
I groaned, though could not truly complain. I'd never performed a surgery either. And I'd never heard of anybody performing one on a dragon, so even had I previous experience, it likely would not help much. "It will have to do. We will be sewing the wound shut as best we can."
"Dragonflesh is thick and unwieldy, even for a drake so young." Tollard protested. "Needles will not be able to pierce her flesh."
"Hence this," I said, motioning at the blade strapped to my side. Disappointingly, that caused my ribs to flare up again.
"But the thread would break upon the flesh regardless. It is too heavy and thick to hold with so thin a material."
Damn. He was right. I'd grabbed that thread without much thought, it seemed. "Then we'll have to cauterize the wound."
He furrowed his brow. "Can dragonflesh even be cauterized?"
"Not with pure flame, no." I told him. Fire did literally nothing to a dragon in any form, even to an open wound. "But the metal of this sword should do for a binding agent. If nothing else, it will cover the puncture so that Stormcloud might have the time enough for a better planned procedure."
"Then that is what we'll do," Tollard declared. I was gladdened to see he was made of sterner stuff. Then again, any maester than was sent to Dragonstone was expected to have a strong spine. Targaryen's were fond of making threats with their dragons to those that displeased them. "I must say that your sword is too light and small, though. It likely does not have enough metal in all of its make for cauterizing two holes, let alone four."
I pondered that thought and knew once again that he was right. "Your chain then. Any links of iron, black iron, and steel will be used."
"I've two iron, three black iron, and one steel link. I've also four copper chains. My readings tell me they are good for bloodless surgery."
"There's blood aplenty already and there will be more without question, but more metal is better than less. Remove your chain and break the links off. When Stormcloud has drunk all the poppy milk and the delirium has set in, we will make our move."
As Tolland prepared for his task, I too prepared for mine. I took my sword from my belt, brought it against a rock, and positioned both it and myself so that my boot was over its middle and the tip was snug at the rock. I exerted all the force of my body against the blade, watched it bend, and then cursed as it shoddily snapped and I fell through onto the sand, my ribs, once more, stinging fiercely.
Tollard had separated his chains cleverly. His two iron links were medlied with one black iron link, and his steel link was medlied with the remaining two black iron. Black iron was a somewhat less sturdy iron, so pairing them in this manner mitigated the risk of failure cleverly. I brought my sword pieces towards his separations, and Tollard dropped each copper link with one. Four small piles, for the four holes made from two harpoons.
"She did it!" Aegon called out. "She drank it all!"
Tollard and I locked eyes, and any nerves that held us back were secreted away to the recesses of our minds. There was no longer an opportunity for second thoughts. It was time for action.
We approached Stormcloud and Aegon with our materials in hand. The Grey Ghost still bore over her, an unmoving statue of scale and flame, and Aegon rested his dragons head onto his lap, ignoring her steaming blood blotting his trousers and blistering the skin beneath.
I knelt down and held Aegon's neck gently. "Are you sure you want to be here? If we fail, Stormcloud will surely die. I would not wish you to see such a sight."
"I'm staying," Aegon said with steel in his voice.
I roughed at his hair. "You truly are the blood of the dragon, aren't you? Your ancestors would be proud. Let us see what we can do then."
Stormcloud's eyes were muddled and milky, letting me know the poppy milk had coursed through her. I stood and positioned myself before the back end of the harpoon at the back her neck, thankful that it was not piercing through the front of it, let alone her throat proper.
"You're going for the neck first?" Tollard queried. "Would it not be simpler to begin with the one in her side?"
"Milk of the poppy works quickly, but I've no idea how long it stays in the body of a dragon," I grunted, placing my hand on the fishing spear wet with near boiling blood. My hands were beginning to blister, but I forced myself to ignore the pain. "Better to deal with the most sensitive and dangerous wound before anything unexpected can happen."
I slapped the side of the Grey Ghost's wing. My mount turned away from Stormcloud and pointed his snarl my way.
"I need you to bite down and break this spear," I told him, pointing my finger towards the hilt. "Right here. Angogon."
Upon hearing the High Valyrian word for bite, the Grey Ghost appeared to comprehend my expectation. Growling, my dragon quickly snatched his fangs down onto the iron spike. With an ease that should have been expected but still caught my eye, he twisted his neck and broke the harpoon like a boy would a dried stick. Stormcloud warbled at the movement but did nothing else.
I walked on the other side of the young she-dragon and grabbed the harpoon from just below its speartip. Tollard approached the entry point of the wound, his hands filled with some rag cloth, the bottom half of my broken sword, and a link of copper.
We shared a look, and I then began to pull.
It was almost instantaneous. Stormcloud howled at the movement, and Aegon struggled to calm his dragon. When the harpoon was a third of the way out, I motioned Tollard towards the hole that was starting to show in the dragons flesh. The maesterly assistant first used his rags to wipe away what blood he could, hissing at the hotness of the flowing blood. Then, he shoved the sword into the wound, causing Stormcloud to cry out more, before lining the blade tip with his copper link.
Smartly, Tollard then backed away, grabbing my empty bag and rushing towards the ocean. I motioned for the Grey Ghost to point his maw at the flowing blood, and cried out, "Dracarys!"
A steady stream of white-hot fire spewed forth from his muzzle towards the wound. As the metal holding it together melted, Stormcloud buckled once more, whining and struggling at the feeling. To a dragon, born with flesh unburnable, it must have been a queer, alien experience. Tollard quickly returned to his position, the bag wet and filled with sea water, and when the Grey Ghost stopped spewing fire, he began to pour it onto the wound. Steam hissed with the meeting of water on molten metal, and as it cooled, so too did Stormcloud's temperament.
We gave her a few minutes to settle herself, rubbing herbs along the ridges of cooled metal, then craned her neck so that the harpoon was facing skyward. Heaving, I pulled the harpoon out in one stroke, and Tollard quickly covered the wound with rags once more whilst Stormcloud raged anew, the remaining sword piece and copper link taking their place once the rags had been too soaked with blood. The Grey Ghost melted the metal again, and Tollard dumped the remainder of sea water onto the metal.
I knew that this was not an appropriate surgery. This procedure of cauterizing was incorrect and would likely add further trauma to the body had the recipient been a human. Hells, had this been performed on a human, they would surely die from infection regardless of their wounds being mitigated. But I had a theory. Though it had never been studied, I was of the belief that dragons could not die from traditional infections. Their blood and body temperatures were so hot that they would burn away any miasma intent on making trouble in their flesh before any damage could be done. I prayed that I was proven right, just as I prayed any further trauma added to Stormcloud would settle herself by the time the metal could be removed and a different solution could be used for her care.
We moved onto the harpoon piercing her belly, the Grey Ghost once more biting through the hilt of the spear. Repeating the routine as before, I was gladdened to see Aegon was able to calm Stormcloud with better ease, now aware of the routine of our procedure.
Within ten minutes, the procedure had been complete.
And immediately after the procedure had been completed, the dragonseeds returned.
The Grey Ghost hissed with horrible anger at their intrusion, hunkering down with wariness. Vermithor, Silverwing, Seasmoke and Sheepstealer all returned to the courtyard of Dragonstone. I stared at the sky with great attention, hoping beyond all hope to see that last, final dragon. To know if my prayers were answered.
Vermax never came.
Sorrow filled me, as too did it fill Aegon, who was quick to understand what had transpired. We held one another as the tears began to fall from our eyes, clinging to one another for comfort. This day that was meant to be my victory had truly been mottled with tragedy.
Jacaerys Velaryon was dead.
Last edited: Aug 27, 2022
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Umodin
Aug 27, 2022
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Umodin
Aug 29, 2022
#29
A chill ran through my body as I stared at the doors, a sense of foreboding that I could not verbalize appropriately. They were great big slabs of carved stone and gilded metals, denoting dragons and mountains and fire. It felt as if the very castle itself was warning me away from what was behind these doors, and that felt odd to even contemplate. I had been in that room more times than I could count.
Never before had I been summoned to enter, however. The thought alone made my neck constrict in worry. Had I done too much? Too little? Was I to be rewarded for my actions or punished for them?
Aegon grasped the sleeve of my robe and pulled me forward, his face stony and resolute, forcing me away from my plagued thoughts. In their place were the remembrances I would never forget.
Two days had passed since the taming of my dragon. The funeral held for Jacaerys and Viserys was a grief-filled affair, though it was not theirs alone. There were no bodies to burn for the children of the Blacks, lost at sea as they were, and so Queen Rhaenyra's mount Syrax and all of the dragons available cremated the washed-up bodies of those that lost their life in the newly determined Battle of the Gullet, on the first day of the year 130 AC. Even my Ghost joined in, awkwardly looming as far away from his fellow dragons as he could, his white fire joining a myriad of colors in a funeral flame few would forget. After the proceedings had been completed, Rhaenyra whisked away in solitude to grieve further, only seen by her councilors and Aegon, though I noticed that Aegon deigned to visit her less and less as time passed.
With Stormcloud stable, or as stable as she would be until more treatments could be provided, Aegon had finally left her side for extended periods and allowed the dragonkeepers to put a tent up around her, the Grey Ghost acting as her guardian. With her fate out of his hands, Aegon found a new target to latch on to; me. To some degree, it was annoying, there was no denying it. Aegon was a young boy who had a mother that he could share his grief with, and I wanted nothing more than to run away from Dragonstone and never look back, damn the consequences. And yet, I couldn't fault the boy for his stubborn refusal to leave me be, for he had gone through an ordeal few could comprehend. The bond between rider and dragon was hard to describe, but Aegon nearly lost Stormcloud on this day, and though she seemed to be recovering, he still lost both his eldest and younger brothers.
No, I couldn't fault Aegon at all. If my presence brought him comfort in this time of tragedy, then comfort I would provide.
Two knights of undisputed esteem acted as the guards to the chambers behind those great doors. Ser Alfred Broome, a sullen knight of the Westerlands most knew to crave authority, and Ser Robert Quince, an overly obese yet amiable and affable sort who was as happy in command as he was at a feast. When they opened the doors for us, Ser Robert offering condolences to Aegon and Ser Alfred sneering my way in the process, we made way inside. I stopped for a moment, admiring the Chamber of the Painted Table, with its walls filled with portraits and its backdrop in the shape of a dragons skull with an open maw. But what truly to my attention was that I had not been in here since the war began, for this was where the Black Council of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen convened.
Or what remained of it, at least.
Rhaenyra herself took up the head of the table, sat at the caricature southern coast of Dorne. To her right was Lord Corlys Velaryon, his elbows propped on either side of the Sea of Dorne, one atop Sunspear and the other over Rain House in the Stormlands. Maester Gerardys was sat on his left, overtaking the remainder of the Stormlands and most of the Crownlads, and lastly was Princess Baela Targaryen on Rhaenyra's left, who kicked her feet up over Casterly Rock and the much of the Riverlands and Neck.
Baela was sat atop the wing of Moondancer, her young she-dragon, who was lying down atop the carved stone floors with a contented look in her amber eyes. Moondancer was one of the few dragonlings on Dragonstone that hadn't been made a meal of by the Cannibal. Slender in shape and scaled in lime and forest greens, Moondancer was a drake no larger than a warhorse, adorned by a pearly white crest that was shared with her horns and wing membranes. As adventurous and troublesome as her dragon, Baela was never far from Moondancer, and considering Moondancer's relatively small size, in comparison to many other dragons, at least, there was no true reason for her to be far from her mount.
With the dragonriders Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Princess Rhaenys Velaryon dead, Joffrey away in the Vale with Princess Rhaena, and Prince Daemon making war for Rhaenyra in the Riverlands, the Black Council was at its smallest point to date.
"Maekar," Rhaenyra began, the doors closing behind me. It was plain to see the pain of loss in her features. And yet, even in her grief, even in her sorrow, she was beautiful and deadly the same. Regardless of our my personal mislike of her, there was no denying she was woman worthy of songs. "Take a seat."
I did as commanded with a slow stilted gait, taking the chair opposite of her, along the far reaches of the True North. I wasn't fool enough to let my nervousness get in the way of my courtesies, at least. "How may I serve?"
"You have brought my mind to odd turns, Flowers." Rhaenyra stated, ever willing to remind me of my bastardry. Aegon walked over to her side and took her hand in his. Her grip was a white vice, and her unbending nature softened a fraction with the support of her son. "Some in my council believe you must be punished for your actions, for the call to tame dragons had been past in their minds. And yet, were it not for you, further tragedy would have come about. My son's dragon lives due to your actions, and an entirely new dragon has joined our ranks."
"And what a showing it was!" Maester Gerardys beamed. "Performing surgery on a dragon? A successful surgery? Young or not, such a task is a momentous achievement. Your success in the matter will be remarked upon for generations, I should think."
"Wherever did you find the Grey Ghost?" Baela asked, eyes clear and interested. Daemon's get was ever desirable of a good story. Moondancer crooned at the voice of her rider.
"I have been aware of his roost for years now, princess." I explained, giving her my attention first. Princesses and dragons trumped maesters. "Preparing for the day that I would be able to make an attempt on a dragon. He was one of the options I felt to be survivable."
"You were always intending on claiming a dragon then?" Lord Corlys queried, ever the sharp one. His face seemed more lined with wrinkles than ever before. A consequence no doubt of Spicetown being sacked during the Battle of the Gullet. "That is treasonous talk, Flowers. Only the trueborn were to do so."
Well, that made who wanted me punished quite clear, didn't it?
I shook my head quickly, unwilling to allow such a thought to waft too long. "It was a secret, but with the recent events… It is best to speak in openness. Prince Jacaerys told me in confidence that upon his ascension to the Iron Throne, however many years in the future that might have been, he would permit me an exception to dragon taming, for he knew I would serve him and his heirs faithfully. He dreamed of a small council filled with dragonriders of all background, bringing about a realm of untold prosperity. I took his words seriously, Lord Corlys, for your grandson was rare to jape in such a fashion, and began to determine the patterns and personalities of all the unclaimed dragons of that time. Had Ulf not been so clever with Hugh Hammer, I would have made for Silverwing instead, for her nature is much less difficult than my Ghost. With the war and dragonseeds in mind however, there were only two options available to me, and of them, only one was viable to not end in my death."
It was always good to spread small lies in with the truth to make it seem like there were no lies spoken. Silverwing had never been my goal, but I did study her habits along with Vermithor. I studied the habits of every dragon I could, truthfully. They were too fascinating to ignore, and I loved that I had opportunity to be in their presence with every fiber of my being.
That said, the Grey Ghost had always been my plan.
"And what is the nature of your mount?" Maester Gerardys asked, always curious. One didn't become the Maester of Dragonstone without the whimsy and want of being near dragons, after all. "Stubborn and quick to anger, as is the case for Caraxes? Content and caring, like Dreamfyre? Proud? Surly? Mild? I am ever so interested, Maekar. We know little and less about the Grey Ghost."
I offered a strained smile towards my mentor. "The words are difficult to place but… reclusive and introverted suit him best, I should think. The reason the Grey Ghost is so rare to see is both because he refuses to play territorial games with the other dragons and because of his dietary preference of fish over livestock. He is a dragon that has no interest in fighting other dragons, playfully or not, unless he has no choice in the matter. Even then, I feel as if he would strive to flee. In truth, after Ulf had claimed Silverwing, I was intending to approach him once Dragonstone was without most of its riders, to better set him at ease. Prince Jacaerys learned of my plan and brought me before my Ghost's cavern himself before my intended plan could come to fruition just two days ago, however. In his own words, he wanted to be able to see every living dragon before he left to war."
"A dragon that cannot fight is useless in this conflict." Rhaenyra stated coldly, eyes misting at the detail of her eldest son. Aegon gave her his handkerchief from a breast pocket.
"Useless is the wrong word, your grace." I retorted as she dabbed her eyes, feeling sweat on my palms. Correcting her often brought about risk. But the Grey Ghost was my dragon, and I would not allow him to be besmirched so easily. "The Grey Ghost will not easily permit me to take him into battle against the likes of Vhagar or Tessarion, 'tis true. But there are other ways to use such a dragon in war. Defense, as an example."
"Defense?" Lord Corlys chuckled darkly, as if the very thought were one great big jape. "What defense? Our defense has been smashed by the Triarchy. My fleet has been reduced to a third, the men-at-arms on Dragonstone and Driftmark brought down to half. We must go on the offensive now, while our enemy revels in their success."
I nodded his way before returning my gaze to the queen. "Lord Corlys is correct, of course. It is best to make an offensive move now. I am not privy to the details of your strategy, but I would presume you soon intend to mount Syrax and storm either the Red Keep, Storm's End, or one of the great castles of the Greens while the iron is still hot. Am I correct?"
Rhaenyra offered me a short, tightly controlled nod of acknowledgement. "I intend for the full might of my claim to make for King's Landing. All of the dragonriders sworn to me would join in this, showing our enemies the might I wield. That includes you, Flowers. Only Baela would remain, for she has yet to mount her Moondancer."
Baela raised her hand from the jaw of her dragon and bestowed a cheeky wave my way that made me want to roll my eyes. "And I will be happy to join you," I told the queen. Not. "But doing so would leave Dragonstone in a precarious position. As you said, Princess Baela has yet to mount Moondancer, and Stormcloud has barely begun to recover. Though I am not a member of your high council, I feel I must declare that they are too vulnerable. Were it within my power and were you willing to abandon Dragonstone in its entirety, I would recommend allowing me to act as chaperone for Aegon and Baela and their dragons across the Narrow Sea. Pentos was the right call, your grace. With the fleet of the Triarchy destroyed, the concerns of before can be better forgotten. It can still be done."
Corlys cut in, quick to reject me before the queen could even speak. "The remaining ships on hand are best used for war, not transport. My trade fleet was taken to the torch along with Spicetown, and our war fleet is heavily damaged and depleted of the supplies needed for any form of long excursion. We've not the resources to risk a folly trip again."
I was unfortunately unable to fault his opinion. Or contest it, for that matter, though I wished I could. Corlys had the unfortunate habit of being quite sensible in matters of resource management. "I understand. Then, with the tendencies of the Grey Ghost in mind, I believe it best that I remain behind with Baela and act as further deterrent of an invasion on Dragonstone. Though you mean to take King's Landing, the smuggling of the Pretender or Helaena or their children could still happen, and naturally, as Targaryen's, they would make for their ancestral lands."
"These are my lands." Rhaenyra growled, swiping the cloth from her eyes. The tears turned the white of her purple eyes red and combined with her anger at the line of topic, it made her appear even more dangerous than I knew her to be. Her fingers dug deeply into Aegon's hand.
"Not to them," I declared, momentarily eyeing her son. He clearly appeared uncomfortable, shooting his hand an anxious look, but was keeping quiet. Smart. "Dragonstone is as much a symbol of the Targaryen right to rule Westeros as the Iron Throne is. Hells, the heir to the chair is styled the Prince or Princess of Dragonstone. Should they lose the capitol, I believe that this is where they will go to make another stand. That is why I believe a greater remaining force on the island is advisable. I believe that the Grey Ghost will be more amenable to fighting off men in protection of his home than he would in an open field in the mainland, should it be required. Mayhaps he'll even fight a dragon in such a moment."
Though I doubt it.
"You could not command it so?" Corlys asked with irritation.
"Dragons take years to train, my lord." Aegon said, speaking on my behalf. "Wild dragons take even longer. If Maekar's dragon is as he says, then we must find other ways to use it."
Corlys grumbled, but spoke no more on the subject.
"The risk is minimal, but not impossible." Maester Gerardys said to Rhaenyra after a moment of quiet contemplation. She was still mulling my words. "There is also the concern that the remaining garrison could be swayed away from your banner. They would never do such a thing with so many commanded dragons around, but free from such fears, it would be shrewder to err on the side of caution."
Baela chimed in, smiling prettily. Or at least as prettily as a young girl of fourteen years could. I shuddered a tad at the thought. She had recently started to enjoy the company of boys. I dearly hoped she would not direct her interest my way. "I wouldn't mind the help either. Perhaps Moondancer will break the Grey Ghost out from his shyness?"
Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes at me, a decision forming along with her words. "If you are to remain and garrison the castle, Baela will make for King's Landing in your place. Even if Moondancer is not ready to be ridden, Corlys's ships can transport her to the capitol."
I wanted to groan. She was so bloody stubborn.
"Lord Corlys just proclaimed the remaining ships are best used for war." I repeated. "I know not his maritime strategies, but with dragons involved, there is little reason to surround King's Landing with his galleys."
"We won't be surrounding the city with them. A small array of ships will bring Aegon and I and the remaining knights and lords of import to King's Landing after the city is taken. The rest of the fleet will be available to use as is needed." Corlys said. "But those boats ferrying us will go west towards the mainland, not east as you seem keen for."
I couldn't hold back my irritation. I clicked my tongue at the Lord of Driftmark. "I am keen for this war to end quickly, for our queen to sit the Iron Throne as was decreed by her father, and for as many dragons to survive as is possible, my lord. Moondancer is not yet ready to ride, so Baela accompanying you to King's Landing is, in your own words, folly. If she is already going to be on a ship with her dragon, why not add Aegon and Stormcloud to the sail, once the she-dragon is in a better condition? Essos is the safest place for them while the fighting is still underway in Westeros."
"Perhaps you are correct and making for Pentos is the safe venture, Flowers." Rhaenyra allowed, leaning forward from her seat. Her voice was soft and pained and filled with clarity. I withheld a grimace. "And understand your reasonings. As it were, neither Aegon nor Baela nor any other member of my family shall sail the Narrow Sea. Once was enough. That stretch of the sea has cost me the lives of my eldest and youngest sons both. Never shall any more of my kin sail it while I draw breath. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New, my family will remain in Westeros until my dying days."
She let out a quick, calming breath, leaning back into the backrest of her chair. "That said, you are not incorrect." Rhaenyra said, almost sighing. She massaged her temple. "Dragonstone will be vulnerable once we leave, and a young dragon yet to be ridden is not a capable enough deterrent of force for our enemies, nor do I believe your own mount to be enough either should Sunfyre heal quickly or Dreamfyre enter the fray. Not to mention his temperament. Maester Gerardys's concern of dissension is also a valid fear in this war, loathe as I am to admit it. With Spicetown sacked and its treasures looted, the Greens have a greater access to gold than I, and their coin is too large a temptation of treachery without the threat of dragons to prove it foolish. To that end, I will permit you command of one of the dragonseeds. The pair of you shall remain on Dragonstone to protect my home and shepherd my people until such a time that I must have need of you proper."
That was an… interesting notion. "Will I have leave to choose which seed will remain on Dragonstone at my side?"
"You will," Rhaenyra allowed. Corlys appeared troubled at the thought of such a decision in my hands. Likely, he was worried that I would choose his newly legitimized grandson Addam and Seasmoke for this task, relieving the lad of an opportunity for glory and spoils.
Fortunately for Corlys, I held a different notion in mind for a partner. "Then my choice is clear. The good lady Nettles, rider of Sheepstealer, shall be my second."
Corlys let loose a quick breath as Gerardys spoke, slightly perplexed at my proclamation. "Why would you choose her, if I might ask?"
"The reason might not appear grand for the purpose of making war, but it is one I hold to all the same. She is agreeable."
Baela pouted. "That's it? That's the only reason? No fettered confessions of love, no spice, no fun? It is solely that she is agreeable?"
Seven save me from the lusts of highborn girls. "Being easy to get along with is more important than you realize, princess."
"Then explain it to me," Baela huffed, leaning deeply into her dragon. Moondancer chuffed at the movement but remained ever complacent and calm.
"Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer ride Silverwing and Vermithor respectively, dragons best suited together." I began, trying to find the right words. "Together these dragons are as one. Apart, I fear they will struggle. That does not even go into their riders. I have known Hugh from before he became a dragonrider, when he worked the castle smithy, and I was unfavorable of his nature even then. Ulf is held to that same standard, from what I have observed. Though I respect their prowess and ability to rear such grand mounts as they did, Ulf and Hugh are difficult at best, and I do not doubt either of them would ignore any orders I need proclaim simply because they ride larger dragons."
"And Addam?" Corlys inquired. He did not contest my words. Good.
"Addam appears to be a decent sort, worthy of his knighthood and legitimization." I explained. "I have yet to speak to him properly, but by all accounts he seems to do the Velaryon name proud. Even though I expect Seasmoke would be better partner for my Ghost than Silverwing or Vermithor, I would not wish to deprive Addam of the chance to prove to our allies and enemies alike that, legitimized bastard or no, he is deserving of the mantles bestowed upon him."
Lord Corlys smiled my way, happy to have his heir spoken about in such a favorable manner, regardless of who spoke it.
Finalizing my thoughts, I continued to speak. "Nettles though… She does not have any need or desire to prove much of anything to the nobility of Westeros, nor does she act in a manner that shows her as difficult to command. She speaks to commoners and highborn nobles alike with the same attitude, which I find important when commanding both types. She does not shy away from the concept of war but neither does she revel in it. And she-"
"Curses with more alacrity than most of my sailors?" Corlys drawled, smirking. Baela barked out a quick laugh.
Quick, wasn't he? "And does that make most of your sailors bad men?"
He soon glared my way. If there was one thing to ruin any goodwill Corlys Velaryon might hold for you, it was to question his men or his command of them. "They are the best sailors in the known world."
"Do they take orders well?"
He scoffed. "Like hunting dogs with the scent of prey."
"Then Nettles should be a fine instrument on Dragonstone, my lord. After all, she is of a similar nature to your own men, isn't she?"
I was quicker.
Blinking, Corlys huffed, giving me the win.
Baela laughed some more and Gerardys shot a fond smile my way.
"It is also a boon that Sheepstealer and my Ghost have some form of accord," I finished. "Likely, this came about in opposition to the Cannibal in his bid for territory. Though, to call it an accord is a matter of speculation, and I am not wholly able to understand the nature of their alliance. But the Grey Ghost will be more willing to work with Sheepstealer than any of the other dragons, and that alone would make Nettles suitable to stand by my side."
"Then the castle defense is settled." The maester surmised. He directed his attention to the head of the table. "Is there anything else we need discuss with Maekar in the room, my queen? Or shall he be dismissed to seek out Lady Nettles and speak strategy with her?"
Rhaenyra exhaled, standing from her position. "Discuss? No. He has done as he must and all that could be asked in this moment. But he is not to leave. Not now. Now is for a matter of promise."
Quick as a snake, Rhaenyra stole the cutlass Lord Corlys had strapped to his side. The merchant-lord gaped at her brazenness, but Rhaenyra ignored him and walked towards my end of the painted table, Aegon dutifully following along at her side with a knowing smile on his face. I peered at him curiously. What did he know that I didn't?
"Sers Robert and Alfred!" Rhaenyra cried out. "Attend to me!" Her most trusted knights rushed into the room at her call, swords drawn and at the ready. The paused when they saw the scene before them, concern swiftly turning into perplexity.
I admit. I felt as befuddled as they did. And a little scared.
Had I offended her somehow?
"The bastard cousin of my kingly father, you were never to do anything more than serve House Targaryen to your fullest." Rhaenyra proclaimed of me. Her trusted knights, confused but recognizing that there was no threat, sheathed their swords, though remained in the room until told to do elsewise. "And 'lo that you have been difficult at times, filled with opinions and expectation beyond your station, there can be none who deny your worth as my kinsman. You have taught my children well, offered council and concern to my people, and have shown nothing but sincerity to me and mine in the years that I have known you. My son, Jacaerys Velaryon, issued the decree that any who could mount a dragon in my name would be awarded wealth, land, and title. And though you were the last of the seeds to mount a dragon, the only one yet to do battle in my name, you have shown your consideration in thought, word, and deed. The final decree of my son will not be ignored. Unrewarded, your actions shall not be. Kneel."
With that last, simple word, my befuddlement changed into a swirl of emotion that I could not clearly proclaim. Lost, I looked throughout the room, gauging the faces of those present. Maester Gerardys and the Lady Baela were smiling widely my way, happy for this occurrence. Lord Corlys's face did not change in the slightest, belying any level of care for this event. Ser Robert seemed taken with this notion, and Ser Alfred, though certainly not an ally of mine, did not appear dissatisfied with the actions of our queen either. That, more than anything, startled me into movement.
As I slowly fell to one knee, she placed the cutlass of her former goodfather over my shoulder, its blade thin and sharp on the cloth of my robe. "In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women. In the name of the Crone, I charge you to act with wisdom. In the name of the Smith, I charge you to offer aid to those in need. In the name of the Stranger, I charge you to always be true, even in the face of death."
Her sword shifted from shoulder to shoulder with each charge, and with each word she spoke, the reality of my growth was became more and more apparent. I had never misliked my bastard nature, never thought lesser of me or my fellows, and yet, like anybody born in these lands, I craved the acknowledgement and elevation of my kin. Now that it was happening, now that it had finally come, I…
I did not know what to think.
"In my power as Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, the First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar and the First Men, I command you. Arise, Ser Maekar of Dragonstone." Queen Rhaenyra declared; her harshness replaced with a slight, tired smile. "A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms."
I did as bade, standing taller than the queen before me by nearly two heads, yet feeling smaller and more vulnerable than ever before. Princess Baela, Maester Gerardys and Ser Robert clapped and clamored and cheered at my rise, whilst Lord Corlys and Ser Alfred only offered a polite applause as was custom. I felt lighter than a feather in this moment. The words could not form on my tongue to express my jubilee.
It was best that I did not speak. Rhaenyra was not done with her words yet.
"You have been knighted for your taming of the Grey Ghost, as was promised by my son, may his soul find rest." Rhaenyra announced. "And I have done that. Now, Ser Maekar of Dragonstone, I title you as Defender of the Isle and Castellan of Dragonstone upon my departure for King's Landing."
Castellan? Defender of the Isle, I understood. We have just spoken on the matter.
But to be named castellan? Such a privilege and station was beyond somebody of my status, knight of not.
"My queen!" Ser Alfred hollered, seemingly agreeing with my own thoughts. "Castellan?! Ser Maekar is a knight of valor and true to his personage, there is no denying this, but control of Dragonstone cannot be handed to a- a…"
"A bastard?" Rhaenyra quipped, eyeing her knight.
Ser Alfred quickly nodded his head. "Yes!"
"Then it is good that he is soon not to remain that way, isn't it?"
I sucked in my breath, as did Ser Alfred. What?
"Stormcloud will live because of you," Aegon said, his voice high and yet serious enough to catch the attention of all the people in the room.
"Such an achievement is beyond any knighthood I could offer you." Rhaenyra said. She reached up and touched my face, scraping the black painted nail of her finger over my cheeks, offering a tenderness I had never before been privy to. "Ser Maekar of Dragonstone. You who has saved a dragon from the brink of death. I offer you the chance to shed the name of Flowers, to join the realm as a noble in my court. Will you accept?"
I swallowed thickly and audibly. This was beyond my wildest expectation. "I will."
Rhaenyra smiled at me, slightly fuller than before. "Then it will be done. I will not legitimize your and permit you the name of Targaryen, nor can I divvy up the map at this very moment and determine which lands will be yours. But a name and House of your own is yours to create, as are its words and coat of arms. After the war is won and I sit the Iron Throne, I shall grant you lands worthy of your deeds, taken from our enemies."
"Thank you," I choked out. "Thank you, my queen."
"Continue to serve me and mine as you have done, my lord. That is all the thanks I will need."
I nodded dumbly and bonelessly fell back into my chair, somehow exhausted beyond measure. Aegon hopped into my lap and babbled excitedly, about how we could go riding together once Stormcloud was better and he could foster with me once I had a castle of my own and such babble. Gods, just the thought of having a castle! It was humbling, the amount of power and freedom I had just been granted. From a servant of slightly higher import to the deciding voice in the matters of Dragonstone in one fell swoop… It was almost too much.
But then, as I ruffled Aegon's silver-gold hair, as I looked out towards that carved maw of stone, taking in the crashing waves of the Blackwater, I concluded that my initial plan was going to have to change.
Before, my goal was simple. Mount the Grey Ghost and leave Westeros until the war was settled. Eventually, be it days, months, or years, I would return to the lands of my birth. I would reap the rewards available as one of the few remaining dragonriders in the known world, and would take the titles and privileges I felt deserved, damn the consequences.
Now? Now that I had already been given titles and privileges beyond what I would have taken by my own merit? Now that I could implement my improvements onto Westeros without the eyes of my overlords on my person? Now that could make my own mark on the song that was to be sung?
A smile slowly broke out over my face. Well. Didn't that bring about some interesting opportunities?
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Umodin
Aug 29, 2022
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