The winds were strong on this day, though not so strong that a dragon could not fly through them with ease. The Grey Ghost cruised through the air with the same vigor as the Sea Snake sailing below in the roughs of Blackwater, the flagship of Lord Corlys Velaryon. I saw, upon the deck of the ship, Baela and Aegon waving at me, and Moondancer roared in greeting to the Grey Ghost from her resting place along a prow. The she-dragon's call caused my mount to hiss in agitation and fly back to Dragonstone, calling an end to our goodbyes. I could not help but laugh. He truly did not like to be around other dragons, did he?
In most instances, that would be acceptable, though naturally disappointing. Two weeks had passed since my knighting ceremony, and the castle now stood quite empty of men and beast. Just this morning, Queen Rhaenyra flew ahead of Lord Corlys to capture King's Landing, taking with her the mounted dragonseed riders sworn to her name. Stormcloud remained of course, still recovering from her injury but thankfully expected to pull through, sheltered in a sturdy wooden hut that had been hastily built along the beach. She was the only other dragon currently housed in, or near, the castle.
The Grey Ghost would normally thrive in such an instance, especially with his dominance over Stormcloud. Normally.
Two more dragons remained on the island, however. And though I had no intention of ever being near one of these two beasts, the Grey Ghost would have to learn to tolerate being in the presence of the other long-term.
He had to.
With whip in hand, I steered my Ghost away from his destination of the eastern banks, where he once nested, and made towards the castle courtyard. Those in the yard, comprised of a good number of servants, dragon keepers, and men-at-arms, saluted and bowed my landing, recognizing my station as castellan as was proper. Now that the last of the Black Council had left for the mainland, I was the deciding voice of the Dragonstone.
At the helm of the men-at-arms stood Sers Alfred Broome and Robert Quince, once more holding esteem and rank. By their side was Maester Tollard, the assistant that helped me perform surgery on Stormcloud, acting as Maester Gerardys's replacement. Gerardys was to become the new Grand Maester in the Red Keep once it was taken. I knew he would do the station justice.
Dismounting from the Grey Ghost, I kept my hand on his wing, a sign that I wished for my mount to remain on the ground, and waved for the trio to approach.
When they did, I spoke. "I know I have been gone for some time, and I apologize for the delay to my duty that has caused."
Ser Alfred grumbled. I knew he took my absence as a slight. Unfortunately, I could not do much on the topic. It is hard to argue with a dragon, mine or not, after all.
"We have yet to go over the defense plans of Dragonstone proper," I continued. "With Queen Rhaenyra and her council still available, it was fortunately not a need of paramount. Now that they have left and my duties have been appropriately started, it is time we too begin. If you two would be amenable, I mean to do so now. Broadly speaking, at least."
"Then we should go inside, should we not?" Ser Robert asked. Ser Alfred scowled, as was his norm, but he did not disagree with his fellow knight. Tollard did not seem to care either way. "Such talks are best spent with meal and mead in hand, my lord!"
I chuckled at his exuberance. Ser Robert was always looking for a reason to feast. Were he not so stringent in exercising with the men he commanded, his girth would be far greater. "We will do so later on in the day, when I can allow time to learn more intricate details. I must make due with generalities for now however, for I will haste to the southern slopes as soon as I can."
"You're after Nettles then." Ser Alfred stated, Ser Robert letting out a soft "Ah!" as I nodded.
Though it had been two weeks since I proclaimed Nettles to be my second, I had yet to actually speak to her. She did not sup with the dragonseeds in the Great Hall of Dragonstone, nor did she ever truly take to stabling her dragon like the rest of them. Not that I did either; the Grey Ghost refused to sleep near them. Nettles lived and breathed atop the back of her Sheepstealer and had apparently created her own little home within his roost along the south-western ridges of the Dragonmont.
That shouldn't have made contacting her difficult, however. I could fly, after all, and was largely beholden to my own schedule most times. The reason I could not speak to Nettles? Queen Rhaenyra cleverly proclaimed that, until such a time that she would storm King's Landing, a dragonseed must always be in a ready position, scouting the air and preparing for enemies, and when a seed was grounded, a dragon sworn to her banner should still be in the sky at all times. She refused to allow another surprise the likes of the Battle of the Gullet to ever occur again. That much, I could understand.
I had been assigned the eastern coast, where the Grey Ghost once roosted, and Nettles settled the south with Sheepstealer. Ulf took the north atop Silverwing and Hugh fielded the western banks on the back of Vermithor. Alyn Velaryon and Seasmoke had the cushiest of roles, centered the along the castle of Dragonstone itself. Lord Corlys had been the one to request that, apparently. I did not doubt that as false. With so many dragons flying about at all hours of the day, the Grey Ghost refused to even consider heading towards Nettles, instead forcing me to camp near his roost, which was why I was absent until this morning, and thus my charge eluded me. The bath Itook upon finally returning to my chambers was well deserved, I felt, as were the new clothes I wore, specially tailored for my person.
Now that my queen and her company were away, though? Now that the dragons were gone and the Grey Ghost could hold the skies virtually uncontested?
It was time to make contact with my lieutenant.
"I have delayed for far too long in speaking with her," I told Ser Alfred. "I wish for it to be done sooner rather than later. But I must know about how the castle defenses are manned before allowing myself away from my station any longer. So, I ask. What should I know?"
"We've just over two hundred men in the castle," said Ser Robert, tapping at his greying goatee thoughtfully. "They rotate roles at sunrise and sunset, every morning and evening."
"Which stations are the best manned? Which are the worst?"
"The granaries and gates are the best manned places," Ser Alfred said. "Being the most important. The worst though… Hard to say. The hatcheries, more than likely. They are beneath the dragon stables, and only a fool would steal from them."
"A fool, or a Targaryen." I countered. The whole point of this war was to combat the claim of King Aegon II. Regardless of his mother being a Hightower, he was a Targaryen, and if either he or his brothers took the castle, he could take the eggs, especially with the dragons away. I turned to Tollard. "There are no newly hatchlings, correct?"
"None." He confirmed.
I sighed with relief. "Well at least that's something. Still, I worry. Without any dragons guarding the hatcheries, a clever thief could make for an egg. Dragon eggs are more valuable than a mountain of gold in the right hands, and no matter which side wins this war, they cannot leave the control of House Targaryen. How many eggs are even there?"
Tollard paused for a moment, thinking. "…Eleven. No. Twelve. There were once seventeen, but Princess Rhaena took three to the Vale for protection and Prince Joffrey took two more at the behest of Lord Corlys. To bargain with the North and Riverlands, I believe."
Palming my face, I sighed. I admired Lord Corlys, I truly did. But he should not have Joffrey any of the dragon eggs. Joffrey was a boy of twelve, his dragon Tyraxes only nine. The responsibility was too great for a boy so young. "One egg can purchase a large galleon ship from the Sealord of Braavos. Two eggs can secure the services of a sellsword company. Three eggs can purchase a damned army that'd fight in the Disputed Lands. I shudder at what twelve eggs could purchase, and I fear what would happen if they were brought into the hands of unknown parties. What if they hatched? No, that cannot happen. I will not waste our soldiers guarding empty stables, but neither will I allow the eggs to be made unsecure. Tollard, reach out to the dragon keepers and secure the eggs. Make a place for them in the deeper recesses of the castle, in the under-caves, by the lava tubes if possible. To keep them warm and lively."
Tollard bowed and scurried off to speak to Lom, the head dragon keeper. I could not make out their conversation, but Lom gave the maester a serious look and, grunting, summoned the rest of his workers and made for the stables.
I returned my attention to the knights before me. "Stormcloud must be protected. I know that there are already some guards keeping watch of her daily and nightly. How many are on rotation?"
"Five, I believe?" Ser Robard answered after a pause, though he sounded unsure.
Only five?! "Double it," I ordered. "Stormcloud is an injured she-dragon that has only recently been expected to survive her wounds. She is still too weak to be moved, and horribly vulnerable besides. If that dragon dies, it won't just be Queen Rhaenyra or Prince Aegon that'll gut us all dead. The Usurper has killed off Meleys and Arrax. Two she-dragons. He's not a fool, he knows that if he were to win the war, he'd need more dragons under his belt, meaning he needs more dragons to whelp. Stormcloud is necessary. See it done, Ser Robert."
"I will at once!" said the portly knight, rushing away as fast as he could. Which, bemusedly, I noted was not all that quick.
Left with only Ser Alfred, I searched for my words carefully. I knew he misliked my position, thinking he should have been made castellan, and in truth? I could not fault him for his thoughts. Ser Alfred was a martially inclined knight with experience martially both offensive and defensive maneuvers. Were I not a dragonrider, further elevated to a lordship, he surely believed he would have been given the reigns of Dragonstone. Unfortunately, due to his prickly nature and the low loyalty afforded to him, I was of the opinion that Ser Robert would have been given the responsibility. The men admired his demeanor, the servants preferred his affability, and the other knights would have been content.
It was unlikely, but Ser Alfred might begin to harbor traitorous inclination should such an occurrence have happened. I hoped Ser Alfred could tolerate my beingcastellan over Ser Robert, at least.
"Where do we stand with defensive weaponry?" I inquired. "Crossbows? Trebuchets? Scorpions?"
"We've plenty enough crossbows to go around." said Ser Alfred. "I do not know the exact amount, but I will when we meet later in the day. Trebuchets are little needed though. They are meant to crack castles open, not defend them. Lord Corlys took many of them for the war. There are perhaps a score remaining in the castles ready to be assembled, but they are not a priority. There are more in the villages too, to ward off raiders, but that is all."
I nodded, understanding his point. "And the scorpions? I only know of the two on the upper ramparts."
"There are four scorpions, the two on the ramparts, one in the barrack tower facing the dragonmont, and one more facing the stable. The two on the rampart are to fend off enemies, the one facing the volcano to ward off wild dragons, and the one facing the stable in the event of a ridden dragon going rogue, or its rider for that matter."
"Are they manned regularly?"
Ser Alfred shook his head. "No. They are meant to be last resorts."
"That cannot stand," I announced. "From now on, they will be at the ready at all times. Until such a time that the war is ended, or I state otherwise, they must be ready to fell enemy dragons and their riders. Should Sunfyre, Vhagar, Tessarion or Dreamfyre be in sight. The scorpion facing the stables is to be moved to an upper rampart as well."
"I understand." Ser Alfred said, looking as grim and serious as ever. "Shall I prepare the men trained in scorpion usage to take their new posts."
"Please do." I nodded. As Ser Alfred shortly saluted me and marched towards the castle, I once again hopped atop the Grey Ghost's wing and settled myself between his shoulder blades. Cracking my whip, he jumped into the sky, cantered his wings, and after a short time to accustom in the air we took off.
We made way for the volcanic bluffs, where the blackened sheen of freshly formed obsidian and stone melded with hardy grazing grass. As always, the Grey Ghost was a quick mount, fortunately taking commands without complaint and much need of direction, and I was thankful that he'd finally permitted the dragon keepers to saddle him. Our flights were far more comfortable, and more importantly, far less dangerous for me.
Anxiety swirled within my gut as we heard a roar on the other side of a high spiked hill. Saddle or no, another dragon in the presence of my cowardly mount was a dangerous combination. The Grey Ghost slowed down considerably, especially after we saw the dragon sailing through the air.
With mud brown scales, blackened wing membranes, and an unusually stunted snout, there could be no doubt that this dragon was Sheepstealer. This was a warmount, a scavenger, a prankster. This was not a dragon of grandeur the likes of which a king or queen or prince of the realm would boastfully claim.
But the woman riding him was not a queen, nor a princess, and I've the feeling she would not do well in either roles.
She quickly caught eyes with me, having seen the Grey Ghost approaching, and soon descended her dragon to an open slope without much brush or stone outcroppings. I had my Ghost do the same, though his movements were slow and clearly uncomfortable being so near to Sheepstealer, the brown dragon being larger than my Ghost, near the same size as Prince Daemon's Caraxes.
I told Rhaenyra true before my knighting true; the Grey Ghost had some sort of accord with the dragon before us. But an accord was not a friendship, nor even a kinship. And without the Cannibal to hold focus their attention, these two dragons rarely interacted with one another.
They would have to learn.
Nettles dismounted from Sheepstealer with a skip in her step, rubbing along his jaw fondly. I too dismounted, but my Ghost chose to race away before I could make to calm him down, recognizing that I was not entering a combative situation. I frowned, eyeing his retreat into the sky. That would have to be worked on.
"Well if it ain't the lordy-lord hisself!" Nettles crowed, a sardonic, playful smirk mottling her face. She slapped Sheepstealer's muzzle, and her mount then took to the air but a moment after, following after my Ghost. A game of chase broke out began between the two great dragons, though by the panicked movements of my own mount, I was quite sure he didn't view it as such.
Shrugging, I determined that no harm would come to my dragon and returned my attention to the approaching Nettles. She was a small, unassuming slip of a girl, with brown skin reminiscent of a Summer Islander and similarly colored eyes. Her scarred nose and crooked teeth contrasted curiously with her dimpled cheeks and full lips. Were it not for the great dragon circling overhead that deigned to make her his rider, I would never have assumed her much, callous though that thought might be.
Regardless of my faulty bias, Nettles was much and more beyond anybody's assumptions and only a fool would ever believe otherwise. "I don't know about that," I said, smiling slightly. My lordship felt too young to be recognized overly much.
She laughed bawdily and loud, a hearty and uncompromised sound that I admittedly found fetching. "Ye've been made one by the queen, yeah?"
"I have," I confessed. "But I've yet to choose an appropriate name or have lands bestowed upon me. A lord without a name to be known or land for people to settle and tax is no lord at all, I should think."
Nettles rose a brow and dragged her eyes towards my attire. My new garments, made up of a fine leather tunic, lamb's wool pants, dragon scaled boots, a freshly forged longsword, and a carefully crafted cloth tabard. "But they can have sigils?"
I looked down, still admiring of the design on the tabard. The coat of arms of my noble house. It bore a roosted grey dragon with red eyes on a field of black, its body near-forming a circle. In my earlier years, with the freedoms to pursue painting that Maester Gerardys gave me, I had created many sigil designs, in the event that I were allowed to bear one. The dragon and its coloring naturally represented the Grey Ghost, and the field of black was plastered in same manner as the field on House Targaryen's own sigil, in recognition of Rhaenyra and her faction for the sponsorship of my rise. The pride that I felt when I first donned this tabard was impossible to ignore.
"Any knight can bear a sigil," I explained, unwilling to admit that I'd made this sigil years ago. I liked her laugh. I did not think I'd like it directed at me. "Hugh took a hammer for his own, did he not?"
She scoffed and spat into the dirt, her opinion on our fellow dragonseed apparent. "Hammers be all he knows. He swings hammers on steel and on men the same. He rides his dragon like a hammer. Fuckin' hells, I'd bet good coin he only knows how t'hammer his cock into his whores when he's fuckin'. Wouldn't know, mind. I like my men… weaker? No, t'ain't the word."
"You prefer men that you yourself chase?" I guessed, playing along. Nettles had such an easy way with making people feel comfortable that I could not help but join in her game. It made decision to keep her as my second all the more reasonable, in my view. Better to laugh than to lament. "That won't feel lesser for not being the aggressor?"
"That!" Nettles clapped, smiling. Her smile turned sour quickly. "Most don't mind me bein' the hunter, bein' truthful. They get an easy lay, aye. I like a man that don't keep it quiet, though. That's the trick of it. Ain't found the right'n yet."
Nodding, I understood her position. In Westeros, and I would presume to be the case in many other feudal societies, women that chased men of their interest were often considered lesser goods, especially when they were as sexually open as Nettles was. And even when a man didn't mind being pursued by a woman, they often had trouble acknowledging such a relationship publicly. On Dragonstone, where the blood of Valyria ran strong, somebody with the looks of Nettles would have an even more difficult time. Though I suspected that now that she rode the Sheepstealer, her problems in the arena of romance would be at an end. Should she choose to pursue someone, that is.
Nettles then squinted. "But enough o' that. Knights can't have none'o them fancy words, can they?"
I waved my hand to and fro. "They can, but the sigil is more important for a knight. House words are a motto of sorts, the rallying cry of a noble house. Peasants and soldiers and knights that are sworn to a house shout their words into battle in recognition of their overloads. Great lords can even have their vassal lords do the same. Most knights won't have such a thunder of voices to follow, so many don't bother."
"Ye've got some then?" Nettles asked. Shen then grinned and swept herself down into a truly abysmal, though comical, curtsy. "M'lord?"
I laughed and began to walk down the sloped hills, beckoning her to follow. She did so with a skip in her step. "I've not chosen mine own words yet, no. Would you like to help me narrow down what I've thought of thus far?"
"Hit me with 'em!" Nettles said cheerily.
"Knowledge is Power."
"Ehhhh," Nettles sounded, shaking her head. "Sounds… I dunno. It don't match? Ye tamed a dragon, lordy-boy. Ye ain't need no book learnin' for yer power, ye've already got it."
Though I felt like I must protest her thoughts, I found such protestations slow to come. She spoke truthfully. I liked to read and study and learn, but my power was not based around my knowledge or wisdom, it was instead based on my taming a dragon.
I conceded. "Fair. And just call me Maekar, don't worry about any of the lordship courtesies. We are dragonseeds both, after all. Hm… How about this then? Endure and Overcome."
Nettles clicked her tongue, stopping her gait. I too paused in my movement, peering back towards her. Nettles gave me a side-eyed glare. "What've you endured? What've you overcome?"
Was it not obvious? "I rose from a bastard to become a dragonrider knight and the lord of a new noble house!"
She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "Ye were raised in a castle, taught t'read and lead, knew all o' the Queen's brood an' could even talk back t' some'o 'em. Anybody else tries for that? Lose their tongue, lose their hand, lose their life. Fuck, yer own pappy was a princeling. Compared t'the rest o' us? Ye've had the easy life, Maekar."
I scowled, but once more, found little fault in her words. Perhaps Endure and Overcome was too ostentatious for my beginning. "What about this then? Dream, Hope, Aspire. Everybody can dream, everybody can hope, few can aspire. I've done them all, none can question that."
My companion mulled over my words before nodding quickly, her previous frown shifting into a smile. "I like 'em. Simple but strong, aye."
"I've some more house words in mine, if you're still interested."
"Rapid volley 'em!" Nettles said, trekking once more. I followed suit.
"Steadfast in Duty. Live Great, Die Better. Progress Through Wisdom. With Pen and Sword. Deeds Not Words. We See All. Ever Growing."
Nettles whistled lowly, crossing her arms behind her head, eyes trained skywards, where our dragons still played their game. "I like Progress Through Wisdom and Ever Growing. Yer a smart sort, so that first one works, and ye started as a Flower and became more, so the second works too. But the rest. They're too… much? Too grand? I dunno, but they don't really suit ya. Not in me own mind, 'least."
I smiled, glad to have gotten her assistance in the matter. "Then it is a choice between the three mottos. Dream, Hope, Aspire. Progress Through Wisdom. And Ever Growing. I think I'll make my choice of them once I actually choose a name."
"An' how're ya gonna do that?"
"Hard to say," I admitted. "I'd rather choose a name that means something, either for some deed I performed or for the land I will rule. But until I have more deeds under my belt, and until I know what lands will be mine, I don't feel as if I'll be able to choose a name just yet. Regardless, talking about lordships and knighthoods and preferences is not why I came to you, Nettles."
She snorted. "Figured not. This about me bein' yer second?"
I smiled down at her. "You know it is."
Nettles sighed, kicking a loose bit of obsidian. The blackened glass formation shattered against the force of her boot, scattering into many pieces that rolled down the hill. "What'll I have t'do?"
"Nothing too different," I began. "I'll still need you to be in the air and ready to scout and do battle, as you've been doing. I'll still want you to sleep with Sheepstealer too, as I'll be doing with my Ghost. But I'd like for you to do your rounds closer to the castle and take up lodging there too."
Narrowing her eyes, Nettles appeared distrusting. "Y'gonna try an' force me into a dress too? Make me learn under a Septa who thinks me a demon bastard?"
I blinked, confused. "Er. No? Why would I?"
She let out a groan. "Cause that's all that happens whenever I go back to the castle! Queen said I tamed Sheepy, so I've got a dowry now an' I need to know how ta please some fiddy-diddy lord or knight? Fuck that! I ain't no fool!"
"Clearly," I echoed, starting to understand. With understanding came genuine irritation on Nettles behalf. What a mess. "I did not name you my second to see you become a maiden true."
"Ain't been a maiden since I were thirteen!" Nettles cut in, a savage grin on her face.
"Instead," I hissed, not appreciating her interruption. "I did so because of your worth as a dragonrider and your nature as a person. Simply put, you are kind, Nettles. You speak to everybody, high and lowborn alike, with the same meanings. If you mean to do something, you will. I admire that, and I know you won't shirk your duties in the defense of this island."
Somehow, with each word in her favor I spoke, Nettles became more and more uncertain. Confusion was obvious to see in her brown eyes, as was something akin to hope, and dare I say it, interest?
Regardless, she appeared to have internalized my speech. "So I ask you this. Will you resettle into the castle of Dragonstone once more?"
Nettles only nodded dumbly. I took what I could, and we walked in a companiable silence from then on, taking in the play of our dragons. The Grey Ghost had finally stopped racing away from Sheepstealer, and was tentatively playing alongside the brown dragon. Sheepstealer was crowing in delight at the new form of play, and I was beginning to suspect that he shared more than just a similar coloration with his rider.
Content to watch my Ghost at play, I continued to marvel at them for near twenty minutes. Had I looked at Nettles at all during this time, I would see her not taking in the dragons above us, as I was, but instead staring at me, her eyes lidded and lost.raised in a castle, taught t'read and lead, knew all o' the Queen's brood an' could even talk back t' some'o 'em. Anybody else tries for that? Lose their tongue, lose their hand, lose their life. Fuck, yer own pappy was a princeling. Compared t'the rest o' us? Ye've had the easy life, Maekar."
I scowled, but once more, found little fault in her words. Perhaps Endure and Overcome was too ostentatious for my beginning. "What about this then? Dream, Hope, Aspire. Everybody can dream, everybody can hope, few can aspire. I've done them all, none can question that."
My companion mulled over my words before nodding quickly, her previous frown shifting into a smile. "I like 'em. Simple but strong, aye."
"I've some more house words in mine, if you're still interested."
"Rapid volley 'em!" Nettles said, trekking once more. I followed suit.
"Steadfast in Duty. Live Great, Die Better. Progress Through Wisdom. With Pen and Sword. Deeds Not Words. We See All. Ever Growing."
Nettles whistled lowly, crossing her arms behind her head, eyes trained skywards, where our dragons still played their game. "I like Progress Through Wisdom and Ever Growing. Yer a smart sort, so that first one works, and ye started as a Flower and became more, so the second works too. But the rest. They're too… much? Too grand? I dunno, but they don't really suit ya. Not in me own mind, 'least."
I smiled, glad to have gotten her assistance in the matter. "Then it is a choice between the three mottos. Dream, Hope, Aspire. Progress Through Wisdom. And Ever Growing. I think I'll make my choice of them once I actually choose a name."
"An' how're ya gonna do that?"
"Hard to say," I admitted. "I'd rather choose a name that means something, either for some deed I performed or for the land I will rule. But until I have more deeds under my belt, and until I know what lands will be mine, I don't feel as if I'll be able to choose a name just yet. Regardless, talking about lordships and knighthoods and preferences is not why I came to you, Nettles."
She snorted. "Figured not. This about me bein' yer second?"
I smiled down at her. "You know it is."
Nettles sighed, kicking a loose bit of obsidian. The blackened glass formation shattered against the force of her boot, scattering into many pieces that rolled down the hill. "What'll I have t'do?"
"Nothing too different," I began. "I'll still need you to be in the air and ready to scout and do battle, as you've been doing. I'll still want you to sleep with Sheepstealer too, as I'll be doing with my Ghost. But I'd like for you to do your rounds closer to the castle and take up lodging there too."
Narrowing her eyes, Nettles appeared distrusting. "Y'gonna try an' force me into a dress too? Make me learn under a Septa who thinks me a demon bastard?"
I blinked, confused. "Er. No? Why would I?"
She let out a groan. "Cause that's all that happens whenever I go back to the castle! Queen said I tamed Sheepy, so I've got a dowry now an' I need to know how ta please some fiddy-diddy lord or knight? Fuck that! I ain't no fool!"
"Clearly," I echoed, starting to understand. With understanding came genuine irritation on Nettles behalf. What a mess. "I did not name you my second to see you become a maiden true."
"Ain't been a maiden since I were thirteen!" Nettles cut in, a savage grin on her face.
"Instead," I hissed, not appreciating her interruption. "I did so because of your worth as a dragonrider and your nature as a person. Simply put, you are kind, Nettles. You speak to everybody, high and lowborn alike, with the same meanings. If you mean to do something, you will. I admire that, and I know you won't shirk your duties in the defense of this island."
Somehow, with each word in her favor I spoke, Nettles became more and more uncertain. Confusion was obvious to see in her brown eyes, as was something akin to hope, and dare I say it, interest?
Regardless, she appeared to have internalized my speech. "So I ask you this. Will you resettle into the castle of Dragonstone once more?"
Nettles only nodded dumbly. I took what I could, and we walked in a companiable silence from then on, taking in the play of our dragons. The Grey Ghost had finally stopped racing away from Sheepstealer, and was tentatively playing alongside the brown dragon. Sheepstealer was crowing in delight at the new form of play, and I was beginning to suspect that he shared more than just a similar coloration with his rider.
Content to watch my Ghost at play, I continued to marvel at them for near twenty minutes. Had I looked at Nettles at all during this time, I would see her not taking in the dragons above us, as I was, but instead staring at me, her eyes lidded and lost.When you said admire," Nettles began, catching my attention. I looked down at her and found her looking unsure. It was hard to image Nettles as unsure of anything. "What'd y-" Her words were caught off by the roar of a dragon.
A roar that did not belong to one of our dragons.
We whipped our heads northward, towards the peak of the Dragonmont. The dragon that crawled out of one of its upper vents was scaled black like coal, mottled with a poisonous green, and near as big as a holdfast; its maw was big enough to eat an elephant whole. The only dragon that could claim to be larger than it was Vhagar. The Cannibal had finally deigned Dragonstone with its presence. As it opened its wings and took to the sky, heading towards us, only one word come quantify the dread that pooled in my stomach.
"Fuck." I whispered. Nettles echoed me, adding an even greater alacrity to her terror.
We brought our hands to our mouths and whistled loudly for our mounts. The Grey Ghost arrived first, the faster of the two, but Sheepstealer was not far behind. Rushing over my dragon's flank, I settled myself into his saddle quicker than ever before. I hadn't even finished chaining myself down before my Ghost took off, so great was his fear of the Cannibal. Sheepstealer and Nettles weren't far behind us, and their panic too was shared.
I had seen the Cannibal only once before, with Prince Jacaerys. We had flown on Vermax just a few months prior to the Dance of Dragons breaking out and caught a brief sight of the Cannibal eating an unnamed hatchling on the southern slope of the dragonmont. After seeing such a travesty, I immediately began to research the Cannibal, hoping to find something that would mitigate the loss of dragons it caused.
Unfortunately, my research for a solution on the Cannibal proved fruitless. Born before Aegon the Conqueror made war with Westeros, the Cannibal was the second oldest dragon still living. The most prevalent theory regarding the Cannibal's origin was that its egg spawned from the union of the long dead Meraxes and Balerion the Black Dread. Never ridden, and never cared for by dragon keepers, nobody knew the gender of this dragon, and due to the Cannibal's proclivity for consuming dragon eggs and hatchlings both, it was easier to call the dragon an it, rather than a he or a she or a they. The Cannibal was an animal, a beast, serving no purpose other than that of struggle. No man would ride it, no she-dragon would mate with it. The Cannibal existed only to cause chaos.
And chaos it came to cause indeed. Likely, it understood that the other dragons had left, and it also recognized the Grey Ghost and Sheepstealer in their play as the only two wild dragons to have evaded its hunger. Dragons were prideful by nature, though what they took pride in could vary, and I wouldn't doubt that for the Cannibal, this was a matter unsettled. It had come to collect.
Worse. Though it was a huge dragon, it was swifter than anybody could have expected. It had not slowed with age, nor was it fat and sluggish like the other old dragons became. The Cannibal was a fast-moving mountain, its larger and strong wings letting it push through the air more rapidly than either the Grey Ghost or Sheepstealer could, and it was gaining on us, bellowing out rays of green fire.
"WE MUST SPLIT UP!" I yelled out to Nettles. "FLY TO THE WATER! I'LL MAKE FOR DRAGONSTONE!" I needed the Cannibal focused on only one of us, and though the decision could be seen as cruel, Sheepstealer was a larger prize than the Grey Ghost, and better known for playing games with the Cannibal. It would chase him, rather than me, giving me enough time to prepare a better strategy, if such a thing could even happen.
Nettles must not have heard my words. Or perhaps she misunderstood them? It didn't matter though, for rather than steering her dragon to the Blackwater, she instead swerved for Dragonstone. I cursed before doing the same. If the Cannibal breathed fire on the castle in its bid for Sheepstealer, I would never forgive myself.
Growing closer and closer to us, our changed trajectory only seemed to make us easier targets. The castle was approaching, closer and closer and closer, and as I saw Sheepstealer and Nettles dive into the courtyard, leaving behind them a billow of dirt and gravel, I realized that with the Cannibal not closing in on them, it meant only one thing.
The Grey Ghost was his target. I was his target.
I whipped my Ghost into a steep dive, and near screamed as the Cannibal's great bulk came in close, just where we were. Fuck, I thought as I heard its jaws clamp audibly. We had just dodged death. My Ghost continued to dive, righting himself less than ten feet from the ground, and I immediately whipped him towards the waters a mile away from one of the port towns, where jaggedy rock protrusions acted as a natural barrier against pirate raiders.
The Cannibal too dove after us, though was unable to right itself with the same quickness that the Grey Ghost could. Instead, it barreled into the water, roaring in pain as those rocky protrusions somewhat pierced its hide, but only somewhat. The rocks seemed to buckle and crumble more often than rend and tear. Though boiling blood flowed onto the beach, it was not a death stroke by any measure.
It struggled to return to the air, at least. Every time it tried to flap its wings, more blood flowed. A fresh hole in its left membrane was apparent, and though dragons could fly with them, the larger the hole, the more tough the task. With such a large dragon, it was likely all the more difficult.
I wished to be able to do something to harm this monster. To kill it even. But to go close would risk the Grey Ghost, myself included, and that wasn't permissible in any scenario. How do I do this?
A bundle of rocks pelted the Cannibal from the port shore, doing nothing but earning an annoyed yowl from the dragon. I caught sight of a trebuchet from the port dock, sailors and fishermen rushing with rocks to add to the trebuchet, and an idea sprouted in mind.
"TO THE SLOPES!" I shouted at my dragon. "GUROGON MIRRI TEGITSOSSA!"
Catching on, the Grey Ghost quickly flew back to the dragonmont and scraped an array of stone and obsidian into his talons. He hissed in pain, for obsidian was sharp enough to even cut dragon scales, but flew back towards the struggling Cannibal regardless. He then rose further into the air, the distance between the two dragons not inconsiderable, and let go of his quarry.
Rocks and stone and dragonglass all dropped onto the Cannibal without fanfare. The monstrous dragon bellowed, for gravity made the make-shift weaponry stronger. Cuts and gashes sprouted over the scales of the dragon, and pride filled me as one of its baleful green eyes remained closed, blood and a mucus-like liquid spilling onto its snout.
The Grey Ghost, recognizing his success, quickly repeated his assault. He raced back to the low slopes of the dragonmont, grabbed some rocks and obsidian, and harried the Cannibal with them from up high. The Cannibal recognized that this would continue to happen when the Grey Ghost and I rushed away for a third time and made for Dragonstone from the beachfront.
Sheepstealer and Nettles joined the Grey Ghost and I after the third assault. With a second dragon, the damage upon the Cannibal's scales doubled, progressively slowing him down bit by bit. It wasn't fast enough, however, and by my seventh assault, I realized where the Cannibal was nearing.
Stormcloud. Making for the Dragonstone from the beaches meant that the Cannibal would soon find the injured dragon. Her shelter was made only to protect her from the rain and winds, not the sense of smell of a dragon. The Cannibal would smell her, find her, and consume her in short order.
I pushed the Grey Ghost even harder. I knew his talons were bloodied and cut up, and I knew this was not something he could keep up with. Even with Sheepstealer at our side, harrying the titanic dragon, it would take a decidedly lucky strike to stop the Cannibal. But it was worth the attempt. I did not want to see another dragon become the prey of the Cannibal. Not again.
The Grey Ghost dropped his seventh assault onto the Cannibal and raced away for more. On the eighth, we were blessed to destroy its other eye, leaving the older dragon both grounded and blind. By the ninth assault, it became apparent that the Cannibal had caught Stormcloud's scent, for it increased its speed and beelined towards her hut.
When the Grey Ghost rushed and grabbed his tenth assault of stone and returned to position, it was too late. The Cannibal had made it to Stormcloud's hut. The Grey Ghost dropped more stone and obsidian onto the Cannibal, but that did nothing in the face of its prey. The black scaled dragon opened its maw wide, green baleful fire loosening from its nostrils, and I knew in my heart of hearts that I had failed.
Until a scorpion bolt sailed through the air, that was.
It caught the Cannibal right in its open maw, piercing into the middle of the roof of its mouth causing it to flail in surprise and spew fire haphazardly. In comparison to the Cannibal, a scorpion bolt was thrice as small as its smallest tooth, and yet the iron arrow still found purchase in just the right way. The fire from the Cannibal's mouth funneled through the hole the arrow made in its mouth, bringing blaze and ash and smoke directly into its brain. Even for a dragon, fire made flesh, that was a critical injury. The Cannibal flailed and floundered and flapped its wings in panic, shrieking and screeching and screaming, pain and agony making up its very being, until with one great lurch, the black dragon's fire went out and it collapsed on the beachfront. Dead.
I roared with every fiber of my being, yelling and screaming and hollering, my voice likely to go rough the following to, echoed by what felt like the whole of Dragonstone. Sheepstealer and the Grey Ghost too offering their own roars of victory into the cadence of voices. Even Stormcloud popped her head out from her hut and strained to medley her voice with all of ours!
All of the voices of Dragonstone came together in celebration, for on this day, the plague of dragons, the monster of myth, the Cannibal itself, had been felled by the hands of a mortal.
I cracked my whip one last time and had the Grey Ghost fly towards the upper ramparts of the castle. I needed to find the man or woman that fired that bolt. I needed to see our dragonslayer, to praise them and elevate them and give them whatever I could, for they deserved that and more. They deserved far more.
The man in question was being held aloft by a near-score of men-at-arms, all of whom were cheering and hollering whilst the man looked so dumbfounded that my laughter could not be contained. The Grey Ghost brought me close, and when the men-at-arms set him down, I hollered his name.
"TO SER ALFRED BROOME!" I boomed. "SLAYER OF THE CANNIBAL! SER ALFRED THE DRAGONSLAYER!"
"SER ALFRED THE DRAGONSLAYER!" The people of Dragonstone loudly resounded.
And for the first time since I'd met him as a lad of nine years, Ser Alfred Broome smiled.
Valyrian Translation:
Gurogon mirri tegitsossa: "Take some rocks"
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