Chapter 75: Interlude: ErikNotes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Just once, I want not to stand in my sister's shadow. Just once, I want the world to know that I am more than a footnote in history. Just once, I want people to respect me for my deeds instead of my name. Just once, I want people to remember me as someone other than Rhaenyra's younger brother."
-Prince Aegon Targaryen, right before leaving the Red Keep for the last time.
109 AC, Arbor
"Have you heard the reports?" Lord Gunther Grimm demanded, slamming a fist onto the oaken desk. "A thousand ships!"
"This is nothing new." Lord Bertie Hewett gravelled calmly. "The Ironborn could always field such an armada, well, they could when they stopped squabbling with one another."
"If the thousand ships were all longships, I'd stay my tongue and accept it." Lord Grimm retorted. "But this Gold Fleet is a different beast entirely. A hundred dromonds! Two hundred galleys! That's more than the entirety of the Redwyne Fleet!"
"Yes, that is concerning." Ser Harvey Redwyne, son and heir of Lord Paxton Redwyne, and second-in-command of the Redwyne Fleet agreed. "But my lords, what I find more fearsome is the news of the new factory-shipyards of Sea Dragon Point. Their construction was only finished last year, and already they have produced a thousand ships."
He paused, letting the notion sink into the assembled lords of the Shield Islands.
"A thousand ships, produced in a year." He repeated. "This number is not just extraordinary. It is unprecedented!"
"The Arsenal…" Lord Moren Chester began.
"Can produce a warship in a day, yes, but Sea Dragon Point produced an average of five every single day by all reports." Lord Oswald Serry cut off. "Yes, Ser Harvey is right to worry."
"It matters not!" Lord Grimm shouted. "The bigger concern is the Ironborn! Rhaenyra has just given them enough strength to sweep the Redwyne fleet aside and batter through the Shield Islands!"
He pounded the desk once more.
"Lord Blacktyde may be playing the obedient dog now, but we all know what those pirate scum are like." He growled. "Mark my words, once the Gold Fleet is ready, he'll descend on the West in a storm of salt and fury."
"The Gold Fleet is already ready." Lord Serry pointed out. "Lord Glover is a friend of mine, and has told me in confidence that the ships are all completed. All that is their shakedown and provisioning."
"Oh no." Lord Chester sweated nervously. "We'd best return to our holdfasts quickly then, and fortify as much as we can. With any luck, we can wait out the storm behind our walls."
"Coward." Lord Grimm scowled. "No, what we need is a preemptive strike. We must launch our ships, sail to the North, and burn the Gold Fleet at anchor! End the threat before it even begins!"
"Rhaenyra would not take that lying down." Lord Hewett reasonably said. "She'd take that as an act of war. And pardon me, but I have no intention of letting Oakenshield become the next Pyke."
"Yes!" Lord Chester emphatically agreed. "Rhaenyra will protect us! She'll drown the Iron Islands in Fire and Blood if the Ironborn steps out of line."
"You would cower behind a woman's skirts for safety?" Lord Grimm demanded. "Cowards, and cravens, all of you!"
That triggered a round of shouting and insults from the five men, only silenced when Lord Paxton banged the table with his sheathed sword.
"Enough!" He shouted, the five men all falling silent in response. For a moment, the only sounds in the room were the faint lapping of the sea and the heavy breathing of the men, before the Lord of the Arbor finally spoke.
"The Gold Fleet is a great threat to us all." Lord Paxton solemnly said, rising to his feet and walking to the window, where he looked down over the golden fields and turquoise beaches of the Arbor. "Rhaenyra intends it as a great weapon, one meant to cow the entire West into submission."
He gestured at the five men before him.
"This, my lords, is precisely what she wants." He said, eyes taking them all in. "We all panic, contemplate submission for safety. Fighting one another while she looks on, ready to swoop on the victor.
"Nay, what we need to do, is to stand fast and stand united." The orange-haired man finished. "The Arbor and the Shield Islands are the vanguard against those whom would harm the Reach by sea. The great bulwark against raiders and reavers. And if we stand together, can we oppose both Rhaenyra and her pet Ironborn's fleet."
"Good words, father." Ser Harvey nodded. "But words alone will not produce victory. Do we have a plan to defeat the Gold Fleet?"
"Lord Hightower is also perturbed by the Ironborn menace, and has offered generously termed loans for the expansion of the Redwyne Fleet, as well as those stationed on the Shield Islands."
There was a round of nodding.
"I'm listening." Lord Grimm smiled.
The following discussion lasted nearly half an hour, before the last of the details were settled, and the lords all vacated Lord Redwyne's solar.
Lord Paxton himself slumped over his desk in a most unlordly manner, sighing to himself as he leaned back in his chair. Erik Fyre wordlessly poured the man a generous helping of his favourite Arbor Red and placed the cup before the Lord of the Arbor.
"Thank you." Lord Paxton said, immediately throwing back the wine, only to just as quickly spit it back out.
"Erik?! What are you doing here?!" The man shouted, recoiling away from the Dragonseed in utter shock.
"… I was always here." Erik quietly said. "I'm your ward, my lord. You yourself tasked me to follow you everywhere and take the minutes for every meeting you have."
The orange-haired man sighed and pressed two fingers to his forehead in apparent pain.
"…Yes, I do vaguely remember giving you such an order." He sighed once again. "Lad, you just have no presence. I didn't even realise that you were in the room."
"But I was sitting in your line of sight the entire time." Erik Fyre plaintively said, gesturing to the small scribe's desk that Lord Paxter had set up right beside the door.
"You're bloody unnoticeable! Ghostly, I swear!" Lord Paxton shouted exasperatedly, throwing his hands in the air. "Nobody can see you, even if we are looking straight at you, it's bloody unnatural!"
"Don't worry about it." Erik sighed. "I'm used to it."
Such was the lot in Erik Fyre's life. For some reason, people always forgot that he existed, and always overlooked him. He could stand right in front of Bell, and she would not even notice him there. Once, he stumbled into Daena while heading to the privy at night and nearly got stabbed; His oldest sister had mistaken him for a ghost. Maegelle, despite her perfect memory, often forgot to call him down for meals or such.
Even Mama forgot he existed most of the time, and she gave birth to him!
Of all the Dragonseeds, only himself and Bell had non-Valyrian names. Ostensibly because they both opted not to change it, and that was true—For Bell. Erik on the other hand, had never even been baptised in the first place. Everyone from Queen Aemma to Mama had not just forgotten to take him along when they conducted the ceremony, but completely forgotten to even inform him of the entire proceedings in the first place.
Erik sighed once more over his rotten lot in life.
"You know, just once, I want people to actually remember me, you know." He muttered, mostly to himself. "To notice and recognise me. To see me, even if it was for just one glorious moment."
"Well… in my experience, if you want to be remembered, do something memorable." Lord Paxton suggested. "Nobody remembers a mediocre lord, only the greatest and the worst. Those whom have made their marks on history, carved them deep enough that no amount of paint or whitewashing will every erase them."
"So I must do a great deed, in order to be remembered?" Erik contemplatively said, walking over to the window to think. "Hmm, I'll think about that, Lord Paxton.
"Thank you for the advice." Erik smiled, turning around only to see Lord Paxton slumped over his desk once more, sipping from his cup of wine.
Already the Lord of the Arbor had forgotten Erik's entire existence.
With one final sigh, Erik left the room. He compiled his notes, thankful for once that his lack of presence meant that Lord Paxton didn't realise that his technically rebellious meeting with the Shield Lords had been spied on, and headed straight for his quarters to find his glass candle and inform Rhae. Hopefully the servants would remember that the rooms were inhabited and wouldn't accidentally lock him out for the tenth time.
———
For the next few weeks, all Erik could think about was his need to gain recognition. He mulled over Lord Paxton's advice, thinking hard over it. Including Uncle Viserys, there had been five Targaryen kings.
Aegon, Aenys, Maegor, Jaehaerys and Viserys.
Nobody could ever forget Aegon the Conqueror. He whom made six kingdoms bend the knee to the Iron Throne. But next to no one remembered his son and heir, Aenys the Weak, beyond 'the King whom Maegor usurped'.
How could they, when he was such a mediocre and weak king? A king whose most memorable act was getting usurped by the worst tyrant in the history of the Seven Kingdoms?
Aenys was but a footnote in history. Songs sung about him focused more on either his father, brother or son. Most smallfolk today didn't even know his name. When young lordlings were taught about Aenys, it was about how not to rule.
It was fate that Viserys seemed heading straight towards. Even now, it was apparent to everyone from the lowest of beggars to the highest of lords that the reign of the Young King would be vastly overshadowed by the reign of the Dragonqueen. Already, his reign was all but over. Mayhaps before it even began, for everyone with half a brain could see that Jaehaerys had all but bequeathed the Seven Kingdoms to Rhaenyra. It had only ever been a matter of time.
Even before she became the Lady Hand, Rhaenyra essentially ran the kingdoms since the Old King's passing, with her father little more than a figurehead. A placeholder until his daughter came of age, whereupon he would have outlived his usefulness, and the Prince of Dragonstone would seize the throne.
Erik was pretty sure Rhaenyra wouldn't outright murder Viserys to finish the formalities of the succession, but he'd seriously be surprised if Rhaenyra wasn't King in both name and truth by her seventeenth nameday.
Nobody would remember Viserys, Erik realised. Nobody would remember him as anything more than 'the King whom crowned Rhaenyra'. They couldn't; wouldn't.
And even fewer people would remember Erik Fyre.
Few enough people as it already stood remembered the children of King Jaehaerys, and bastards by the very nature tended to be swept under the rug.
The Dragonseeds were memorable, yes. The name of Fyre was seared irreparably into history to be forgotten, but how many of his siblings would have more than a few pages of a history book dedicated to them?
Daena and Daenys to be sure, likely Shaeterys and Rhaegar as well. But the rest? How many of them would be forgotten save their dates of birth, death and name? And how many more wouldn't even have that to their names? Being reduced to little more than a number.
Somehow, Erik doubted that he'd even get a number to his name. Knowing his luck, people would think that the children of Prince Daemon numbered twenty and one, forgetting Erik, the twenty-second Dragonseed.
"No." Erik softly muttered to himself, reaching up to the ceiling as he lay in bed.
"No." He told himself, even more firmly. "I will not be forgotten. I will not be lost in the mire of history or the fog of war. I will carve my name into history, such that even a thousand years later, children will know my name."
And like that, something calcified within Erik Fyre. A small spark at first, but even the smallest of sparks could light a bonfire. And the bonfire within his heart burned with the heat of a thousand stars.
"One great deed." Erik decided. "One great deed. That's all I need for people to remember me."
But what great deed could he do?
Erik was decent with a sword, poor at archery, an average horseman, hopeless at sorcery and had no talents outside of a boat. What could he even do with those? Nothing outstanding came to his mind.
He pondered the question the entire night. Tossing and turning until the morning star peeked out from beyond the horizon, and Erik tromped to the dining hall with his head hung low, annoyed at his fruitless search for inspiration.
It was now clear that even his imagination was lacking.
"No, you don't do it that way. Do this part first, and then the rest will become clear." A young lady's voice snapped Erik out of his moping, the Dragonseed turning to face the people right beside him.
Holly and Heather Redwyne were both ginger-haired and freckled. The daughters of Lord Redwyne were ten years apart in age, with Holly being seventeen and Heather seven. The sisters had sat right beside Erik, most likely because neither of them had noticed his existence.
Heather appeared to be pouring over a parchment with sums written on them. One of those horridly tricky ones the Maester liked to bully the children with.
"Wow. You're so smart, sister." Heather smiled.
"No, it's just basic problem-solving." Holly humbly waved away, but Erik could feel her satisfaction. "When you have a big problem like this, first break it into smaller, more easily solved problems. That way even if you don't know what the answer is, you can work towards it slowly but surely."
Hmm, mayhaps that was something he could try out for himself.
If Erik didn't know what he was working towards, mayhaps he first ought to find something that he could use to bolster his own mediocre abilities. And as a Dragonseed, one thing in particular came to mind…
———
"Shaeterys, you there?"
"What? Who is this? How did you contact this glass candle?"
"It's me, Erik. Your brother."
"Who? I don't have a brother named Erik."
"Yes you do! I'm Erik Fyre! I'm fostering at the Arbor, remember?"
"Oh, oh yeah. Erik. Right. Sorry I forgot. Uh, what can I do for you today?"
"Could you fly over and pick me up? I want to go back to King's Landing."
"Certainly. For what though?"
"I want a dragon."
———
109 AC, Dragonstone
Eyes twitching, Erik gripped his hair and resisted the urge to pull it out as a scream of disbelief, frustration and rage threatened to spill out of his mouth.
Shaeterys had forgotten to pick Erik up. That'd be bad enough, but it wasn't the Arbor Shaeterys left Erik behind at. It was Dragonstone.
Erik's eldest brother had some errand or another at the Arbor, and thankfully Erik managed to remind Shaeterys of his existence long enough to get onboard Artys. But then Shaeterys must have gotten a glass candle transmission or something from Rhaenyra, because when Artys landed, it wasn't at King's Landing. It was on the side of the Dragonmont on Dragonstone island.
In his defence, Erik had dozed off in midair. The flight was around six hours, and you'd be surprised how quickly people got bored of flying on dragonback, especially if it wasn't one's first time.
And by the time Erik woke up, Shaeterys had forgotten Erik's entire existence.
Shaeterys had apologised profusely once Erik made his brother remember, promising that he'd bring Erik back to the Dragonpit immediately once his errand was complete.
"It shouldn't be too hard." Shaeterys had weakly tried as Erik glared balefully at the older boy. "I'm flying back to King's Landing after this anyway."
There really wasn't anything Erik could do but sigh and agree to help Shaeterys with his errand. The two of them spent most of an afternoon digging up sulphur with shovels.
"The Alchemists Guild wants it." Shaeterys had muttered as they left another cave in the side of the Dragonmont. "They're developing some new kind of Wildfire. Safer and easier to transport than the old, apparently."
"And you're in charge of acquisitions." Erik noted, hefting the sack full of sulphur.
"Yeah, that was half the reason why I was down south anyway." Shaeterys agreed, securely placing his own sack into Artys' saddlebags. "Had to get some Seagull poop from the West Coast. Apparently it's more 'reactive' than the ones in the Crownlands— Don't ask me why; I don't know."
"Ah, so that explains the smell. I was wondering."
"Hmm." Shaeterys grunted noncommittally. "Well good thing there's a hot spring not far from here. What say you and I take a dip before we fly home."
Tempted by the thought of not smelling like shit and brimstone, Erik agreed, which proved to be his undoing, for at some point he'd dozed off in the pleasantly warm waters, and by the time he'd come to his senses, Artys was a white blot on the swiftly darkening horizon.
"You left me behind, you horrid numbskull!" Erik bellowed, but for all his volume, it was clear that Shaeterys was too far away to hear him.
Putting on his clothes reluctantly, Erik sighed and slumped by a rock.
"Can this day get any worse?" He bemoaned.
———
As it turned out, it could, for a tropical hurricane was now battering Dragonstone.
Those weren't particularly rare, as things happened. Storms like these often brewed in the Summer Sea before drifting towards the East Coast. They happened so frequently that an entire Kingdom was named the Stormlands.
Hells, half the reason why Dragonstone's populace lived in the west side of the island was because without the mountains to shield them, any settlement on the east coast of the island was often smashed to pieces by gale winds.
Thankfully, the hot spring wasn't too far away from several of the caves that the brothers had been tromping through an entire afternoon.
One of which, in particular, was nearly perfect to take shelter in. Apart from a handy outcropping of rock above it's entrance that shielded nicely from the rain, the cave must have been a volcanic vent, for grey smoke drifted lazily out from the back of it. Sure it was smoky and smelled horridly like brimstone, but at least it was warm and dry.
It was dark now, both from the stormclouds and from the sun setting. Erik didn't have the time to forage for firewood, but luckily, he had other methods available to him.
Rummaging around in his backpack, Erik found his wand. A quick flick and a twist of will later, the tip illuminated, banishing the darkness around him.
"Typical." Erik sighed, contemplating the obsidian-tipped Fyrewood stick in his hands. "I remember to bring my wand, but forget to bring my glass candle."
Well, a more accurate assessment would have been that Erik—Whom frequently had to call Rhae with news of the Reach— had simply used the glass candle more, and so preferred keeping it in his room's lockbox. While his wand—Rarely used, for he had to hide his sorcery—had never even left the confines of his backpack since the day he'd arrived in the Arbor.
Cold comfort at the moment though, for it didn't change the fact that Erik was still stranded on Dragonstone Island, with no way of contacting anyone for rescue.
Erik chewed his jerky thoughtfully, contemplating how to get home. He'd brought enough food and water for the flight, and as he'd slept through most of it, his supplies were untouched. Still, it wasn't a lot. Two day's worth, at most, if rationed. Fresh water wasn't an issue, as the Dragonmont had natural springs, but food definitely was. There was hardly any soil on the mountain this high up, and what plants that did grow trended towards hardwood trees or moss.
He'd probably have to hike down to the town, Erik reluctantly accessed. It was on the other side of the island, at least twenty miles away, but it'd be preferable to either dying of starvation or exposure up here in the wilds.
Just then, a familiar flapping of wings drew him out of his wonderings.
From the sounds of it, the approaching dragon was still pretty small, so it wasn't likely to be either Sheepstealer or gods forbid, Cannibal. Even after the many injuries it sustained during the Battle of Driftmark—including the loss of an eye—the Cannibal was still a ferocious and most vicious monster.
"Shaeterys!" Erik enthused in disbelief. "He came back for me!"
In that instant, Erik took back everything nasty he said about his oldest brother. He was a Prince among men, and nothing could ever change that.
Those thoughts died the instant the dragon stepped into the cave, wreathed in steam as the rainwater evaporated rapidly on it's hot body.
"Ah right." Erik whimpered as the dragon turned eyes the size of plates at him. "There were three wild dragons."
And with a shrieking cry, Grey Ghost bared fangs the size of daggers at Erik, neck frill expanding threateningly as blue flame roiled threateningly in the back of it's throat.
The blue flame lit up the cave better than any paltry glow Erik managed, revealing bones strewn all over the floor and piles of dragon dung near the back, as well as a distinctive circle of scorched ground. All telltale signs of a dragon's lair.
Considering that dragons tended be be rather territorial, wandering into a dragon's lair was up there in stupidity, right alongside jumping off the side of the Wall or seriously pissing Rhae off.
Even Grey Ghost, a famously reclusive and shy dragon, would probably disembowel him before devouring his corpse for daring to trespass on it's home.
Erik shut his eyes and curled up into a ball, preparing for excruciating death.
Except that death did not come.
Opening one eye after another, Erik saw that Grey Ghost was still near the entrance, puffing up it's chest and growling threateningly, but not approaching the young Dragonseed.
It's scared, Erik realised. Almost as much as he was.
That epiphany restored calm into Erik's trembling limbs. Made him forget his fear and return rationality into him.
"I mean you no harm." Erik declared, taking a step forwards. Grey Ghost reared up, and shot a fireball threateningly at him, but the blue flames sailed harmlessly over the Dragonseed's head.
"I mean you no harm." Erik repeated, dropping his wand, and then his dagger onto the floor to prove his sincerity, walking forwards with both arms raised and hands visibly open in surrender.
Grey Ghost attempted to retreat, but found it's back against the wall. It turned to look at the cave mouth and the rain outside, but seemed unwilling to brave the fierce typhoon winds again.
"I mean you no harm." Erik once again said, this time in High Valyrian, and Grey Ghost turned to look at him.
The dragon was small, Erik now saw, smaller even than Artys, despite easily being a decade older. Not to mention painfully thin. It's ribs showed and it's scales were pockmarked with scars. Some from the claws and fangs of an even larger dragon, but many more from arrowheads and speartips.
It must have been truly young, for such blows to penetrate it's iron-hard scales. Dragons shed scales quite frequently, but though many scars faded over time, when injured young enough, they could last an entire lifetime.
"Oh. Men attacked you, when you were young." Erik realised. "And the Cannibal wounded you when you grew older."
He looked up into the dragon's eyes. Cerulean, much like it's flame.
"You aren't Sheepstealer. You're too small to fight off the Cannibal." Erik said, taking one last step. They were now only a few feet apart. "So you run and hide, living off fish too small to truly sustain yourself. Living here, forgotten and overlooked."
It felt like the world had vanished all around them. All that mattered was the two of them, boy and dragon, standing in a dark cave illuminated by blue flames.
"I can offer you a home. One with plenty of warmth and food, with men and dragons that will not hurt you." Erik laid a hand on the scales. Seasmoke's was grey like smoke from a fire, while Urrax's was silvery-grey with a faint mother-of-pearl sheen. Grey Ghost on the other hand, had scales the colour of morning mist. A light grey that allowed it to blend in so well on dreary Dragonstone.
The dragon exhaled softly, enjoying his touch. Erik enjoyed it as well. It felt like there was something between them. Something between man and dragon. It went beyond physical attraction and respect. His blood sang, and Erik felt his very soul being drawn towards them. There was a bond between them. Untapped and tenuous, but still there, and with the potential to become more.
"Help me." Erik pleaded. "Help me help you."
It felt like time was rushing yet had slowed to a crawl. Seconds or days could have passed in the time they stood there for all Erik knew.
And then suddenly, the bond became firm. A shallow stream became a rushing river. A bridge had been made today, and nothing short of death could break it.
The sound of the wind and rain had passed, and daylight slowly streamed into the cave as Erik released his hand. Letting out a long breath, the Dragonseed walked around and slowly climbed atop his new dragon.
And together, the two of them flew into the morning sun.
Notes:
So, meet Erik Fyre. A Dragonseed whom everyone forgets on both sides of the fourth wall.
After a while, when planning the plot out, it became sort of a running gag between Lucky and I that neither of us remembered Erik. It was only when I was writing a song about the Dragonseeds that both of us realised we had nothing on Erik, you know.
Ironically, his most memorable characteristic is that he's forgettable. So I decided to run with that.