In the blink of an eye, several days had passed, and King's Landing had returned to its usual state. The Silk Street, Flea Bottom, and other notorious areas buzzed with gossip about the prince's wedding. Rumors swirled that a second wedding might be on the horizon.
Over Blackwater Bay, a cobalt blue dragon roared as it soared across the vast, dark sea. It soon glided over Hull on the island of Driftmark, circling a few times before heading toward The Gullet.
Meanwhile, on Dragonstone, the Cannibal stood on Dragonmont, its black wings spread wide. With a thunderous roar, it launched itself into the sky, crushing the cliff beneath its hind legs. Its massive body blotted out the sun, sending fishermen on the beach into a panic.
The two dragons descended slowly, landing in parallel—one behind the Stone Drum Tower, followed closely by the other.
...
The Stone Drum Tower, beneath which lay the underground greenhouse, was dimly lit by the torch Daeron held in his hand. He glanced around anxiously before speaking, "Brother, are we really going to set off?"
Click!
Rhaegar, standing by the wall, skillfully opened the incubator and carefully counted the dragon eggs inside. He set down the undamaged eggs with a satisfied nod. Then, turning his attention to a pile of fossilized eggs in the corner, he picked up a dark red one, and replied calmly, "Aegon has been pestering me. How can I refuse?"
Weighing the stone-covered dragon egg in his hand, Rhaegar added, "This is the one I've been looking for."
Daeron's eyes lit up with excitement as he leaned in closer. "Is this the fossilized dragon egg you found in Sothoryos?"
"Let's get going. We'll be back in a few days," Rhaegar said nonchalantly, tossing the egg aside before clapping his hands. "That way, Aegon won't keep thinking about it."
"Good." Daeron carefully cradled the fossilized egg like a diligent Maester. As they exited the greenhouse, the Dragonkeepers of Dragonstone were already waiting.
Rhaegar's expression grew serious as he issued commands in High Valyrian, "Iragaxys and the Grey Ghost will return to Dragonstone and guard the eggs on Dragonmont."
"As you wish," the Dragonkeeper responded, lowering his staff and bowing respectfully.
Rhaegar paused, considering his next words, before adding, "Move the Wyvern eggs out of the greenhouse and try them on Dragonmont."
The Dragonkeeper hesitated but then nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."
Though familiar with Wyverns due to their profession, the Dragonkeepers knew that hatching these creatures—natives of Sothoryos—had proven difficult in Westeros. So far, none of the eggs had hatched. Rhaegar's mention of it was a subtle reminder for the Dragonkeepers to give the matter more attention.
As dragons aged, their appetites grew. The House's dragons had multiplied from just a few to a dozen, and each one required a substantial amount of fresh meat, which was becoming increasingly expensive. If the Wyverns could be successfully bred in Westeros, they would provide a new, high-quality food source for the dragons.
After Rhaegar and Daeron departed, the Dragonkeepers entered the greenhouse and began lifting out a nest of colorful, round eggs that resembled stones.
Click!
One of the black-spotted dragon eggs at the bottom quietly and almost imperceptibly cracked open.
...
King's Landing, Red Keep.
"This is the monthly expenditure for the Dragonpit, Your Grace," Lyman said, speaking slowly and methodically as he held a ledger in his hands.
Helaena sat behind her desk, her expression serious as she toyed with a light blue stone ball. "I'll review it carefully," she replied.
"Your Grace," Lyman began hesitantly, despite having lost his sight many years ago, his instincts still sharp. "When the king is away, did he inform Prince Aegon to govern in his stead?"
Given the little princess's usual demeanor, it was hard not to wonder if she had lost her wits.
Helaena tilted her head, her voice full of confidence. "Aegon is with his bride. He likely won't be coming."
"Well, you're probably right," Lyman murmured, somewhat taken aback. He set a few pages from the ledger on the desk before leaving with a heavy heart, silently praying there were no errors in the accounts.
Helaena glanced at the papers and began flipping through them. "The cost of cattle and sheep, the Dragonkeepers' food and supplies..." she muttered to herself, the quiet council hall echoing with her soft voice, occasionally punctuated by a few approving "mm-hmm's."
Knock, knock!
The sound jolted Helaena out of her thoughts. She looked up, surprised.
Alicent stood in the doorway, holding a tray with a bowl of chicken soup. "I'm not hungry yet," Helaena said softly, closing the account book. 'This is too complicated. I need to take it slowly,' she thought.
"Drink some. It's good for your health," Alicent urged, stepping forward to place the bowl on the table. "And try to cut back on the Maester's pregnancy tonic. A balanced diet is more effective."
Helaena frowned, her voice tinged with doubt. "I don't drink that stuff." She scooped a bit of the chicken soup with the spoon, then put it down, her appetite absent. 'I don't want to drink this either.'
Alicent sighed, her heart heavy with concern over her daughter's detached nature. "I still can't believe you're really pregnant with his child."
"What's so strange about it?" Helaena asked, her hand resting on her stomach. Her eyes took on a contemplative look as she added firmly, "My flame can only be passed on when I'm by his side."
Alicent's face tightened, her thoughts elsewhere, as she habitually tuned out her daughter's words.
"What are you looking at?" Alicent asked, changing the subject as she moved to her daughter's side and opened the ledger. "I don't know how to run a kingdom, but managing daily expenses should be straightforward."
Helaena tilted her head, a trace of confusion on her face.
Alicent scribbled a note at the end of the bill, seemingly offhand, "Rhaenyra isn't at the palace, so for now, you are the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You'll have to get used to these responsibilities sooner or later."
"She will come back," Helaena said quietly.
"Really?" Alicent murmured, lowering her eyes as she placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Who knows?" she added wistfully.
...
One day and night later, over the Stepstones...
"Roar!"
Cannibal dove at breakneck speed, its powerful hind legs skimming the sea's surface and sending a massive wave crashing up, towering over a dozen meters high. Tessarion clung to its back like a small cobalt-blue butterfly, struggling to keep pace.
Rhaegar glanced back and shouted, "Let's rest for the night on Bloodstone Island!"
"Good!" Daeron, drenched in sweat, replied with relief. They had entered the southern reaches of the Narrow Sea, nearing the borders of the Summer Sea. The scorching sun was enough to make even a Targaryen feel like a Velaryon.
Rhaegar smiled and patted the Cannibal's back, signaling the dragon to slow down. Cannibal was so fast that the young Tessarion could barely keep up. If not for waiting on Daeron and his dragon, Cannibal could have crossed the distance between Dragonstone and the Stepstones in half a day.
Rhaegar spotted the outline of Bloodstone Island in the distance. "That's it, Cannibal," he said.
"Roar!"
Tessarion was the first to respond, neighing excitedly as it flapped its cobalt blue wings with renewed energy, eager to land. After half a day of flying, the two goats it had devoured that morning were long digested.
"Slow down, Tessarion," Daeron urged, startled by the sudden burst of speed, as he tried to calm the dragon's eager spirit.
Rhaegar shook his head with a laugh. This journey to the continent of Essos was as much about tracking a wild dragon as it was about gathering Wyverns as food for Sunfyre.
The last report suggested the wild dragon was enormous, but its exact size remained unknown. While the Cannibal could likely hold its own in a fight, there was always the risk of the wild dragon escaping with injuries. Bringing Daeron and Tessarion along could tip the scales at a critical moment.
"Roar..."
Before Rhaegar could turn, a piercing roar echoed from the direction of the archipelago.
"Dragon!" Rhaegar's pulse quickened as he quickly scanned the horizon.
Cannibal's green eyes darkened as it shot upward, breaking through layers of clouds and mist. Below, a small island covered in lush vegetation came into view. Several large ships were hastily weighing anchor, their decks swarming with activity.
"Roar..."
A pale silver dragon glided past, its scales shimmering in the wind, its sharp vertical pupils locked onto the humans aboard the ships.
"Dragon!"
"Release the arrows! Drive it away!"
A large group of foreign mercenaries, clad in armor, poured out onto the deck, drawing their crossbows and aiming at the dragon in the sky. But provoking the beast was a grave mistake. The dragon's eyes flashed with fury, and its temper flared.
Seasmoke, enraged by the challenge, dove toward the lead ship, unleashing a torrent of orange and silver dragonfire.
Boom!
Dragonfire rained down from the sky, engulfing the deck in flames and decimating the Sellswords below.
Roar...
As the panicked cries of the Sellswords echoed, Seasmoke darted through the air with deadly precision, unleashing its fiery wrath without missing a target. A one-sided massacre had begun.
Hoo!
Cannibal swooped in, its massive wings blotting out the sun and casting a shadow over the islands below.
"Ahhh!"
A group of Sellswords, ablaze and desperate, looked up in terror as they fled, their faces drained of color.
"Seasmoke!?"
Rhaegar's eyes widened as he recognized the pale silver dragon wreaking havoc below. A moment of realization struck him—no wonder Seasmoke had been missing from Dragonstone and Driftmark; it had flown to the Stepstones. The dragon was still within the dangerous territory where wild dragons prowled.
Roar...
Seasmoke obliterated the last ship before catching sight of the shadowy form of the Cannibal overhead. Rhaegar, his mind racing, intended to send Seasmoke back to Dragonstone.
Roar...
Sensing the overwhelming presence of the Cannibal, Seasmoke hesitated for a brief moment before plunging toward the other end of the island, fleeing in the direction of Cape Wrath.
"This dragon!" Rhaegar muttered, shaking his head in disbelief as Seasmoke's figure soon vanished over the horizon. He had no intention of pursuing it and sighed, "Let it go."
A dragon as loyal as Seasmoke was a rare find in this world. Who knows, perhaps some worthy soul would tame it again one day.
Just then, Daeron, riding Tessarion, flew in, circling the burning fleet. "There's a ship from the Citadel!" he called out in astonishment.
Rhaegar turned at the sound, ignoring the smuggler's ship that was still ablaze. His gaze settled on a sunken ship beached on the island's shore, its distinctive sails unmistakable.
"It really is the Citadel," Rhaegar murmured, tilting his head in thought.
...
Lys.
"Roar..."
A thunderous roar echoed through the depths of the Dragonpit, reverberating with a note of inexplicable sorrow.
Boom!
The Bronze Gate creaked open slowly. Rhaenyra, draped in a flowing red cape, walked gracefully into the Dragonpit.
"Mother, Your Grace," a group of children called out as they ran over, interrupting their play to greet her.
Rhaenyra smiled warmly, gently waving them off. "Go on and play. I'm here to see Laena."
As the children scampered away, Rhaenyra turned and spotted Laena sitting on the ground, leaning against the edge of the Dragonpit. Concern etched across her face, she approached. "The Maester said you should be resting in the Topless Tower," Rhaenyra said softly, bending down to help her up.
Laena had grown noticeably thinner. She looked up, her eyes vacant, as if the very essence of her spirit had been drained away. Dressed in a simple white gown, her face bare of any adornment, she appeared almost ghostly in the dim light of the Dragonpit, her presence unsettling against the shadows.
(Word count: 1,986)