The air deep within the walls of the pit would be considered unpleasant by most. Thick with the scent of sulfur and smoke.
Rhaegar stood at the entrance to the lowest cavern alone, a single torch in his hand. It was a place he had been through many times now.
He did not enter immediately. He stood in the archway, leaning against the rough stone wall, staring into the dark, wrestling with the logic of what he was about to do.
This was not the plan.
The plan had been Vermithor.
Rhaegar had run through this years ago. The Bronze Fury was the third-largest dragon alive. He was powerful, relatively young, already had a legendary reputation, and most importantly, was ridden by a King in his twilight years.
It was grim and depressing. Yes. Waiting for his grandfather to pass, to then claim his mourning dragon. And the plan did come with a few problems. He would have to wait for a long time to claim a dragon, as the Old King still had quite a few years left. And he could not be sure if Vermithor would even accept him.
But still, he had convinced himself to deal with all those problems as long as he could claim a dragon at the peak of his powers. It was the safe play. The logical play.
But logic had failed him for the very reason that Vermithor was currently not the second-largest dragon alive when, by all accounts, he should have been.
Balerion should have passed around two years ago. The Dragonkeepers repeat that he was ancient, that his body could fail at any moment, that his fire was fading. Yet, he still lived. Beyond his time.
And Rhaegar could come up with only one possible explanation as to why.
It was him. His own existence was the only possible variable. He was the anomaly. And for some reason, something inexplicable told him that if he ignored him, if he turned away now, clinging to his safe, calculated plan for Vermithor, the Dread might finally fade.
What he was about to do was reckless. It was a gamble with poor odds. But looking at the dark ahead, Rhaegar's conviction solidified. He would be damned if he let the greatest living dragon die if there was something he could do about it.
He let out a breath, gripped the torch tighter, and walked in.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
The cavern was vast, a hollowed-out mountain designed to hold the monster that resided within. Rhaegar walked slowly, the torch in his hand casting long, dancing shadows against the high walls. The silence broken only by the soft echo of his boots on the stone floor.
He walked until the silence was broken by something other than his boots.
It wasn't a noise but a vibration. A grinding of scales against stone that Rhaegar felt in the soles of his boots.
He stopped.
In the darkness ahead, two slits opened. Two massive orbs, glowing like magma.
The torchlight caught the snout first. It was a wall of black scales, scarred and jagged, teeth the size of greatswords protruding from the jaw that reeked of burnt flesh. Balerion let out a low rumble. The breath hit Rhaegar like a gale of wind. It blew his silver hair back and made the torch flame flicker violently.
Rhaegar's blood ran cold, but he stood his ground even though the sheer size of the Dragon was paralyzing.
With his heart hammering against his ribs, he slowly bent down and placed the torch gently on the stone floor and stood up, his hands empty.
"Rytsas, Balerion," he called out in High Valyrian, his voice echoing throughout the cavern. (Greetings, Balerion)
The dragon answered with a growl. It was a deep, rumbling sound that shook dust from the ceiling. The massive head shifted, the great jaws snapping menacingly.
"Lykiri," Rhaegar commanded, fighting to keep his voice steady. (Calm)
Balerion did not calm. He let out a hiss, his crimson eyes narrowing. He was old, and he was irritable.
Rhaegar felt the primal urge to run. Every instinct screamed that he was about to be incinerated. But he could not show fear. Not to this creature. To show fear to a predator was to be prey.
He took a step forward.
Balerion lowered his head. The massive red eyes narrowed, focusing on the small figure. The growling lessened, replaced by a suspicious silence.
"Daor gīmion daor paktot ēdruta ñuha," Rhaegar said, keeping his voice steady as he held the dragon's gaze. (I do not know if you understand me.)
He reached into his tunic and drew a small knife. Without hesitation, he slashed the blade across his palm. He felt the sting immediately. But he did not react. Blood welled up, dark and crimson as drops fell to the floor.
"Iksan Rhaegar Targaryen," he declared, holding his bleeding hand out. "Iksan ānogār Aegon." (I am Rhaegar Targaryen. I am the blood of Aegon.)
Balerion did not move. The metallic scent of blood hung in the air.
Rhaegar took another step. Then another. He was now close enough to see the small veins in the edges of the dragon's pupil.
"Vīlībāzmosa māzin," Rhaegar said. (I come with a bargain.)
He looked into the eyes of the Black Dread. He didn't dare show weakness now. He looked at the dragon with conviction, with arrogance, with pride.
"Gīmion ge rōvion vyndar hen ēba," Rhaegar said, his voice dropping low. "Gīmion ge kesagon jagon perzys. Gīmion ge kesagon jagon vestri." (I know what you crave. I know you miss the fire. I know you miss the sky.)
He closed the distance. There were only a few feet between them now. The heat radiating from the dragon was intense.
"Daor iā dālizagon rȳbātās nopot." (You do not have to rot in this pit.)
Rhaegar paused.
"Daor iā vēzagon iā Valyria," he said softly. "Kessa ābrā iā medri ñūha jēda… iā kessa perzys iā daor… izūga zaneke ruar lāni udra. Udra hen mijon daor ilzi ābrar." (I cannot bring back Valyria. But if you lend me your strength... if you help me fulfil my ambitions... I will build you a new home. A home worthy of you.)
He looked up at the beast.
"Ñuho ānogrosa kesy vīlībāzan." (I swear this on my blood.)
Silence stretched in the cavern.
Rhaegar stood with his hand outstretched, blood dripping onto the stone floor.
Balerion stared. His eyes unblinking, looking at the boy before him.
Then, slowly, the great head moved forward.
It was a gentle motion, surprisingly delicate for a creature of such destruction. The snout pressed against Rhaegar's bloody palm.
The heat was intense. It sizzled against the wound as the blood cauterized instantly. Rhaegar didn't flinch. He brought his other hand up, resting his forehead against the warm, rough scales of the dragon's nose.
The connection was instant. And like so many of the stories and legends he had read on the bond between a dragon and its rider, it felt magical and almost unexplainable.
Rhaegar let out a breath. A wry smile touched his lips.
"Sir morghūljagon daor, Usvys," he whispered. (You better not die now, old man.)
He chuckled, the sound hoarse and breathless. He had done it. He had claimed the Black Dread. The exhilaration hit him in a dizzying rush.
Suddenly, Balerion pulled back.
The ground shook as the dragon rose, his massive shoulders rising as he shook off years of slumber. Rhaegar stumbled back as the gargantuan body of the Dread came into vision.
A loud clanging sound reverberated across the cavern.
Massive iron chains pulled fast against the dragon's neck. Balerion roared, a sound of pure rage, and jerked his neck.
The chains held.
Balerion roared again. He whipped his body around, using his immense weight as he pulled violently against the wall anchoring the chains.
CRACK
It wasn't just the chain that broke. It was the wall as well.
The anchor point exploded. Dust and stone rained down. Rhaegar fell onto his back, scrambling away as a boulder crashed where he had been standing.
Balerion shook his head, stone and dust falling down his back. He moved forward and lowered his massive wing towards Rhaegar.
Rhaegar stared for a heartbeat before scrambling to his feet. He grabbed the edges of the wing and hauled himself up. And clumsily clawed his way onto the back of the dragon.
He wrapped his arms around a black spike that was almost as tall as he was.
"Fuck me!" Rhaegar screamed as Balerion crawled through the hole from the collapsed wall and made his way towards the outer section.
Ahead, the commotion had alerted everyone in the pit. A squad of Dragonkeepers rushed in, blades in hand. They ground to a halt as their eyes widened in horror.
Valarr was among them. He looked up, his face pale, as he saw the small, silver-haired figure clinging to the dragon's back.
"Ñuha Dārilaros!" Valarr screamed, his voice cracking. "Kelītīs! Kesy—" (My Prince! Stop! This is—)
The rest of his words were lost as Balerion opened his maw. A torrent of black and red fire, hotter than anything Rhaegar had ever felt, erupted.
The Dragonkeepers scattered, diving behind pillars as the flame washed over the stone wall. The stone glowing red after the barrage.
Balerion didn't stop. He doused the wall once, twice, three times before he lowered himself and slammed into the weakened structure.
BOOM
The stone wall was blasted off as the Black Dread smashed his way out.
They burst into the cool night air of the outer yard.
Balerion stumbled as he lost his footing. His front claw slipped on the loose rubble, and his chest scraped the ground.
Rhaegar's stomach dropped. He's too weak.
"Fuck me," Rhaegar hissed, gripping the spike until for dear life. "We're going to die."
Balerion recovered with a snarl. He dug his claws into the dirt, grinding up the soil. He crawled for a moment before mustering up every ounce of vigour in his body and threw himself toward the edge of the cliff and jumped.
For a terrifying second, they simply fell. Gravity took hold, dragging them down toward the city below.
With a jolt that nearly threw Rhaegar off, the wings caught air. And with one laboured flap after another, Balerion rose higher in the sky.
Rhaegar opened his eyes. The city of King's Landing sprawled beneath them in a sea of torches in the moonlight.
"WHOOOO!" Rhaegar screamed until the sound became hoarse from soreness. "HAHAHA!"
Balerion banked slowly over the city. His shadow blotting entire sections of the city as he flew over them.
He opened his maw and roared.
The sound reverberated over the entire city like thunder, rattling the windows of the buildings below.
Thousands of people rushed out of their homes. They looked up, pointing, screaming, and gasping as they witnessed the beast of myth flying over their heads.
And by the morning, tales would be sung, and songs would be written. Tomorrow, King's Landing would be a city of Bards.
For the Black Dread flew once more. And he had found a rider of his worth.