ARC IV: THE SECOND DANCE OF DRAGONS
Chapter 63: The Third Dragonrider
POV: Aegon Targaryen (305 AC)
The sharp scent of sea salt and ancient sulfur hung heavy in the air as the Northern imperial galley maneuvered with precision through the deep waters of Blackwater Bay, approaching the dark stone piers of Dragonstone. Before us, the fortress rose against the grey sky like a collection of stone dragons petrified by Valyrian sorcery.
At the end of the main pier, awaiting our arrival surrounded by an elite guard of Unsullied and Dothraki warriors, stood the Queen of Meereen.
I rested my hands on the ship's oak railing, guiding my wife Myrcella by her waist. My sister Rhaenys adjusted the cloak over her shoulders beside me and tilted her head, observing the silver figure waiting for us on dry land.
— She really is beautiful, isn't she, brother? — Rhaenys murmured with a side smile, her eyes gleaming with that fascination so typical of our bloodline.
— Yes, sister... — I replied in a low tone, admiring Daenerys Targaryen's sovereign posture. — Extremely beautiful.
My mother Elia Martell had always spoken to me about the legendary beauty of pure Valyrian blood, but seeing our aunt there, in the sunlight reflected off the sea, was genuinely striking.
As soon as the wooden gangplank was lowered and we set foot on the stone pier, I led Myrcella carefully while Rhaenys walked beside me with graceful steps. We stopped a few paces from Daenerys.
— Hello, aunt, — I spoke up, bowing my head in a gesture of sincere respect. — We can finally meet in person.
Rhaenys took a step forward, flashing a charming, shameless smile:
— Yes... And I must say you are quite a delightful sight for sore eyes, aunt.
Daenerys blinked, slightly startled by Rhaenys's audacity, but soon a warm, genuine smile lit up her young face:
— I am also immensely happy to finally meet you... My nephew and niece.
She made a graceful gesture and introduced us to the members of her council. Among them, alongside young Missandei and solemn Grey Worm, stood the woman of immortal beauty and heterochromatic eyes whom I had known for years.
I stared at the sorceress and asked with a hint of irony:
— Shiera Seastar... All this time living in the Empire and you never wanted to reveal yourself to the family?
Shiera adjusted the sleeves of her elegant robes and answered in her velvety, enigmatic tone:
— My time as a queen and practitioner of sorcery from the old dynasty had already passed, young Aegon. But now... Valyrian blood calls for blood once more.
Our arrival on the island was not an isolated event. The landing of the imperial fleet coincided with the presence of several lords from the vassal houses of the Narrow Sea and the Crownlands—Velaryon, Celtigar, and Sunglass—who had sent emissaries to Dragonstone. The gathering of so many Targaryens in one place had left the Southern nobles in a state of quiet fascination and dread. And the main source of that fear rose atop the island's cliffs: the dragon Drogon. The beast of black scales and blood-red wings was colossal, considerably larger than the pale, fragile Viserion ridden by the bastard in the South.
In the days that followed, we spent long hours in Daenerys's company.
Even if she tried to disguise it behind her flawless posture as Queen of Meereen, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons, it didn't take long for me to see the truth about the girl. Daenerys bore grand titles, but in the depths of her soul, she carried an almost painful craving for familial affection. Having spent her whole life being hunted from city to city in the East, enduring Viserys's abuse and the solitude of exile, she desperately longed to belong to a home.
That was why she had attached herself so deeply to Shiera Seastar. To Daenerys, Shiera was not just a powerful advisor; she was the closest thing to a mother figure she had ever known in her life.
On the fourth day after our arrival, as I observed the sea from high atop the fortress terrace beside Myrcella, Daenerys approached us. The sea wind sent her silver hair fluttering in waves.
— Emperor Arawyn warned me before departing for the North... — Daenerys began, her gaze fixed on the horizon. — He told me you would claim Rhaegal, my green dragon.
I felt a chill run down my spine. Arawyn's word carried the weight of absolute truth; his Greensight was never wrong. Knowing the Emperor foresaw my success brought me a mixture of deep relief and overwhelming anxiety.
— Did he say that? — I remarked, adjusting my leather vambrace.
— He did, — Daenerys confirmed, turning to me with an encouraging look. — Rhaegal rests at the top of the volcanic ravine. He is fierce and independent... But the blood of Rhaegar flows in your veins, Aegon. Go to him.
Accompanied by Myrcella, I walked up the steep, rocky slopes of the island to the volcanic gulch where the green beast reposed.
When I reached the rock opening, I saw Rhaegal resting on a stone ledge warmed by the heat of the earth. His scales were a deep, shimmering emerald-green, with wing membranes of a bright bronze hue. Upon noticing my presence, the dragon raised its colossal head. Its eyes of molten gold locked onto me, and dense, warm smoke drifted from its nostrils.
All my anxiety evaporated in the exact split second we locked eyes.
There was no fear. There was no hesitation. I felt an ancient magical connection—a resonance of blood and soul—awaken deep within my chest. I activated the ancestral blood magic runes carved into my skin; the ancient symbols of the First Men and Valyria glowed blood-red beneath my combat attire.
Keeping my gaze fixed on the dragon's golden eyes, I took firm, calm steps toward it. Rhaegal lowered its head slowly, letting out a low growl that vibrated through the stone floor.
I extended my open right hand and touched its snout of warm green scales.
Unlike the terrifying stories I heard in my childhood about the difficulty and danger of claiming a dragon, the bond was terribly simple. Targaryen blood called to the dragon's blood. A wave of mystical heat coursed through my arms, binding our consciousness into a single indissoluble thread.
Rhaegal folded its left wing, offering me support. I mounted heavily onto its flank, settling at the base of its neck.
Holding firmly onto its pointed scales, I shouted in the language of my ancestors:
— SOVES!
Rhaegal roared loudly, beat its great bronze wings, and launched into the air. The feeling of the wind whipping across my face as Dragonstone shrank beneath us was the most liberating moment of my life. I claimed the skies, circling majestically over the fortress and declaring to the world that the Northern Empire now possessed its third dragonrider.
In the days that followed, the skies of Dragonstone became our personal domain.
Daenerys was genuinely radiant. Seeing another person of her bloodline sharing the skies beside her brought a renewed sparkle to her violet eyes. We flew daily over the Narrow Sea, testing Rhaegal's maneuverability and Drogon's speed.
One sunny afternoon, we decided to embark on a joint formation flight with passengers. I secured the reinforced leather saddle on Rhaegal's back and accommodated my wife Myrcella behind me. She wrapped her arms around my waist, using her skinchanging magic to connect her mind to my senses, allowing her to experience the rush and magic of flight as if the dragon itself were an extension of her own body.
Beside us, Daenerys mounted the colossal Drogon. And sitting right behind the Queen of Meereen, holding onto the black dragon's back, was my sister Rhaenys.
The flight began gracefully and serenely. However, Rhaenys could never maintain a solemn demeanor for long.
As we flew hundreds of feet above the waves, I saw Rhaenys lean forward in Drogon's saddle. She brought her lips close to Daenerys's ear, whispering mischievous teasing that made our young aunt shiver. Not satisfied with words alone, Rhaenys slid her bold hands under Daenerys's riding attire, openly groping the girl's breasts and curves while wearing a wanton smile on her face.
Daenerys, who was desperately trying to maintain her erect, majestic posture as sovereign in command of Drogon, turned bright red with embarrassment. The girl bit her lower lip, squirming slightly in the saddle with her face burning from embarrassment under my sister's daring touch, unable to react while piloting the black dragon through the sky.
I let out a loud laugh from Rhaegal's back at the sight, while Myrcella gave a smothered giggle against my back.
Suddenly, the playful moment was shattered brutally.
A monstrous roar—so deep and deafening that it shook the very air and caused ripples across the sea below—tore through the vast expanse of the sky.
Before we could react, a colossal beast streaked overhead at terrifying speed, casting a giant shadow over our dragons.
I adjusted Rhaegal's flight path and looked up, my eyes wide in sheer shock.
It was a red dragon of gigantic proportions. The beast possessed scales the color of thick blood, a pair of thick, black horns curved like a wild bull's on its head, and a line of black spikes running the entire length of its spine to its tail. The monster was ridiculously larger than Rhaegal... Larger even than Drogon himself!
The red creature banked sharply in the air and dived toward a small, deserted rocky islet located a short distance off the coast of Dragonstone, landing with a heavy thud that shook the islet's rocks.
Daenerys looked at me from Drogon's back, her eyes wide in absolute shock. I gave a silent nod, and both our mounts initiated a rapid dive toward the small island.
We landed Rhaegal and Drogon on the beach of black stones. The great red beast was already waiting for us, huffing gusts of hot air in the center of the islet.
That was when I noticed a crucial detail: strapped to the red monster's back was a heavy leather saddle crafted with runic bindings.
I frowned in pure bewilderment. That dragon had a rider! But it couldn't be the bastard's weak Viserion... Who on earth had managed to tame that leviathan?!
At that moment, a tall figure clad in dark robes, a bear-pelt cloak, and an ornate sword sheath at his waist emerged from beneath one of the dragon's colossal wings. The man pulled back his hood, revealing hair black as night, striking grey eyes, and the unmistakable features of Northern blood.
A wave of overwhelming joy swept through my chest:
— Aemon! Brother!
Aemon looked at me, breaking into a broad, genuine smile:
— I see you've changed your mount, my brother!
— And I see you have as well, brother! — I replied, dismounting Rhaegal and walking briskly toward him. — What incredible monster is this, Aemon?!
Aemon let out a casual laugh and turned his face to look at Daenerys, who had just dismounted Drogon and was approaching with slow steps, her violet eyes locked onto my brother's figure.
Aemon ran his eyes over Daenerys's features, letting out a low whistle. With a distinctly teasing, charming glint in his grey eyes, he asked:
— Dear sister... Who is this lovely lady beside you?
Daenerys, trying to compose her queenly dignity after the shock of that giant dragon's sudden appearance, lifted her chin and declared with her sovereign posture:
— I am Daenerys Stormborn.
Aemon winked his right eye at her and answered with a cheeky side smile:
— And I am Aemon... Born of my mother.
I burst into a loud laugh beside Rhaenys, who fell into unceremonious laughter.
Daenerys's face instantly burned with embarrassment and indignation, irritated by the tall Northern lad's petulance and casual mockery. She puffed out her cheeks and glared at Aemon with the sharpest look she could muster.
Aemon, far from intimidated, gave another smirk and winked at her again, leaving our young aunt even more flustered and red.
— Well... — Aemon said, adjusting his sword Lightbringer at his waist. — Shall we return to Dragonstone? I've always wanted to see the island... And all its beauties.
He said the last line casting a direct, meaningful gaze at Daenerys, before adding:
— Besides, Emperor Arawyn will be arriving at the island very soon as well.
Aemon turned, climbed nimbly onto his red leviathan's back, and prepared to take flight. Daenerys and the two of us did the same, returning to our dragons.
As we ascended into the skies once more toward the dark towers of Dragonstone, I looked out toward the Southern sea on the horizon. I thought of Young Griff's mutilated form and the farce of the Golden Company, feeling my Targaryen blood burn in expectation.
Wait until we meet again on the battlefield, you miserable bastard...