Chapter 11 Everything is Quiet
At least in Westeros, at the beginning of 122 AC, everything was peaceful.
The Northern people were quietly waiting for their Lord to die—oh, no, the Lord of Winterfell had not survived the previous year. Now, the ruler of the North was a fourteen-year-old boy, Cregan Stark. However, the true power rested with Ser Bennard Stark, Cregan's uncle and Regent of the North.
The Vale was quietly obscure. No one even knew what was happening behind the Bloody Gate.
The Riverlands were peacefully chaotic. House Blackwood killed House Bracken's chickens, and House Bracken stole House Blackwood's water. Larys Strong of Harrenhal refused to relinquish the leadership of the crippled "Clubfoot" Larys Strong, yet allowed him to take the castle's gold. Everything was so peaceful.
The Westerlands were peacefully digging for gold and sending a considerable amount of it to King's Landing because the Lord of Casterly Rock's brother was serving as the King's Master of Ships.
The Reach was peacefully playing dead. House Hightower sent another contingent to King's Landing, intending to assist Ser Otto Hightower, who served as the King's Hand. The disobedient children of House Tarly of Horn Hill had run away from home again. Lord Donnel Tarly was chasing his son, Alan Tarly, and his youngest daughter, Diana Tarly, across the realm, wielding his family's ancestral Valyrian steel sword, Heartsbane.
Dorne was also peacefully playing dead. Prince Qoren Martell was still carefully balancing the delicate relationship between the desert and mountain lords. House Yronwood and House Wyl were fiercely engaged in conflict over territory. The proud female knight of House Dayne, Obaya Sand, had stolen the family's meteoric iron greatsword, Dawn, and was nowhere to be found. It was said that this female knight, whose views on marriage were closer to the loyal and monogamous Andals, had struck down all men and women who tried to court her, then rode out of the castle.
The enraged Lord Samwell Dayne therefore issued a bounty for his daughter.
As for the Stormlands, there was not even any news worth noting.
Dragonstone.
Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, whose figure had changed due to continuous pregnancies and who no longer possessed her youthful beauty, was sitting on a specially made chair, enjoying the cool breeze fanned by her handmaidens.
She was pregnant again and would soon give birth.
"The little one is very strong," Rhaenyra said, smiling as she stroked her bulging belly. She had not ridden a dragon since she became pregnant with this child. It was said that Syrax, the magnificent golden she-dragon, had been wailing in the Dragonmont for a long time. "It should be a boy."
The handmaiden dared not respond to the Princess.
The Princess smiled and shook her head. "Do not be afraid. A girl is also my little princess. Where are the children?"
Only then did the handmaiden reply, "Prince Jacaerys is with Vermax on the Dragonmont. Prince Lucerys and Prince Joffrey are still in lessons. Prince Aegon is still sleeping; the wet nurse has just finished feeding him."
"You have done well." The Princess motioned for the handmaiden to stop fanning. "Go and rest. I wish to sleep for a while alone."
The handmaiden stopped fanning and curtsied. "As you command, Princess." As soon as she turned around, she nearly collided with Prince Daemon, covered in dust.
Daemon Targaryen was a formidable man, his silver hair tied back carelessly, and time had left its marks upon him.
Yet what remained unchanged was the Prince's unique charisma. The red wyrm, Caraxes, was his mount and companion. This Prince and his dragon had achieved great feats of war over the past decades.
He smiled at the handmaiden, signaling her to withdraw. Then he unfastened the satchel upon his back.
It was a dragon egg, still warm.
Daemon opened the bronze brazier set in the center of the room and carefully placed the dragon egg inside.
"Syrax is well," the Prince told his wife with a faint smile. "She laid another egg. The Cannibal tried to steal it, but Caraxes and Syrax drove it off together."
"The Cannibal?" Princess Rhaenyra naturally knew of that wild dragon, which fed upon hatchlings and stole eggs, long considered a menace by the people of Dragonstone. "Daemon, after the babe is born, we shall hunt that dragon together. We cannot allow it to prey upon our kind."
"I understand, Rhaenyra." Daemon washed his hands and face in a nearby basin, then walked softly to his wife and knelt beside her, pressing his ear gently against her belly, as though listening to the child within. Even his voice softened. "Do not trouble yourself with such matters."
Just then, a thunderous dragon's roar echoed beyond the window.
Daemon covered Princess Rhaenyra's ears, then turned his gaze toward the shadows outside.
A bronze dragon soared into the sky, wings beating as it flew westward.
It was followed by another roar. A silver dragon lifted into the air and followed.
"Vermithor?" Daemon murmured, recognizing the beasts. "And Silverwing? Are they hunting?"
Princess Rhaenyra shook her head.
Since King Jaehaerys I and Queen Alysanne passed from this world, those once inseparable dragons had not accepted new riders.
The Bronze Fury, Vermithor, had once been the mount of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, the Conciliator. This mighty bronze dragon was the second-largest living dragon in Westeros, surpassed only by the ancient Vhagar. Silverwing had once borne Queen Alysanne, the Good Queen. Though smaller, the pale she-dragon had flown across mountains and snowfields, bringing peace throughout the realm.
No one knew their purpose.
This was followed by a shrill dragon's cry and a serpentine hiss.
Syrax and Caraxes answered with roars of their own, yet did not take flight.
Soon.
The King's solar received this report from Dragonstone.
"Your Grace, a letter from Dragonstone." Grand Maester Mellos presented the parchment to King Viserys, who was occupied with a model.
The King was a slightly plump, silver-haired man with gentle eyes. Before him stood a detailed model of King's Landing large enough to fill half the chamber.
This was Viserys I's vision.
The city founded by King Aegon I had grown in disorder, only later shaped by the diligent rule of King Jaehaerys I.
Viserys intended to continue that labor, refining the capital and guiding its renewal.
The King carefully adjusted the placement of two structures, then straightened with effort and regarded the Grand Maester. "Read it."
Mellos unfolded the letter. "Your Grace, word from Dragonstone: Vermithor and Silverwing have departed Dragonstone, seemingly to hunt over the Narrow Sea. Prince Daemon pursued them briefly upon his dragon but observed no cause for alarm."
"Very well," the King replied mildly. "I trust they can manage such matters. Anything further?"
Mellos glanced toward the door. "The Hand of the King seeks an audience."
"Ser Otto?" The King waved a hand dismissively. "Tell him to return in the morning. It grows late."
"As you command."
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