Echoes of the Dragonpit

Dawn on Dragonstone carried the fishy sweetness of sulfur mingled with sea salt.

The iron gates of the Night Watch Tower still stood open. Last night's keys lay on the ground, gleaming with dew.

The guards of House Velaryon brought by the Sea Snake huddled in the corners. No one dared touch the bronze ring bearing the seahorse sigil—everyone had seen how, when that black dragon shadow swept over the tower last night, moonlight reflecting off its scales had melted the iron bars into twisted silver serpents.

"Lord Sea Snake said to keep this quiet." A young guard chewed hard bread, his voice trembling. "But listen—the fishermen at the harbor are all spreading word that the Black Dragon has descended."

Another old soldier spat out the chaff in his mouth and looked toward the volcano.

The sulfur mist there was thicker than usual. A dragon's low roar could faintly be heard, like muffled thunder rolling beneath the earth. "Keep it quiet? Even Glutton has acknowledged a master. The gods themselves are watching."

On the stone table in Dragonflame Hall lay the document Corlys Velaryon had drafted through the night. The parchment's edges had been crumpled by his grip, and ink had bled into a dark blot beneath the words "Proposed Disposition"—traces of his repeated revisions.

"Hand him over to the Master of Laws in King's Landing." Corlys's voice was like the reefs of Tidehead Island, cold, hard, and sharp. "Let His Grace the king decide. Prince Aemon's bastard? Hmph. I say he is some monster conjured by a Lyseni sorcerer."

Baelon had just drunk his third bowl of Dragonblood Grass potion, and the bitter taste made him frown deeply. Setting down the wooden bowl, he lightly tapped the document with his knuckles. "His Grace is sixty-three this year, Corlys. Do you expect him to rise from his velvet throne in King's Landing to judge a dragon's choice? Even if my royal father is harsh, my mother, Queen Alysanne, will not stand by and do nothing!"

"A dragon's choice is not necessarily wise!" Corlys shot to his feet, the mother-of-pearl dagger at his waist giving a sharp clink. "That is Glutton! A savage dragon that feeds on its own kind! Binding it to a boy of unknown origin is like stuffing wildfire into a haystack!"

"And what would you have Daemon do?" Rhaenys's voice came from the doorway.

She had just returned from the Dragonpit, volcanic ash staining the hem of her gown. A scarlet Dragonbreath Flower was still tucked in her hair—a plant unique to the vicinity of Caraxes's nest, growing only in earth baked by dragonfire year after year. "Kill him like a fish? Or throw him back into the Dragonglass Prison and wait for Glutton to tear down the entire castle?"

Corlys's face darkened. "Rhaenys, you should understand what this means. Prince Aemon's bastard... that title will corrode the succession like mold. Laena and Laenor..."

"Laena and Laenor's blood is harder than obsidian!" Rhaenys cut him off, fury burning in her pale violet eyes. "They need not strengthen their claim by murdering an innocent! Besides, he bears my father's blood—do you dare say why Caraxes was so close to him last night?"

Baelon broke off their argument with a cough. He picked up the document and set it alight over the candle. As the parchment curled into ash, he saw a silver-and-red blur flash past the window—two Daemons riding dragons along the coastline, Caraxes's scarlet and Glutton's black trailing long streaks through the morning light.

"Let him stay." Baelon's voice was hoarse from the potion, yet unusually firm. "Give him a name, give him an identity. Since the dragon has chosen him, let us take it as... a test Aemon left for us."

Corlys's clenched fists turned white. "A test? Prince Baelon, have you forgotten how the Myrish assassins aimed crossbows at Prince Aemon? Letting someone of unknown identity wander Dragonstone is handing our enemies a knife!"

"He is not an enemy." Rhaenys stepped to the stone table and placed a dragonglass pendant upon it. She had found it in the cloak Daemon Blackfyre had dropped last night. Half a three-headed dragon was carved upon it, as if it had been forcibly split in two. "He cannot even remember his own past. All he knows is that the brand on his shoulder was 'given by Father.'"

Baelon picked up the pendant, its icy touch spreading along his fingertips. He remembered that, as a boy, Aemon had found a similar stone vein in the dragonglass mines. He had carved a pair of twin dragon sigils upon them, keeping one for himself and giving the other to Rhaenys's mother.

"Call him Daemon Waters," Baelon suddenly said. "He will reside in the Night Watch Fort near the Dragonpit, under Daemon Targaryen's watch. Tell the maesters to record him as 'the surviving child of Prince Aemon, mother unknown.'"

Corlys abruptly raised his head, his eyes full of disbelief. "Have you lost your mind? That is the same as acknowledging his bloodline!"

"I acknowledge only the dragon's choice." Baelon looked out the window. The two boys were directing the dragons to dive for fish. Black mist from Glutton and fire from Caraxes intertwined over the sea, startling up schools of silver fish. "Besides, he is Daemon's friend now. Do you expect my son to fight a dragon he considers a brother? As for your proposal, I approve it. Once we deal with the Three Whores' fleet, we shall go to King's Landing together. Only the king has the right to legitimize bastards!"

Corlys was left speechless. He looked at Rhaenys's resolute gaze, then at Baelon's unyielding stance. At last, he gave a heavy snort, turned, and swept away.

The Sea Snake's cloak brushed across the stone table, knocking over the unfinished bowl of potion. Dark liquid spread through the ashes like a pool of silent blood.

Rhaenys picked up the dragonglass pendant, her fingertips tracing the broken carving.

She remembered what Corlys had told her in the ship's cabin last night: "Targaryen blood has never been a blessing. It is a curse." She had taken it for angry words then, but now she suddenly understood. Some bloodlines, even buried, would erupt like Dragonstone's volcano at a certain moment, with power enough to change the world.

A new wooden sign had been hung upon the stone wall of the Night Watch Fort. Written on it in charcoal were the words: "Daemon Waters."

Daemon Blackfyre stood before the sign, looking at that familiar surname. The brand on his right shoulder grew faintly hot. Before his father, Aegon IV, acknowledged him at twelve, he had always borne that name.

"Waters is the surname commonly used by bastards in the Crownlands." Daemon Targaryen tossed him a wineskin from behind. "Father said we would leave it at that for now, until word comes from Grandfather." He winked. "Though I think 'Blackfyre' sounds cooler, like Glutton's scales."

Blackfyre caught the wineskin and tipped back a great swallow. The pungency of the ale reminded him of the victory wine before the Red Grassland, except all those who had drunk with him then had now become dust in history. "Aren't you afraid I really am a fraud?"

"Could a fraud make Glutton obey?" Targaryen laughed loudly, pointing out the window at the black dragon napping outside. "Yesterday, it overturned half of Corlys's flagship just because the sailors looked at it too many times." He suddenly lowered his voice. "Rhaenys said your dragonglass pendant looks very much like an heirloom left by her mother."

Blackfyre's heart jolted. He touched his chest, where half a silver chain from the Red Grassland was hidden against his skin—an heirloom of his mother, Princess Daena, said to have been passed down from his great-grandmother, Queen Rhaenyra. He usually used it only to tie back his hair, and the broken end still bore marks where an arrowhead had scraped across it.

At that thought, Blackfyre looked toward his bargain-bin namesake "brother"—his own great-grandfather.

He had never told anyone that a tiny line of words was engraved inside the silver chain: "Blood and fire share one source."

"Perhaps it is a coincidence." Blackfyre avoided the subject and turned his gaze toward the Dragonpit.

Vhagar's massive form was vaguely visible. The ancient dragon seemed very interested in Glutton, letting out low calls from time to time.

"Vhagar wants to fight Glutton." Targaryen followed his gaze, excitement gleaming in his eyes. "Father says that once you have properly tamed Glutton, we can hold a dragonrider tourney. I wager Caraxes will win!"

Blackfyre smiled. He remembered the tourney in King's Landing when he was twelve, remembered knocking seven knights from their saddles with his sword.

Back then, he had thought victory was everything, until he understood before his death that some bonds mattered more than a crown.

Afternoon sunlight shone through the dragonglass windows, casting mottled patches of color over the stone floor.

Daemon Blackfyre sat by the window, watching Daemon Targaryen feed Caraxes, watching Rhaenys speak with Baelon in the distance, watching Corlys's flagship slowly sail from the harbor, its seahorse banner snapping in the wind.

He knew that the name "Daemon Waters" was only temporary.

The black dragon mark on his shoulder, Glutton's existence, even that broken dragonglass pendant—all spoke of a truth that could not be buried.

Blood and fire shared one source. The entanglement of Blackfyre and Targaryen had already written its prologue upon the Red Grassland a hundred years later.

In the distant Dragonpit, Glutton suddenly let out a long dragon's roar.

Daemon Blackfyre rose to his feet, feeling the power in his blood awaken once more.

He looked out the window. The black dragon was gazing up at the sky, a clear blue reflected in eyes like green fire—a peace it had never known before.

Daemon Blackfyre gripped the rusted old dagger at his waist, the one he had taken from the Night Watch Tower.

He knew his war had not yet begun, but this time, he would no longer fight alone.

Above Dragonstone, drifting clouds unfurled like the wings of a dragon.

The laughter of the two Daemons carried on the sea wind, mingling with dragon roars and crashing waves, echoing through every crack in the black-stone castle.

And far away in King's Landing, a secret report about the appearance of a "Black Dragon Rider" on Dragonstone lay beneath a pile of neglected documents in King Jaehaerys's council chamber, waiting for history to turn the page.