Hugh "Hammer" and His Rotten Luck

Dragonstone's late night was torn apart by the glow of search parties' torches and the cold gleam of guards' iron swords.

The orders Aegon issued from his room were like a boulder cast into the Narrow Sea, raising silent, towering waves through the darkness across the island.

Garwin Hightower took twenty elite guards from his party and immediately stripped Dragonstone Castle's acting steward of his authority. Within half an hour, he had sealed every gate and harbor on Dragonstone. Heavy iron portcullises crashed down, and the oars were removed from every ship in the harbor. Soldiers stood watch at almost every few paces. Without the prince's written order, not even a seabird would be allowed to leave the bay.

As the acting steward of Dragonstone personally appointed by King Viserys, the man certainly held considerable status. Put bluntly, however, he was little different from a royal attendant. When the king's eldest son gave an order, he had to obey, even if the prince was only three or four years old.

In the world of Game of Thrones, modeled on medieval Europe in Western fantasy, blacksmiths held much the same social standing as their medieval European counterparts. They ranked above ordinary peasants and townsfolk, forming an elite group among the common people.

Thus, once Larys Strong received the prince's orders and learned that the man was a blacksmith's bastard son, he immediately took the castle's scribes and stewards and plunged into Dragonstone's household registers.

The island, formed by eruptions from the active volcano of Dragonmont, was not particularly large. It had only a few thousand permanent residents, and its smithies could be counted on one hand-

In Westeros, blacksmiths were the elite of the common folk. Not every village could afford to support one. Across all of Dragonstone, including the royal blacksmith in the castle, there were only seven smithies.

The investigation produced results sooner than expected.

In less than half an hour, Larys approached Aegon briskly with a roll of parchment. A knowing smile shone in his gray eyes as he bowed and presented the register.

"Your Highness, we found him. Tob, the old blacksmith by Dragonstone's docks, has a bastard son named Hugh Hammer. He's twenty-one this year, a big, strapping fellow. They say he can bend steel bars with his bare hands. The islanders all call him 'Hugh Hammer.'"

Aegon took the parchment, brushing his fingertips over the name as a cold glint flashed in his eyes.

He really was here.

Dawn had yet to tear through Dragonstone's darkness. Waves from the Narrow Sea still battered the black stone shore, while damp sea winds carrying the scents of volcanic sulfur and burning pine swept through the lanes between the castle and the fishing village.

The men Larys dispatched had already spread out like a spiderweb unfurling in the night, surrounding Dragonstone's few smithies one by one.

The Smith himself held a place among the Seven worshipped in Westeros. Blacksmiths were therefore never lowborn wretches whom anyone could trample at will. They were the elite of the common folk, forging farm tools, weapons, and horse tack, sustaining the livelihoods of entire domains. With so few smithies on Dragonstone, it took barely seven or eight minutes to identify one attached to the castle's armory-

Its owner's bastard son was the very fellow who spent his days swinging a hammer, whom the islanders privately called Hugh "Hammer."

When a guard quietly brought the news back to Aegon's tower, the young prince was sitting beside the fireplace, rubbing a golden dragon scale Sunfyre had left on the hem of his clothes. The chill in his eyes had not faded.

"Where is he?" Aegon's voice was soft, yet carried an unquestionable coldness.

Larys's smile faded slightly, and he bowed. "When our men reached the smithy, it was already empty. The neighbors said some soldiers on patrol passed the docks half an hour ago. When Hugh Hammer noticed the commotion, he slipped out the back door, ducked into the rocky shore at the foot of Dragonmont, and headed south toward Black Beach."

Beside him, Garwin instantly tightened his grip on his sword hilt, his eyes blazing with anger. "That lowborn bastard! A guilty conscience, just as we thought! Your Highness, I'll take men after him at once and bring you his head!"

"There's no hurry." Aegon's voice still held a child's softness, but it was tempered with ice. "Uncle Garwin, have the horses prepared. Let's meet this future 'Iron Crown King.'"

He was not remotely surprised to hear that Hugh Hammer had caught wind of the search and fled. He simply rose, allowing Garwin to step forward and fasten his thick sable cloak around him.

After straightening his nephew's cloak, Garwin hastily acknowledged the order, though inwardly he felt ever greater awe at the decisiveness his nephew displayed, so far beyond his years.

"Ser Larys, you should know how to present this matter to the public," Aegon said, slowly turning his head.

Larys immediately bowed, a confident smile spreading across his face. "Rest assured, Your Highness. I've already made all the arrangements."

He cleared his throat. His voice was not loud, but everyone in the room heard every word clearly. "Hugh Hammer, bastard son of Tob, a blacksmith of Dragonstone, offended a senior servant of the Crown this morning: Ser Larys Strong, second son of Earl Lyonel Strong, Hand of the King. Furthermore, he had the audacity to attempt to steal a royal treasure. His designs upon it constitute a capital offense against the Crown.

"Now, faced with an investigation, this villain has fled to escape punishment, compounding his crimes. Anyone providing information shall receive ten silver stags. Anyone capturing him alive shall receive five gold dragons. Should he resist arrest, he is to be killed on sight."

It was a seamless account.

He had not uttered a single forbidden word, nor even mentioned Aegon. He had merely saddled Hugh Hammer with an indisputable capital offense-insulting a noble knight and attempting to steal a royal treasure.

Even under the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, those were serious crimes warranting beheading. His flight from justice only confirmed every charge. Even if someone questioned the matter later, they would find no fault with it.

Aegon nodded in satisfaction.

This was why he had brought Larys here. What this man did best was take deeds that could not bear the light of day and make them legitimate, leaving no loose ends.

The party slipped out of the castle under cover of darkness. The Cargyll Brothers of the Kingsguard flanked Aegon, while Garwin led his guards ahead to clear the way. Larys, with his cane, rode a docile pony at the rear, his gray eyes gleaming in the night as though they saw through everything.

Notices offering generous rewards had already been quietly distributed among the islanders. The promise of such riches soon brought a trembling old man from the fishing village with a lead: he had seen a cloaked young man running toward the western coast along the Narrow Sea.

The party immediately changed direction. Hooves struck the cold, stony beach, kicking up little sprays of water. The torches formed a winding serpent of fire as they hurried along the dark shore.

To make the pursuit easier, Garwin held Aegon against his chest, keeping him closely protected at the center of the party. Listening to the wind howling past his ears and the rapid beat of hooves, Aegon kept his brow tightly furrowed.

He had never imagined that arresting a traitor who had yet to accomplish anything would prove so troublesome. He only hoped they could seize the man quickly, before further complications arose and disturbed Rhaenyra's sleep.

Yet fate stubbornly refused to oblige.

A sharp clash of weapons suddenly rang out from a bend in the shore ahead, followed by Alyn's strained grunt. Aegon's heart tightened, and he urged the party forward. Alyn was fighting a burly young man with a short sword in hand. The young man was barefoot, wearing only a tattered cloak, and wielded a crudely forged iron hammer with savage brutality. It was Hugh Hammer.

His father had woken him from a sound sleep. When he learned that the entire island was searching for him, he was terrified out of his wits. Without time to pack, he snatched up his hammer and ran for the sea, hoping to find a small boat and escape to the opposite shore. Instead, Alyn intercepted him the moment he reached the coast.

Eager to distinguish himself before Aegon, Alyn struck swiftly. But Hugh Hammer had spent years working at the forge, and his arms were astonishingly strong. Within a few exchanges, he forced Alyn back again and again.

Seeing this, Viry immediately drew his sword and joined the fight. Silver flashed as his blade drove straight toward Hugh Hammer's vital points.

Attacked from both sides, Hugh Hammer was frightened and furious. He had no idea which great lord he had offended. All he knew was that pursuers kept coming, and if he were caught, he would surely die.

With a wild roar, he swung his heavy hammer and forced both men back. Seizing the opening, he ran farther down the coast with all his strength. Sand and stones scattered beneath his feet, while torches and cries of pursuit followed close behind.

"After him! Don't let him escape!" Garwin shouted, quickening his pace while shielding Aegon. Like a surging torrent, the party stayed hard on Hugh Hammer's heels.

Hugh Hammer ran blindly, thinking only of fleeing forward. He paid no attention to the terrain ahead, nor did he notice the heavy stench of rotting flesh creeping closer through the darkness. It was the scent of a wild dragon, mingled with the reek of dead dragons and seawater, far more chilling than volcanic sulfur.

Aegon was the first to catch the scent. His pupils abruptly contracted, and the blood in his veins seemed to freeze.

He thrust up a hand and shouted, "Stop! Everyone, stop!"

The party halted abruptly, torchlight swaying around them. Before anyone could understand what was happening, a low dragon growl sounded ahead, making the ground tremble faintly.

It carried neither the majesty of Vermithor nor the gentleness of Silverwing. Instead, it was savage and vicious, like a roar from the ancient past.

Aegon looked toward the sound, and his heart sank.

An enormous creature stood upon the black coastal rocks. His body was larger than Syrax and Sunfyre combined. He looked only a little smaller than Vermithor, perhaps even about the same size as Silverwing.

His scales were a dull gray-black, like weather-beaten black stone. His spread wings blotted out half the night sky, and his slit pupils glowed scarlet as he coldly watched Hugh Hammer, who had blundered into his territory in his panic. This was Dragonstone's most infamous wild dragon, Cannibal.

This vicious beast, who fed on dead dragons, dragon eggs, and even newborn hatchlings, was the nightmare of every living creature on Dragonstone. Even fully grown dragons were reluctant to provoke him. His dragonfire burned a ghastly green, the color of wildfire, igniting everything it touched and consuming all.

Aegon's scalp prickled as he cursed furiously inwardly. He and Rhaenyra had spent the day roaming Dragonmont without encountering a single wild dragon. Now, merely hunting down one insignificant traitor, he had stumbled straight into this monster!

He had not brought Sunfyre tonight. The guards and knights around him were no match for Cannibal. Fighting him was out of the question; even a small movement that angered him could see them all swallowed by ghastly green dragonfire and reduced to ashes.

Never mind Sunfyre-even if Rhaenyra were here riding Syrax, she would surely fare no better against this enraged king of wild dragons. At most, they would only add another helping to his meal.

Hugh Hammer, ahead of them, felt even worse. He had been at home beneath his blankets, sleeping peacefully, when his father suddenly slapped him awake and demanded to know whether he had offended someone he should never have crossed. Every important person on the island was hunting him down.

He had not even dressed properly. Throwing on a cloak and grabbing the hammer he earned his living with, he had barely said goodbye to his old father and brothers before Alyn, eager to make a name for himself, caught up with him. He had finally driven Alyn back, only for Viry to pursue him. Then two legendary Kingsguard came after him alongside the boy he had beaten back. Somewhere along the way, he had nearly been intercepted and killed by a force led by a clubfoot, who even had a guard carrying a child with him.

He ran ahead while a long line of pursuers chased him with torches, stretching behind him like a dragon of fire. He did not know whether the gods were punishing him or his luck was simply rotten beyond belief, but now he had run headfirst into a wild dragon.

With a vicious beast ahead and pursuers behind, he was trapped. He could not even cry out. All he could do was watch the enormous creature slowly lower his head. One massive claw lifted almost casually, then slammed him hard onto the beach. Hugh Hammer gave a muffled grunt and instantly lost consciousness, his fate unknown.

After knocking Hugh Hammer away, Cannibal slowly turned his head. His slit pupils, now the same ghastly green as his dragonfire, swiftly fixed on Aegon's party.

A deathly silence descended upon the shore. Torchlight danced across their faces, revealing expressions of utter terror.

Among the Dragonstone residents who had joined the pursuit for the bounty, some were already so frightened that their legs gave out. A foul smell spread as they wet themselves in terror;

The guards' hands shook incessantly around their weapons, and their knees trembled, yet no one dared move even half a step-

They all knew that the wild dragon before them was acutely sensitive to movement. Anyone who disturbed him would surely bring down devastating dragonfire.

Aegon stood frozen too, scarcely daring to breathe.

He could feel Garwin's arms trembling faintly around him. Beside him, Larys, Viry, Alyn, and even the usually unflappable Cargyll Brothers wore unmistakable fear on their faces. This was the instinctive dread living creatures felt before an apex predator. No one was immune.

The silence lasted several breaths. Finally, one guard could no longer endure the suffocating terror. He screamed, turned, and ran.

That movement enraged Cannibal completely.

He beat his enormous wings, raising a furious gale that instantly extinguished more than half the torches. Sand, stones, and seawater flew through the air. His low growl became a roar of fury, and a ghastly green light began to churn in his throat. Terrifying dragonfire was about to erupt.

Aegon closed his eyes, his heart filled with despair.

For four years, he had painstakingly laid his plans, hoping to rewrite the tragedy of the Dance of the Dragons and keep Rhaenyra safe for the rest of her life. After all that, was he going to die in a wild dragon's jaws, becoming a transmigrator whose death might rank among the most absurd of all?

Yet at that critical instant, a cold, mechanical voice rang out in his mind for the first time in ages:

[Host detected in mortal danger. Invoking the power of the rules to rescue the host from peril...]

Once the voice fell silent, nothing else happened.