The instant the dragon's scarlet form swept past the masts, the air across the entire fleet seemed to freeze.
The salty wind of the Narrow Sea churned wildly beneath the dragon's wingbeats. The flagship's sails snapped and fluttered, taut ropes creaked under the strain, and the sailors on deck clutched the railings beside them, staring pale-faced at the scarlet shadow disappearing into the clouds. Even their breathing stopped.
Carefully chosen by Viserys and the others to accompany Rhaenyra and Aegon, most of them had spent years serving the Targaryen royal family in the Red Keep at King's Landing and on Dragonstone. Naturally, they recognized this dragon with his fearsome reputation.
In 72 AC, Aemon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, then heir to the Iron Throne and the eldest surviving adult son of Good King Jaehaerys and Good Queen Alysanne, had become a dragonrider and mounted this dragon for the first time.
The dragonkeepers who tended the Dragonpit knew him to be the fiercest of the younger generation of dragons and nicknamed him the "Blood Wyrm."
In 83 AC, during the Fourth Dornish War, also known as the "War of the Hundred Candles" and "Prince Mariah's Madness," Prince Aemon had ridden him against the Dornish fleet alongside his father Jaehaerys on Vermithor and his younger brother Baelon on Vhagar.
In 92 AC, when the Myrish occupied eastern Tarth, Prince Aemon had ridden him out again to support Earl Cameron Tarth, the "Evenstar," and his wife's brother, Duke Boremund Baratheon.
The dragon was exceptionally swift and had rushed to their aid as soon as the news arrived. He had overtaken the fleet of Prince Aemon's son-in-law, Earl Corlys Velaryon, who had set out several days earlier, and reached the battlefield before him.
Yet when Prince Aemon met Earl Cameron in his tent and a Myrish scout's crossbow bolt pierced his throat, leaving him to drown in his own blood, the dragon had been resting nearby. That very day, he had eaten six goats with an "excellent appetite."
Afterward... the dragon had found a rider perfectly suited to him: Prince Aemon's nephew, a man every bit as "wild and untamable" as he was...
And that dragon was none other than Caraxes, the "Blood Wyrm."
He was the fiercest dragon in Westeros. As for his rider, his was the name that made the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms blanch, yet secretly won the hearts of countless maidens-
Daemon Targaryen, the king's younger brother, the Rogue Prince, conqueror of the Stepstones, spurner of Runestone, and rightful heir to the Iron Throne.
Of course, that last title was one Daemon had always bestowed upon himself...
But back in the present, before anyone could recover from this sudden upheaval, another savage dragon roar thundered from the clouds.
After sweeping over the fleet, the infamous Blood Wyrm had not simply flown away.
This time, his roar carried undisguised provocation, along with a barely perceptible note of familiarity. His scarlet form burst through the clouds again, his vast wings carving a sharp arc through the sky as he wheeled straight back and began circling the fleet, round and round, his scarlet slit pupils locked on Syrax in the air.
His scarlet form hovered above the fleet, a low, challenging growl rumbling in his throat hard enough to make the deck tremble.
Syrax's body tensed at once.
The golden she-dragon beat her wings fiercely and placed herself between the fleet and Caraxes, spreading her enormous wings to shield the flagship below.
As though guarding her eggs, she gave a low, vicious roar. Golden dragonfire glimmered in her throat as she delivered a stern warning to Caraxes above-
This was her territory, the fleet under her protection. Even if it cost her life, she would not allow this savage Blood Wyrm to overstep.
She and Caraxes were already familiar with each other. They had crossed paths countless times in the Dragonpit at King's Landing and on Dragonmont at Dragonstone. But she knew the red dragon's ferocity all too well. Caraxes had been born to fight and kill, one of the most bloodthirsty dragons in Westeros. Even the fully grown Syrax could gain no advantage against him.
After all, to be honest, beside Caraxes, Syrax was practically a child...
Yet even so, Syrax did not retreat an inch. Her rider was aboard the ship below. She had to protect Rhaenyra, and the little fellow who always liked to follow Rhaenyra onto her back and feed her the richest, juiciest mutton.
Caraxes merely tilted his head and gave a teasing rumble, dipping his wings a little farther. His long neck was now only a hundred feet or so above the deck, close enough for every mottled battle scar on his scales to be seen clearly.
Syrax's warning roars grew increasingly urgent, her enormous tail and wings lashing restlessly through the air. She turned toward Sunfyre beside her and gave a short, low growl. None of her usual gentleness remained in that sound, only a clear call for help, urging the young Gold Dragon to stand beside her and intimidate their uninvited visitor together.
Aegon lay sprawled on Sunfyre's back, utterly bewildered.
He had been nestled among the Gold Dragon's warm scales beneath a small woolen blanket, dozing in the morning sunlight over the Narrow Sea. The voyage had been calm, and Rhaenyra spent most of her time in her cabin, so he had simply stayed on Sunfyre's back, letting the Gold Dragon play on deck and fly low over the water while he enjoyed a rare spell of leisure.
Today, he had not even secured himself with the straps on the dragon saddle Rhaenyra had ordered hastily fashioned from a large horse saddle and reins. Relying only on the understanding built over four years with Sunfyre, he had let him circle lazily above the fleet with Syrax.
But who could have imagined that those two roars from Caraxes and Syrax would send Sunfyre into a frenzy?
He had not even heard where the first dragon roar came from. Only when Sunfyre beat his wings fiercely and his enormous body surged upward did Aegon jolt awake. He reached out and seized the saddle's handhold, pressing his whole body against Sunfyre's warm scales. All he could hear was the howling wind and Sunfyre's youthful yet resolute roar at Caraxes.
"Sunfyre! Stop!" Aegon shouted, but the Gold Dragon acted as though he had not heard.
Already on edge from Caraxes's provocation, he had then heard Syrax's plea for help. How could he spare any attention for the rider on his back? With a beat of his wings, he rushed to Syrax's side and gave a youthful but resolute roar at Caraxes above. His golden eyes were filled with wariness, and golden dragonfire was already gathering in his throat.
The Gold Dragon, normally as docile as an oversized cat around Aegon, had tensed all over and thrust himself upward with a fierce beat of his wings. Just like that, he had "lost his mind" and carried Aegon more than a hundred feet into the air to stand beside Syrax.
Aegon clung to the dragon's back, unable to open his eyes against the wind blasting into his face, swearing furiously to himself.
He had expected Caraxes's appearance to cause a commotion, but never imagined that Sunfyre, usually clever enough to understand every word he said, would do something so stupid this time and charge upward without so much as a warning.
What left him even more speechless was Syrax. Usually as fearless as her "stupid" rider Rhaenyra, she dared approach even Vermithor and Silverwing for a closer look, yet now she had actually asked Sunfyre for help-
Between them, these two dragons probably did not have even a fraction of Caraxes's experience in a fight.
Rhaenyra had actually rushed out of her cabin as soon as the first dragon roar sounded.
She had been reading the list of celebration preparations sent from King's Landing. At the commotion outside, she had hurried onto the deck, stepping on her skirts without even stopping to put on a cloak. The moment she looked up, she saw that familiar scarlet form in the sky and the silver-haired man in black clothes and a red cloak on Caraxes's back. Her heart skipped a beat, and irrepressible excitement and joy filled her eyes.
It was Daemon.
Her uncle. Uncle Daemon, who had taken her running wild through Dragonstone and the streets of King's Landing since she was little, who told her ancient tales of Valyria, and who always stood up for her when the criticism of outsiders left her cornered.
Even though they had once faced each other in bitter confrontation over a dragon egg, even though they had not seen each other for six whole years, and even though her father and uncle had long been at daggers drawn, Daemon would always be the all-capable Rogue Prince in her heart, the true dragon of House Targaryen.
But that excitement lasted only an instant.
"Aegon!" The moment her gaze caught the tiny, precarious figure on Sunfyre's back, her own anxious cry rang out across the deck.
Her eyes fixed on that little figure on Sunfyre's back. When she saw Aegon nearly sliding off under the force of the wind, her heart clenched, and all her joy at seeing Daemon again vanished beneath her worry.
"Sunfyre! Come down! Come down now!" She clung to the ship's railing and shouted at the Gold Dragon overhead, panic filling her violet eyes. Her grip tightened until her knuckles turned white. "Aegon! Hold on tight! Don't be afraid! Your sister's here!"
Daemon Targaryen naturally heard her cries from the sky.
Sunfyre heard his rider's sister, but did not land immediately. He merely turned his head and gave Rhaenyra a reassuring whine, still staring fixedly at Caraxes above and refusing to retreat an inch.
Only then did Daemon, seated on Caraxes's back, finally notice the little fellow "hidden" on the young Gold Dragon's back.
Of course he knew who this was.
Aegon Targaryen, the eldest son born to his dear brother Viserys and the daughter of that loathsome Hightower fellow.
The child the whole Seven Kingdoms had talked about since his birth. At one, he had made the White Hart bow before him in the Kingswood. At three, he had soared through the sky on the young dragon that hatched in his cradle after only three days. The people of King's Landing called him the "Midsummer Prince," while the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms hailed him as the "Return of the True Dragon."
Daemon had only been traveling from the Stepstones to Driftmark to seek aid. Passing through Blackwater Bay, he had happened to spot Syrax and, on a whim, come over to see the eldest niece he had not seen in so long. He had never expected to run into this eldest nephew he had yet to meet.
He raised an eyebrow, a flippant smile curling his lips, then reached out to pat Caraxes's neck and murmured a few instructions in High Valyrian.
The rumbling in Caraxes's throat stopped at once. Then he gave a disgruntled growl and reined in his ferocity, the glow of dragonfire gradually fading from his throat. His bloodthirsty slit pupils swept over Syrax and Sunfyre below with a trace of disdain. Still, he did abandon his threatening posture, though he remained in the air, his enormous wings beating slowly.
His rider intended to do something others would consider utterly outrageous.
Daemon reached down and undid the tanned leather strap at his waist that secured him firmly to the dragon saddle, then casually tossed it onto the saddle. Caraxes seemed to sense his intention. His vast body descended slowly until he was only thirty feet above the flagship's deck. Waves whipped up by his wings splashed over the hems of everyone's clothes.
Cries of alarm erupted across the deck.
Garwin Hightower instantly drew the longsword at his waist and moved in front of Rhaenyra. The Cargyll Brothers took positions on either side by the railing, swords drawn, their wary eyes fixed on Daemon overhead.
Willem Fell and Alyn Celtigar immediately closed in as well, hands on their sword hilts and bodies taut.
Tyland Lannister frowned and gestured to the guards beside him. More than a dozen surged forward at once, packing the deck so tightly that no one could get through.
Only Larys Strong remained at the back of the crowd, leaning on his cane. A knowing smile flickered in his gray eyes as he bowed slightly to the prince in the air, without a trace of panic.
But apart from Larys, everyone's vigilance was clearly unnecessary.
Just as everyone except Larys thought the Rogue Prince was about to attack from dragonback-
In the very next instant, Daemon Targaryen leaped straight down from the dragon's back, thirty feet above.
Gasps rose one after another across the deck.
Everyone held their breath as the figure in black clothes and a red cloak traced a clean arc through the air and landed squarely on the deck. His knees bent slightly to absorb the impact, and his body did not even sway. He might have merely stepped down from a stair rather than jumped from a dragon's back.
He straightened and brushed at his windblown cloak. His silver hair streamed in the gusts from the dragon's wings, and his violet eyes shone in the morning light like fire-tempered gems. At his waist hung the Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister, the runes on its scabbard gleaming coldly in the sunlight. His black clothes made the red cloak all the more striking. He was like a sheathed blade, his edge hidden deep within him, yet still radiating a heart-stopping arrogance and authority.
The instant he landed, Caraxes had already let out a long dragon cry overhead. With a powerful beat of his enormous wings, he shot straight into the sky, his scarlet form soon disappearing into the thick clouds. Only the wind stirred by his wings remained, carrying fine spray down onto the deck and whipping Daemon's silver hair and red cloak into wild motion, displaying to the fullest that uniquely Targaryen air of madness and allure.
The wind quietly lifted Daemon's silver hair and red cloak as he stood at the center of the deck. Around him, guards and knights held their weapons ready, but he ignored them as though this had always been his domain.
A deathly silence settled over the deck.
Everyone stood frozen, staring in disbelief at the man who had appeared on deck out of nowhere. As royal attendants, some had seen the prince ride a dragon before, but none had ever witnessed this particular feat of his-jumping straight from a dragon's back onto the pitching deck of a ship.
This was no prince. This was a madman.
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