Strange

When Vermithor folded his wings and landed again, a third of the night had passed, with two thirds remaining.

Night shrouded Dragonstone. The stars had vanished, and even the moon had hidden among the clouds, leaving everything dim.

The night was deep, and all was silent.

From afar, Baelon saw a cluster of dim sparks flickering atop Dragonstone Castle.

He slid down from the dragon's back and returned to the foot of the rock face, first packing Jaehaerys's holy relics back into the bundle. A little minced flesh and the scent of blood remained beneath the rock face.

Tiny ants crawled over the black stone, carrying things away, while seabirds merely circled in the distance, not daring to approach.

Vermithor slowly crawled into the water until half his body was submerged in the wine-dark sea.

The dragon abruptly spread his wings, sending waves roaring ashore to pound and wash the black reefs.

The tide flooded the space beneath the rock face, then slowly receded, carrying every trace away.

Only after dealing with the traces he had carelessly forgotten in his excitement over riding a dragon did Baelon return to Dragonstone Castle.

He passed through the dragon-tail archway, where Ser Harrold, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, had long been waiting.

Ser Harrold sighed with relief. "Thank the Seven, Prince Baelon. You've finally returned safely."

Baelon smiled. "Ser Harrold, I was riding a dragon."

"You should be worrying about other people's safety, not mine."

He had already successfully tamed Vermithor and formed a bond with the dragon. What danger could there possibly be?

"Though the chances were low, I feared you might fall from the dragon's back, my prince," Ser Harrold said.

Baelon smiled unconcernedly. "I'm back safely. Go and rest, ser."

"His Grace hasn't retired yet, either."

Baelon paused. He glanced at Ser Harrold, then headed toward the Stone Drum Tower.

The passages of the Stone Drum Tower twisted deep within, its stairs spiraling endlessly.

He passed dragon-shaped gargoyles. The torches on the walls were shaped like dragon claws. Dragon forms were everywhere in Dragonstone Castle; from afar, the entire castle resembled a crouching dragon.

Viserys stood before a wide-open window, looking at something Baelon could not make out.

Baelon looked down through the window and saw the bronze Vermithor.

"Do you know?" Viserys said in wonder. "He's as large as Balerion was, and he can still fly high into the sky."

"In the year 93 of the Conquest, a year before Balerion died, I rode the Black Dread."

"Did Balerion look mighty and majestic?" Baelon asked curiously.

That legendary dragon had died thirteen years before his birth. He had never had the chance to see him in person and could only imagine the Black Dread's splendor through the enormous skull in the Red Keep.

"Balerion was black all over, just like the night outside," Viserys said wistfully.

"The dragonfire he breathed stretched a full fifty or sixty meters, surging like a vast sea of fire."

"That sea of fire wasn't the bright orange of ordinary flames, but pitch-black, with dark red eddies swirling through it. Balerion could melt sand straight into transparent glass."

Viserys sighed, something unfathomable in his voice. "But when I entered the Dragonpit, what I saw wasn't a terrifying beast. It was an ancient dragon, heavy and bloated, tormented by pain."

"Balerion was sluggish and weak. He barely managed three circuits of King's Landing before he lacked the strength to travel farther."

He looked at Baelon. "Where did you ride Vermithor?"

"The Vale, King's Landing, then back to Dragonstone," Baelon said.

Viserys smiled and patted his shoulder. "Good. It seems his size hasn't affected his flight."

"I once wanted to ride Balerion to Dragonstone too, but sadly, I never got my wish."

"Vermithor suddenly grew by half his size," Baelon said curiously.

Yet Viserys was not even going to ask about it?

"Do you know about Old Valyria?" Viserys asked.

Baelon had not studied Old Valyria much. He merely said, "It was once the greatest empire, until it was destroyed in the Doom."

"Yes, yes." Viserys nodded. "The greatest empire, and the most powerful."

"The people of Old Valyria used blood magic to forge pacts with dragons, riding them to wage war far and wide."

"They possessed superb craftsmanship and magic. The Valyrian steel they forged shimmered purple like a dark rainbow and could slice through iron as though it were mud."

"The Dragonroad they built was immensely broad, stretching across the entire continent of Essos."

"But all of it was destroyed in the Doom. The Fourteen Flames erupted at once, mountains shattered, the earth collapsed, and millions of lives were swallowed up alongside the dragons soaring through the skies."

"But twelve years before the Doom, Daenys displayed a gift!" Viserys's voice grew excited.

"A gift that none of Old Valyria's more than forty dragonlord families, nor the Fire Sorcerers, had ever possessed-the gift of a dreamwalker."

"House Targaryen escaped that fated destruction!"

Viserys gripped Baelon's shoulders, his expression solemn. "So you simply possess a rare gift."

"Just as a dreamwalker foresees the future, you make dragons grow in an instant."

The more he spoke, the firmer his expression became, utterly convinced.

Baelon: ...

Viserys had already talked himself into believing it?!

He went along with it. "Yes, this is my gift."

Viserys slapped the windowsill excitedly. He had known it!

"You are the prince from my dream, beloved of the Seven, destined from birth to be extraordinary."

After he had wrested the Iron Throne from Rhaenys at the council of 101, many in the Kingdom had believed that Rhaenys was the one who should truly have inherited the throne.

He had no dragon, and he was weak-willed.

But Baelon's birth proved that he possessed a gift more precious than riding dragons. This was nothing less than proof that the Seven had sanctioned his accession!

He, Viserys, had been destined to ascend the throne!

Baelon did not understand why Viserys had suddenly become so fired up.

He hesitated for a moment, then abruptly asked, "Father, you've studied Old Valyria. What is in those ruins?"

Viserys spent every day absorbed in his work recreating Aenar, the capital of Old Valyria. Surely he ought to know something about its ruins.

"I found a brief account in the Maester's Tower. Balerion went to the ruins of Old Valyria and suffered severe injuries."

Those had not been wounds to vulnerable places like his eyes!

Something had truly broken through his scales and torn his flesh.

"By then, even heavy crossbows couldn't leave a mark on Balerion's scales. What could have pierced his armored hide?!"

Baelon voiced the questions that had puzzled him for so long. "And ships that sail into the Smoking Sea rarely return. Even the very few lucky enough to come back are either mad or infected with strange diseases."

"And that Doom-volcanic eruptions, the earth collapsing-those certainly were natural disasters for humans."

"But dragons can fly!"

When Balerion the Black Dread's dragonfire swept across the ground, it turned sand into glass in an instant. Surely that meant his dragonfire reached at least around 2,500 degrees.

Even the highest temperature of volcanic lava did not reach half the temperature of Balerion's dragonfire!

And Vermithor alone showed that a dragon's scales could withstand the heat of its own dragonfire.

"Adult dragons should be able to withstand flames and lava with ease, shouldn't they?!"

They could even roll around in volcanic lava, couldn't they?!

How could they have died in volcanic eruptions and collapsing ground?

Viserys's expression stiffened. "Why are you suddenly asking about this?"

Baelon frowned. "When I climbed onto his back, Vermithor... seemed to want to carry me to the ruins of Old Valyria?"

"There seems to be something in Old Valyria attracting Vermithor?"

Viserys went pale. "What?!"

He pressed a hand to his chest, struggling to breathe.

Seeing this, Baelon hurriedly said, "But Vermithor followed my will and went to the Vale."

Viserys gasped for breath, weakly patting his chest.

"The Dragonkeepers!"

He forced the words out with difficulty. "More... assign more Dragonkeepers!"

"It must be done at once!"

"Have seventy-seven Dragonkeepers watch Vermithor day and night without leaving his side!"