Dragonstone

Early morning.

Darkness quietly receded, and dawn's rose-colored robes appeared on the eastern horizon.

Baelon pushed open the window. The sea breeze was cool and biting.

He put on a linen undershirt, pulled on a soft, brand-new wool sweater, and stepped into tanned cowhide boots.

He slipped on a plain ruby ring, then casually fastened his shoulder-length silver-gold curls with a golden hairpin.

For once, Baelon hesitated.

He had not forgotten that the excuse he had used to persuade Viserys to let him go to Dragonmont to tame a dragon was that his dreams could hurt him.

Everyone dreamed, but Targaryen dreams came true.

His dreams were even more unusual: things in them could hurt him in reality.

So, should he produce the corpse of a Green-Eyed White Wolf and tell Viserys that it was the white wolf from his dreams?

Forget it.

He shook his head.

Better not put Viserys's heart through that.

Baelon headed out in high spirits, then jogged to the smoking Dragonmont.

He did not ride his dragon. Vermithor supported his enormous body on his wings and waddled along behind him.

The claws at his wingtips scraped white streaks across the rocky shore.

Baelon surveyed the island that belonged to him.

His rightful domain.

Black stone cliffs met his eyes, and white waves battered the shore tirelessly.

The soil was poor, the winds fierce and the waves high, and a rotten-egg smell hung in the air.

It could give King's Landing's stench a run for its money...

Vermithor slowly extended his great head until it was level with his rider, his eyes fixed on Baelon for a long moment.

Baelon drew a deep breath and began talking without pause. "Vermithor, I smell something so reassuring, so powerful!"

"So it was your scent! No wonder it felt so reassuring!"

[Affinity +10]

Vermithor withdrew his head in satisfaction.

At the foot of Dragonmont, Vermithor followed Baelon's wishes and roared into the cave.

A moment later, a silver dragon flew out.

Silverwing flew straight toward Vermithor, then suddenly beat her wings rapidly, as though startled, and climbed.

Silverwing circled in the sky, landed some distance away, and let out a ferocious hiss at Vermithor.

Vermithor rumbled in confusion and crawled toward Silverwing.

Silverwing's pupils widened. She backed away several steps, and a furnace-like glow lit up her throat.

Vermithor froze.

Baelon sighed helplessly and raised his arm to thump Vermithor reassuringly.

"Don't rush. You've suddenly grown so big. You have to give Silverwing time to get used to it."

Baelon checked the wind direction and had Vermithor slowly move upwind of Silverwing.

The sea breeze carried Vermithor's scent into Silverwing's nostrils, and the silver dragon's huge nostrils flared slightly.

Silverwing's pupils contracted sharply.

She slowly closed her mouth and approached tentatively.

Baelon soothed the excited Vermithor and had him wait where he was.

Silverwing had recognized the familiar dragon who looked so unfamiliar.

She cried out, spread her wings, and flew over, rubbing the two horns on her head against Vermithor's chin.

Vermithor swished his tail happily and nuzzled Silverwing. The two dragons nudged each other back and forth as though no one else were there.

Baelon: ...

He stepped forward and patted Silverwing's wing. "Vermithor is going to King's Landing. Would you like to come too?"

Silverwing did not understand, but amid all her activity, she still gently touched her snout to Baelon's palm.

Baelon smiled warmly.

Whether Silverwing chose to remain on Dragonstone or accompany Vermithor to King's Landing, either choice was acceptable.

He would leave it to Silverwing.

Once Silverwing and Vermithor had finished nuzzling, Baelon climbed onto Vermithor's back, and they spread their wings and flew toward Cannibal's territory.

Silverwing beat her wings and flew beside Vermithor.

Now that he was on Dragonstone, how could a dragon enthusiast like Baelon possibly pass up seeing the other three wild dragons?

Especially Cannibal.

That fierce, savage dragon who stole and ate dragon eggs.

Dragons were symbols of kingship, after all.

Every dragon egg Cannibal ate was a piece of House Targaryen's strength.

Baelon thought he needed to bring Cannibal under control.

But not now, not today.

Today, he only wanted to see the three wild dragons in all their glory.

Later, he would bring Vhagar, Meleys, Caraxes, Syrax, and Seasmoke, along with Silverwing.

The right approach was for seven dragons, under the Seven's protection, to gang up on Cannibal and try to subdue him without injury.

Why fight alone when they could gang up on him?

His bloodline and marriage alliances were not just for show. To get anywhere in the world, connections mattered, of course.

Dragons were territorial too.

Wild dragons would not readily enter Vermithor's territory, so chance encounters with them were unlikely.

But if the mountain would not come to him, he could go to the mountain. Baelon brought Vermithor, took Silverwing along, and came knocking.

Vermithor, over 140 meters long, tempered by numerous trials and rich in combat experience; Silverwing, a fully grown dragon; and himself.

One boy and two dragons could simply crush everything in their path.

The two dragons circled the smoking Dragonmont until Vermithor finally folded his wings and landed before a tunnel.

The dragon roared into it.

One boy and two dragons stood quietly at the entrance. For a moment, silence settled over their surroundings.

Baelon heard only the howling wind.

He frowned slightly. "Not home?"

But a servant had reported clearly seeing a dark shape fly toward Dragonmont.

The tunnel was deep and broad, but it was rather cramped for Vermithor as he was now.

If Vermithor crawled rashly inside, filling the tunnel, and met a blast of dragonfire head-on or got into a fight, he would have nowhere to dodge.

Even though Baelon knew full well that Vermithor could withstand the heat of dragonfire.

Deep down, Baelon still did not want Vermithor to risk crawling into a narrow tunnel that would hamper his fighting ability.

He listened carefully, but there was no sound from within.

After waiting a long time, Baelon finally gave up.

"Never mind. Let's go see Sheepstealer."

As for Grey Ghost, there was no telling where that dragon had hidden.

At least, since Baelon had arrived on the island, the shepherds and servants had all said they had seen no sign of Grey Ghost.

Vermithor spread his wings and soared into the sky, with Silverwing close behind.

Silence returned to the tunnel on Dragonmont.

After a while, a pitch-black dragon suddenly emerged from the cave and flew away without looking back.

Vermithor beat his wings and slowly descended through the clouds.

Baelon gazed in wonder as the mighty, imposing dragon flew into the distance.

Charcoal-black scales covered its body, with fearsome pointed horns and strong, powerful wings.

It perfectly matched his image of Balerion the Black Dread.

There was some cleverness in Cannibal's great head, too. The dragon knew how to judge a situation.

Baelon felt he had fallen in love at first sight again.

His heart pounded for Cannibal.

He was not the only Targaryen to have his heart stirred by two dragons.

"Ah-"

Baelon gazed at Cannibal's dwindling silhouette and sighed.

At the age when he was most powerless, he had met the two dragons he loved best.

Sheepstealer was happily eating a sheep when the sound of beating wings suddenly rang out.

Two dragons descended from the sky.

Without hesitation, Sheepstealer abandoned the half-eaten sheep and sped away.

Baelon: ...

All he saw was the muddy-brown dragon's retreating back.

In the distance, however, Baelon spotted a flock of sheep and two shepherds.

Vermithor stopped some distance away, and Baelon approached them on foot. "Do these wild dragons often steal your sheep?"

The raggedly dressed shepherds stood where they were, occasionally stealing glances at Vermithor and Silverwing. "Y-yes, my lord."

They had spent most of their lives on Dragonstone, yet had never seen the Prince of Dragonstone.

But they knew one thing.

The child before them had arrived on dragonback.

Baelon's gaze fell on the two shepherds' silver-gold hair, his feelings complicated.

Dragonseeds.

Bastards.

One of the shepherds was in his fifties or sixties, with a stooped back and skin like a shriveled orange; the other was very young.

He looked about Baelon's age.

Baelon introduced himself. "I am the Prince of Dragonstone, Baelon Targaryen."

He removed the golden hairpin from his hair and handed it to them. "This is compensation for you."

"From now on, if a dragon steals your sheep, go to Dragonstone Castle. I will compensate you."

They worked so hard raising sheep, only to have wild dragons steal and eat a few from time to time.

Though for the past two hundred years, no one had cared. Everyone had grown accustomed to it and considered it only natural.

They were dragons, after all.

At least the shepherds had not died to the dragons. That alone was fortunate enough.

But Baelon could not stand by and do nothing.

The shepherds had worked hard and suffered an undeserved misfortune, with no one caring and no one compensating them.

Dragonstone was his domain, and these shepherds were his subjects.

"Do you know the other people on the island?"

"Besides herding sheep, what do you usually do for a living?"