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Chapter Text

Sixth Moon, 84 AC | Dragonstone

Balerion came forward at his wordless command, ensuring his massive body would be hidden from the rest of the island and the castle by the colossal mountain behind him. Dawn was breaking now, and he did not wish for his return to be noticed and reported on yet. With his dagger, he cut the netting that had been stuck on Balerion’s saddle for the entirety of their flight west, carrying an entire herd of slaughtered cattle, goats and sheep. Food for the six hatchlings that he had just brought forth from their eggs and bound to his blood; three of which he had seized from those Braavosi scoundrels that dared to threaten House Targaryen, while the other three had been laid by the most beautiful of the wild dragons on the island.

The net broke, and its contents spilled forth on the ground at the base of the Dragonmont.

“Roast them, would you?” he beckoned his ancient dragon. Black flames emerged from his maw; measured, controlled. In the fullness of their power, those flames would have turned the meat into ash and smoke. That was not the intent today. The hatchlings needed to be fed. The sooner and more oft after emerging from their eggs that new dragons were fed, the healthier they grew.

His stomach grumbled once the scent of the sizzling roast reached his nose. So consumed had he been with travel and the rituals of hatching the eggs and binding them to his blood, that he had forgotten to eat for the entire day yesterday.

It seemed he was not the only one enticed by the food. Balerion bent his massive head, eager to begin tearing great chunks of the slaughtered meat he had been lugging around for hours.

“Not yet,” he told him, “the hatchlings go first.”

With a displeased huff, he lay flat on the ground and gazed at him with his blood-red eyes, likely contemplating Gaemon’s demise, and his lack of ability to do so due to their bond. He patted the black scales under his massive jaw, only likely increasing his annoyance with him.

He brought forth the six infant dragons from the satchel he had ensconced them within. Delicately, he placed them next to the roasting meat, letting them breathe in its tasty smoke to trigger their appetite. They beheld him with their small heads and their too-large eyes curiously, before turning to the meat, indecision of what they were meant to do plain in their minds. They turned back to the feast arrayed before them when the scent reached them, indecision overcome. The black hatchling, the one that resembled Balerion so strikingly, was the first to attack his meal. The other five followed his lead and began feeding as well, tearing tiny chunks quickly with their little black teeth. A chuckle escaped him at their antics.

It was good to see them feed, and feed so gluttonously. It was unfathomable to think that these tiny things, barely the size of his palm from wing tip to wing tip, would with time grow to be as immense as his bond mate. Even with Gaemon’s broad size and height, he was shorter than one of Balerion’s black teeth, his entire head many times smaller than one of his red eyes.

Low grumbles broke him out of his musings. The wild dragons of the island seemed to have been enticed with the appetizing smell as well. The largest of them, the coal-black one with green eyes, the first dragon he had bound to his blood, at least in this life, approached with caution, his gaze painted on Balerion lying beside him. The muddy-brown one followed him, bound to his blood as well. The drakes stopped temporarily, glanced at their two brethren for a moment, before returning to their feeding. They must have sensed the common thread connecting them.

Upon sighting him, the two wild dragons lost all weariness and confidently approached. Once more, Gaemon had to stop them before they began eating as well.

“Calm down, let the hatchlings feed first,” he told them.

At their displeasure, he explained, “They are your brothers and sisters, and much, much smaller than you. They are to eat first. If you are so hungry, you can join the purple one on the northern side of the island. She caught herself a whale out in the sea.”

Both the unsatisfied dragons just lay down on all fours, huffed hot air towards him, and decided to wait. It was understandable. The brown one had no taste for any other meat aside from mutton; a whale would have no appeal to her. The black one had rather contentious relations with the purple dragon. Before being bound to his bloodline, he hunted down, slew and fed on all other dragons that happened to be born on the island, and ate all eggs left unattended.

Gaemon, ten years old at the time, had first found him silently creeping on the purple and gold dragon as she was feasting on a shark at the seashore at nightfall. Were it not for his intervention, there would have been one less dragon in the world.

What madness had possessed his house to let unridden dragons roam free, especially a dragon that hunted down others of his kind, he had wondered. Aemon had been the one to explain the method to the madness. Jaehaerys Targaryen, illiterate in the knowledge of dragonkind as he was, had opted to keep the Cannibal alive and let him continue his ways in order to ensure that no rival rider arose from the dozens of Dragonseeds that made their home on the island. It was a rather crude method of maintaining the population and control of dragons, he supposed.

Gaemon was not nearly as clumsy. Unlike the rest of his kin, he knew the secrets that they had let slip in the centuries following their exile from the Freehold.

The fierce dragon along with his muddy-brown mate and the six new hatchlings were now bound to Gaemon’s own blood, ensuring they would only be ridden by his direct descendants. It was a betrayal, he knew, locking out his older brothers’ children out of eight potential dragons that they could claim, but it was warranted.

The purple and gold one he had left unbound, and unable to lay any more eggs, intending for her to be claimed by one of his sisters, hopefully Viserra. She loved both those colours, and the dragon’s splendour matched her own. He turned wistful at that.

It had been two years since she had last seen her in the flesh, so busy had he been tearing the Faceless Men and all other assassin guilds across the Narrow Sea apart that he hardly looked in on her with his obsidian candle. Saera too; his stubborn mule of a sister that loved them so fiercely and protected them so zealously since he and Viserra had been young. She had dragged them across the Red Keep in misadventures that had had their caretakers tearing their hair out. It would be good to see them again.

Bright orange had the sky turned when the infant drakes had at last been sated. Each of them had devoured several times their own weight, as young dragons were wont to. Balerion came forward and began his own feasting, the other two dragons joining him. They tore at the meat with much more vigour and violence than the hatchlings had, even breathing fresh gouts of flame at it at various points. He left them to it as he took the infant drakes to the sea to water them. They lapped at it greedily, and once satisfied, they became drowsy and fell asleep. Gaemon gingerly took them and secured them in the satchel once more.

A roar split the skies as the purple and gold dragon joined the fray, her black brother hissing and snapping in protest, Balerion’s low grumble silencing both of them.

Tiredness bloomed from his pounding head. He needed to sleep, though he wished to see his siblings too. The decision was made for him when he let out a yawn. His sisters had patiently waited two years for him, they could wait a day longer.

He bade Balerion flatten himself to the ground. Uncaring of the dragon’s hostility at his feeding being interrupted, he climbed the saddle. They flew the few seconds it took them to reach the courtyard of Dragonstone, Balerion roaring a fierce thing to alert all those in the castle.

A sputtering castellan greeted him when he dismounted the dragon, “My Prince… My Prince, it is… it is good to see you again!”

“Good morrow to you, too. It is good to be back,” Gaemon answered, “Please, have a meal brought to my chambers. Whatever is available, as long as it has a lot of meat. Three separate plates of it, at the very least.”

After bidding Balerion to devour any ravens that would doubtlessly set off from the rookery in the Sea Dragon Tower to inform the king and queen of his return, he quickly but tiredly made his way to his chambers, half-listening to the regards of the shocked castellan that had already deemed his return a miracle of the gods Gaemon knew did not exist.

“Aye, the gods kept me well, Ser Scales. Have a good day. I need to sleep. Please don’t forget to have the food brought. As soon as possible,” he replied as he shut the door to his chambers in his sputtering face.

It took a few moments for Gaemon to shed his Dragonsteel armour, unbuckle the belt containing his new sword, and take off the clothes underneath. The satchel containing the obsidian candle went under the bed, while the other, containing the dragons was set on the table in the main chamber, where the food would most likely be placed. Six hatchlings could defend themselves from one serving girl, if she happened to be an overly curious one. He rolled the shutters of the chambers shut. Once satisfied with the darkness, he fell onto the bed like a log, naked as the day he was born and immediately dead to the world.

A disturbance woke him; something crawling on his face, itching at his ears, and scratching his chest. He tried to swat it away, only for a high shriek to answer him, pronouncing his sleep well and truly over. His eyes met the gaze of the navy blue and copper hatchling, resting on his chest and mouth. Above him, the jade and bronze one was flapping its wings furiously, hovering above him and screaming.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, as he sat up and rubbed at his eyes. They smarted all the more for it, and that only ceased once he had dunked his entire head into the washbasin in the privy.

Chaos greeted him when he returned to the bedchamber, the orange and teal hatchling shrieking at the black one over a piece of meat that he was refusing to share. The cream dragon, the green one and the navy blue one joined the squabble, clawing at each other as they fought over the food on the floor. The magenta hatchling with beautiful yellow wings sat back and watched, turning to him once he noticed his presence. Gaemon picked him up and took him to the dining table, where quite a bit of meat still remained. Leaving the other hatchlings to exhaust themselves with their rough play, he wolfed down some of the remaining food himself, leaving the rest for the magenta hatchling. Once done, he called for a bath for himself.

While in the bath, it occurred to him that he could not just reappear in King’s Landing out of thin air. Not especially when he was not the first person to disappear upon Balerion in the east for two years. The king would be furious, especially when he learned that he had single-handedly waged war on Braavos and seized the eggs that Rhaena’s whore had sold to them. He could take the young dragons, show him the fruits of his labour… No, that would earn him his ire as well.

If there was one thing Jaehaerys Targaryen and his wife loved, Gaemon reasoned, was the praise and the glory accrued from their deeds or what they perceived to be their deeds. Though he never showed it, the king took pride in being known as the Conciliator, while his queen enjoyed the admiration she received from being styled the Good Queen. He could perhaps allay their anger if their subjects thought the glory of the extinction of the Faceless Men that Gaemon brought to their house was their own.

Yes, that could work, he decided.

Once done with his bath and dressed in Aemon’s fine clothes, he used the glass candle to survey the Red Keep, watching for when the king gathered to hold court. That would be the perfect way to make his entrance. Court was a public gathering of all of his lickspittles, and it went on for hours upon hours. He was thankful for being the tenth born child and fourth son, in this life, so far down the line to the throne that he was not required to attend such occasions, unlike Aemon, Baelon and their wives and children were.

Armed, armoured and with the well-fed and finally exhausted hatchlings secured to the saddle, he took to the air, heading for the Red Keep by the shortest route over the bay, guided by the obsidian candle.

When Jaehaerys was his age and only then taking the rulership of Aegon’s realm into his hands, he had arrived on Vermithor from Dragonstone and made three laps around the city for all the denizens within to have a glimpse of their new king. Why shouldn’t he do the same? He bade Balerion do three loops around the city walls, each one lower than the last, until his dragon covered most of King’s Landing in his shadow. On the final lap, he brought his beloved down on the courtyard of the Red Keep. Vermithor and Silverwing roared and screeched at him in hostile greeting. Not one to be outdone, Balerion shook the ground with a roar of his own, promptly silencing the smaller dragons.

After unbuckling the satchel holding the hatchlings, taking the three dragons that had hatched from the eggs Braavos had purchased from Rhaena’s adventuring harlot, and ordering Balerion to ensure that the remaining young ones were fed, protected, and that all those that tried to seize them were burned to death, he strode into the Red Keep, heading towards the Great Hall where court was being held.

One of the king’s knights, dressed in white armour, with a white cloak fluttering behind him, was there to welcome him. Gaemon watched with fascination as his face contorted into shock, “My Prince… the king… the king bids me welcome you to the Red Keep.”

“Ser Robin,” he greeted evenly, “May I inquire as to the king’s whereabouts, there’s important news that he should know with urgency.”

“The king is holding court at present, my prince. Mayhaps you would like to seek his audience once he is done?”

“Ah,” Gaemon exclaimed, putting on the most charming smile in the world, “That makes things much better. The court, nay, the entire realm should know the news I have to share.”

Just then, the black hatchling resting atop his head spread his tiny wings and roared his displeasure at the foreign man with the white cloak.

“Of course, of course, my prince, I will have you announced.”

Soon enough, the herald did his work and announced him, his voice booming into the hall “Prince Gaemon of House Targaryen, rider of Balerion!”

There was a delicious suspense as the great doors were opened, and audible gasps could be heard once those inside lay their eyes upon him. Revelling in it, Gaemon took his time sauntering to the foot of the Iron Throne, the king sitting high above the room, among the barbs and blades Aegon forged as his seat of power. Aemon and the rest of the council sat in a place of honour below the Iron Throne, while Baelon and a pregnant Alyssa stood off to the left side of the throne, with Lady Jocelyn and Aemon’s ill-bread mongrel of a daughter on the other side.

“Your Grace,” Gaemon said loudly, going to one knee and bowing his head, before looking up at him and proclaiming for all the court to hear. “The quest you had sent me on these past two years has been a success. The three eggs stolen from House Targaryen by Braavos have been returned, and the Sealord has promised satisfactory wergild as recompense for their punitive actions, due to arrive in a fortnight.”

He let that statement hang in the air for a second longer than he ought, before he continued once more, making sure to be louder this time around, “The Faceless Men are dead and all their disciples are nothing more than ashes in the wind!”

There were audible murmurs across the hall.

“Rise, my son,” he replied once the hall had fallen silent once again, his face an unreadable mask, “You’ve done well. I take it that the three hatchlings with you came from those eggs?”

“Yes, Father,” he continued once he rose, lying as easily as he breathed, “The Braavosi had recently hatched them, and they were looking to raise them away from our notice until they became grown enough and formidable enough to challenge your authority. The Sealord himself had married a noblewoman from Volantis, one with Valyrian blood. Alas, he and his delusions are dead, and the new Sealord has proven to be more amenable to the Iron Throne’s demands.”

Jaehaerys seemed contemplative at his words, “Well done, my son. You have made me proud.”

The court applauded those words.

“Court is dismissed for the rest of the day. My family and I will spend the rest of the day welcoming back my son.”

The courtiers knew the command for what it was, and they shuffled out of the throne room within a short time. It was only then that he noticed that there were four kingsguard at his back, not just the one. After the great hall had emptied, the massive doors to the throne room were locked shut, leaving only his family and the king’s council present within.

All pretense of congeniality dropped from the king’s face, “Ser Lorence, have these hatchlings taken to the Dragonpit.” Gaemon let them be taken. The man would never make it past Balerion with them, he knew.

“Now, insolent boy! You’ll tell me where you’ve been these past two years!”

House Targaryen and their Dragons — Circa 84 AC

• Jaehaerys Targaryen (b.34 AC) - Vermithor ‘The Bronze Fury’
  A male dragon born in 31 AC hatching from an egg laid by Vhagar and sired by Balerion. Vermithor is the oldest and largest dragon after Balerion and Vhagar, having bronze scales, horns and claws, but with great tan wings. His flames are swirls of red and bronze, while his eyes are pools of molten bronze.
• Alysanne Targaryen (b.36 AC) - Silverwing ‘The Silver Queen’
  A female dragon born in 36 AC hatching from an egg laid by Quicksilver and sired by Balerion. Silverwing is a rather docile dragon, known to be friendly to strangers, with silver scales and wings throughout her body, but with gleaming yellow eyes and yellow-gold flames.

Children of Jaehaerys Targaryen (b.34 AC) and Alysanne Targaryen (b.36 AC)

• Aemon Targaryen (b.55 AC) - Caraxes ‘The Blood Wyrm’
  A male dragon born in 54 AC hatching from an egg laid by Dreamfyre and sired by Balerion. Caraxes is lean, with crimson red scales and wings. His eyes are pools of molten silver and his flames are the colour of blood.
• Baelon Targaryen (b.57 AC) - Vhagar
  A female dragon born in 52 BC hatching from an egg laid by Meraxes and sired by Balerion. Vhagar is largest dragon in the world after Balerion with bronze scales that have greenish blue highlights and bright green eyes. Her flames are green-blue streaked with bronze.
• Alyssa Targaryen (b.60 AC) - Meleys ‘The Red Queen’
  A female dragon born in 54 AC on Dragonstone, hatching from an egg laid by Dreamfyre and sired by Balerion. Meleys has scarlet-red scales throughout her body, pink membranes on her wings, with her crest, horns, wing-bones and claws being as bright as beaten copper. Her pink flames are streaked with copper.
• Maegelle Targaryen (b.62 AC) - Septa of the Faith
• Vaegon Targaryen (b.63 AC) - Master of the Citadel
• Daella Targaryen (b.64 AC) - Lady Consort of the Tides
• Saera Targaryen (b.67 AC)
• Gaemon Targaryen (b.69 AC) - Balerion ‘The Black Dread’
  A male dragon born in 180 BC in Valyria from unknown dragons. Balerion is the oldest and largest dragon in the world, with black scales, black wings that can engulf an entire town in shadow as he passes over head, and blood-red eyes. His black flames have swirls of red and are so hot that they can melt steel and stone and fuse sand into glass.
• Viserra Targaryen (b.71 AC)
• Gael Targaryen (b.80 AC)

Grandchildren of Jaehaerys Targaryen (b.34 AC) and Alysanne Targaryen (b.36 AC)

Born to Aemon Targaryen (b.55 AC) and Jocelyn Baratheon (b.54 AC)

• Rhaenys Targaryen (b.74 AC)

Born to Baelon Targaryen (b.57 AC) and Alyssa Targaryen (b.60 AC)

• Viserys Targaryen (b.77 AC)
• Daemon Targaryen (b.81 AC)

Born to Lord Corlys “The Sea Snake” Velaryon (b.53 AC) and Daella Targaryen (b.64 AC)

• Laena Velaryon (b.82 AC)
• Laenor Velaryon (b.84 AC)

Chapter Text

Sixth Moon, 84 AC | Red Keep, King’s Landing

A yawn threatened to overwhelm him. He clenched his jaw and chewed the inside of his cheeks to stamp it down. It was ill-befitting for a prince to yawn, Mother had always told him, especially in as a public setting as court, where Father was listening to petitioners and welcoming lords to the Red Keep. His niece’s tenth nameday was upon them, and by the council’s urging, it was thought fitting to hold celebrations for it. From what he’d heard from Aemon, there would be feasts, games, hunts and a tourney, befitting of an only child of the Crown Prince.

The affair would be more well-attended than his own wedding to Alyssa, Baelon judged by the number of lords that had arrived this past moon. It was warranted, he mused. Rhaenys was in line to inherit the throne, and most of its nobility was eager to take the measure of their far future monarch. Most, of course, desired to tie themselves with her by blood. Many, many lords had brought their heirs, brothers, uncles and male-cousins with the intention of winning her hand in marriage.

In Baelon’s opinion, it was all nonsensical. Rhaenys would of course marry Viserys. They were close in age, and with his little boys having been promised Vermithor and Silverwing upon their grandparents’ deaths, as Rhaenys had been promised Dreamfyre, there could be no stronger alliance in all the realms that she could ever dream of making. Why Father and Aemon had been so reticent to announce the betrothal thus far, he had never understood, though he supposed Aemon’s concerns about her niece being too young for her marriage prospects to be discussed were valid. Her nameday next moon was a good a time as any for that to be done. He would have to speak to Aemon on that.

That banquet would also serve as an opportune time for Father to rally the stormlords against Dorne, once again. Word had reached them a few days ago of the death of Prince Oberyn Martell and the consequent ascension of his son, Morion. Morion was known by the council for his hatred of the crown, and considered it a personal affront that the Vulture King had been slain two decades past without a peep of protest from the Dornish nobles. Since then, Father had worked to build relations with Dorne through trade and diplomacy, to show them that it was in their best interest not to raid the Seven Kingdoms. ‘It was easier to forestall rebellions than to put them down’, the conqueror had wisely said.

Despite the frequent incursions into the marches all but ceasing since the end of the Third Dornish War, the stormlords did not appreciate the Crown’s deepening ties with the principality that had raided and invaded them a thousand times in the last thousand years. Masterful has they were, his parents had allayed their anger in various ways, foremost of which was marrying Jocelyn, the sister to the Lord of Storm’s End, to his brother. Rallying Uncle Boremund’s vassals against any potential Dornish insurgence, now that Morion sat the throne, would be a simple task.

The last of the petitioners was shown out of the throne room once his case was solved. The rest of the court session would be used to officially welcome all visiting lords that had arrived these past three days to the king’s court.

Baelon tuned them out as they were announced by the herald, one after the other. He knew the routine. After making their entrance into the throne room with their family and tails, being offered a greeting by the king and presented with an offering of bread and salt, an ancient Andal custom to guarantee their safety under the king’s roof, they would join the sea of courtiers as the next lord was welcomed.

“Could you at least feign attention at the court?” his wife whispered into his ear.

“How about you feign illness so we can leave?” he replied.

“Because I am not ill. I do not wish to be an invalid sequestered in their chambers, forbidden from living just because I am with child,” she said, with her usual stubbornness.

“I haven’t said that you are an invalid.”

“Aye, but that is what would be implied if I were to suddenly fall ill in front of all court.”

“’Tis only a feigning of illness,” Baelon whispered back, clutching her hand, “our Daenerys will be strong and healthy, just like Viserys and little Daemon were.”

“No, our Gaemon, it will be a boy, and it will be healthy.”

Baelon could only give a wan smile in return. He sent a silent prayer to the mother to keep his wife and their new child safe. May Gaemon or Daenerys be born healthy and strong, and may Alyssa emerge from the birth safe and unharmed. He had witnessed the grief on Mother’s face after the loss of his brother. She had retreated within herself for these past two years, spending all her time with their littlest sister Gael, finding relief and joy in her continued survival. No longer was she a companion in Father’s labours, nor did she share the royal chambers with him. Grief of losing a child led to misery, he had learned, and he had no wish to experience that. This new babe had to be healthy.

They had chosen the names to honour their dead siblings. Daenerys, for their fearless sister that died just as Baelon began knowing her those many decades ago, and Gaemon, who had disappeared eastwards atop Balerion two years ago. That last one was particularly painful, for there were no remains to burn, only the shadow of absence to mourn.

Yet, at the same time, he was glad for it. Unlike Aerea, who had returned upon Balerion ill and at the point of death, Gaemon’s absence contained within it possibility. Aemon, Alyssa and he had searched every Free City and chased down any reported sighting of that rogue monster and their brother. Baelon himself had volunteered to fly all the way to the Jade Gates and beyond when reports from Qarth claimed that a dragon had been spotted crossing the Bone Mountains. Only Alyssa’s advancing pregnancy had stopped him from doing so. Wherever he was, Baelon hoped Gaemon was well and alive and whole.

Father had all but declared him dead. As was his wont, he’d drowned himself into his work once the disappearance of his roguish fourth born son was reported. Baelon knew that he had not been pleased with Gaemon claiming Balerion in the first place, at his tender age of ten. He had been even more displeased when the sleepy and lazy giant, as he had been since his return to Westeros with a dying Aerea upon his back, had suddenly regained his vitality and truly regained his fearsome repute as the Black Dread. The change was so drastic that some at court claimed that Gaemon had used sorcery on the dragon to achieve that, but he knew that was preposterous.

Baelon hoped his brother was safe, wherever he was. He hoped he would return. All of them dearly missed his adventurous, spirited and mischievous brother, despite how much his antics had brought the king and queen to their wits end.

Viserra and Saera were devastated most of all, though each in their own way. A bond had been forged between the three of them since they had been little more than babes, owing to the small gap in age between the two of them and the fact that they were the youngest, and in their view, the often ignored children of the king. Like he had done with Aemon and Alyssa had done with him, Gaemon had clung to Saera while young, and in turn, Viserra had clung to him. At first, Saera bristled at her newest sister stealing attention away from her brother, but that sentiment soon changed as they grew.

In jest, they had been dubbed as the three-headed dragon at court, for both their fierceness and misbehaviour. Some even likened them to the conqueror and his sister-wives, a notion had only grown once Gaemon had claimed Balerion for himself. The memory of Saera marching into the yard with a wooden sword in hand, ready to train at arms ‘like Visenya’, elicited a chuckle from him. Mother had done away with that foolishness quickly enough.

Now, two years after Gaemon’s disappearance, her sisters had been undoubtedly changed. Resilient as children were, they had moved forward, but a great chasm had opened between and within them with his absence. For their sakes, he hoped he was alive, and that he would return.

“What are you thinking so much about?” Alyssa asked him after long moments, the buzzing of court distant in his mind.

“Our brother, and whether he’ll return.”

“We’ll find him if he doesn’t, Father ordered so once I’m well enough to fly Meleys after our little one is born.”

“Father’s interest is in finding and retrieving Balerion. He already believes Gaemon dead.”

“Aye, and Gaemon is Balerion’s rider, is he not?”

“At this point, how can you be so sure? Balerion is a willful creature, with his own mind and his own desires. He might have been as deaf to Gaemon’s commands as he had been to Aerea’s, or even thrown him off his back and carried on riderless.”

“Gaemon is not Aerea. He rode Balerion for three years before vanishing, without any incident. And riderless dragons are not vagabonds, to venture from place to place without purpose. If Balerion were truly riderless, at least one of us would have found where he made his lair fairly easily these past two years. The fact that we didn’t, means that Gaemon is riding him, which means that he’s alive. We will find him.”

There was a surety to Alyssa’s voice that made him doubt whether she believed her own words, but Baelon did not question it. Hope was all that they had left, as false or true as it was. They would scour the world once his new child was born, their last child, Baelon decided. Vermithor, Caraxes, Vhagar and Meleys had to be enough to find him. If it was not, all they could do is honour his memory for the rest of their days and move forward, as Father had always seemed to do in the face of all tragedies.

Vermithor’s roar resounded from the courtyard outside, sending the entire hall into a pregnant silence and quieting his swirling thoughts. Silverwing’s scream accompanied it. What answered them was a sound that sent a lance of terror through Baelon’s spine. It seemed to have come from the Seven Hells themselves. It was a deep, guttural grumbling that seemed to make the entire castle shake. An enormous thud followed the roar.

It took an embarrassingly long moment for Baelon to realise the source of that haunting bellow.

Balerion.

Balerion had returned.

Father seemed to have caught on to that fact sooner than he did, for he ordered Ser Robin, who had been standing diligently beneath the Iron Throne, to see to the dragon, and hopefully, their returned brother. As if nothing had happened, court continued as normal, with Father welcoming a delegation of House Dondarrion for the upcoming celebrations.

Aerea had been long in the dying when Balerion made his landing in the inner ward of the Red Keep, two years after her absconding. Her clothes had been threadbare, her body gaunt, with no flesh on her bones and with her skin scalding to the touch, burning with fever.

That could not be further from the truth when the herald finally announced Gaemon.

“Prince Gaemon of House Targaryen, rider of Balerion!”

An expectant hush washed over the whole hall as the entire court looked expectantly at the door, waiting for the lost prince, seemingly returned from the dead. The doors opened, and in walked his brother. Were he of a less noble breeding, Baelon would have gasped to see him, as the entirety of the hall collectively seemed to have.

Gaemon had always been taller than the average boy his age, but now seemed to tower above the entire hall. His detractors had compared his growth and build to that of Maegor, for he had always been able to take on foes older than him in the yard. From a glance, Baelon could tell Gaemon was surely taller than him now, most likely taller than Aemon as well (the tallest in their family), though there was a slight lankiness remaining to his form due to his youth. In a few years, when he truly filled out his frame, he would certainly be formidable.

That Gaemon was hale and healthy, none could doubt. He seemed to be thriving, his violet eyes glinting with the same mischief that had been present in his boyhood. There was that ever-present swagger to his manner as he took his time sauntering on the path towards the foot of the throne. His long hair, flowing past his shoulders and reaching almost the small of his back, was done in warrior’s-braids, suitable for flying long distances.

With him were dragon hatchlings. Three of them, to be exact. The one atop his head was black as midnight with blood-red, resembling Balerion, but unlike the Black Dread, he had scarlet wings, crests, horns and scarlet markings across his black scales that were similar in pattern to the silver markings upon Dreamfyre’s body. Another sat on his left shoulder, with dark jade-green scales and wings, but with bronze crests and eyes that were gleaming pools of molten bronze, so similar to Vermithor. A third coiled itself around his neck, with cream-coloured scales and wings, but with golden horns, spinal crests and wing bones. Its eyes were pools of molten gold. Why did he have hatchlings about him?

And his armour. Was that… Baelon had been the wielder of Dark Sister for more than a decade now, since he had been made a knight. He could recognise the dark swirls of Valyrian Steel from anywhere. Where had his brother found Dragonsteel?

Gaemon went to one knee, and Baelon could only watch stupefied as he addressed their father proudly in front of the entire court, “Your Grace, the quest you had sent me on these past two years has been a success. The three eggs stolen from House Targaryen by Braavos have been returned, and the Sealord has promised satisfactory wergild as recompense for their punitive actions, due to arrive in a fortnight. The Faceless Men are dead and all their disciples are nothing more than ashes in the wind!”

There were murmurs rising through the hall, and Father’s response shocked him further, “Rise, my son. You’ve done well. I take it that the three hatchlings with you came from those eggs?”

Gaemon rose and replied, “Yes, Father. The Braavosi had recently hatched them, and they were looking to raise them away from our notice until they became grown enough and formidable enough to challenge your authority. The Sealord himself had married a noblewoman from Volantis, one with Valyrian blood. Alas, he and his delusions are dead, and the new Sealord has proven to be more amenable to the Iron Throne’s demands.”

The hatchling coiled around his neck rose and sat about his right shoulder, blinking awake.

“Well done, my son. You have made me proud.”

An hearty applause errupted once the king said those words.

“Court is dismissed for the rest of the day. My family and I will spend the rest of the day welcoming back my son.”

Baelon’s thoughts roiled as the court made its way out of the throne hall. Did Father really do that? Did he send Gaemon, then a boy of thirteen, across the world to obliterate the most lethal assassination force in the world? Worse still, did he choose not to tell them? Years spent searching for someone he knew was on a mission for him. Mother had mourned and seemingly shut herself off from the rest of the world, and father did not even give her the relief of knowing that her lost son was still alive.

Only the king’s council, the kingsguard and the family present for court remained. Meaning Aemon, Jocelyn, Alyssa and he. Little Rhaenys had been sent away as well, much to her displeasure.

Relief flooded Baelon’s frayed nerves as all pretense of congeniality dropped from the king’s face, “Ser Lorence, have these hatchlings taken to the Dragonpit!” Ser Lorence raced to obey, taking the sleepy hatchlings from Gaemon and heading to the stables by the Red Keep, to hand them to the Dragonkeepers stationed there to care for Vermithor and Silverwing.

Father’s voice then thundered, “Now, insolent boy! You’ll tell me where you’ve been these past two years!”

There was no hint of pause on Gaemon’s face as he responded, both his gauntleted palms relaxed atop the dragonbone hilt of his sword, “As I declared before your court, busy obliterating the Braavosi assassins from the face of the earth. Once that was done, the house of Black and White was turned to ash beneath Balerion’s onslaught. I then gently convinced their Sealord to return the dragon’s eggs that were stolen by Rhaena Targaryen’s harlot and sold to them.”

If looks could kill, Gaemon would have been a pile of ash from the one Father gave him.

“Do you think you’ve achieved something, boy?”

“An organisation that had the ability to threaten our house has been crushed. Stolen dragons were turned to our house. The danger of a foreign dragonlord rising in the world has been averted. How can that be named anything other than an achievement?”

That same deep, grumbling roar sounded once again, followed by a short, distant scream that died down as quickly as it rose.

“No, you have not!” Father thundered once more, “All you’ve achieved is the illusion of a victory. Do you think that I would not have suppressed the Faceless Men if they could be ended?…”

Baelon’s eyes widened as Gaemon interrupted Father’s tirade, “I cannot speak to that. I can only speak to what you did do, however, and that was dismal. You sent your septon to negotiate with those thieves and cowered in fear when they threatened us.”

“Quiet!” Father tried to silence Gaemon, but his younger brother deemed it fit to raise his voice and speak over him, for the entire hall to hear.

“You are a dragonlord, the Dragon King over this wretched continent, **and yet you’ve lived in fear of the retaliation of pitiful assassins for decades, walking on egg-shells in your relations with Braavos. They robbed House Targaryen blind when Rhaena’s harlot sold our eggs to them, and have continued to do so since then. No more!”

“I said, QUIET!” Father’s voice boomed and echoed over the entire room. Gaemon finally quieted, though his bearing remained proud, his hands still at rest on his sword’s pommel. Alyssa clutched his hand tighter.

“You think because you ride the Black Dread, every enemy can be defeated. You have pride I see. A baseless pride sprang from your theft of the largest dragon alive with low cunning. Let me tell you, that pride of yours might have doomed us all.”

Gaemon let an airy snort escape him, before returning to address not only the king but all those in the throne room, his anger rising with evey statement, “Your fear is what is baseless. It is what has made your reign feckless, and our dynasty vulnerable. The nobility beneath you jostle for power and position at our expense, and you allow **it. A foreign entity has given itself the authority to keep dragon’s eggs, House Targaryen’s holiest gift, and you allowed it. The Dornish scum did not only retain their lands, but their indepedence as a power equal to us even after slaying a queen, after shooting Elaena’s dragon out of the sky! All because you allow it, due to your baseless fears!”

His brother’s deep voice faltered at the mention of Meraxes. Baelon knew his histories. Elaena Targaryen had been her first rider, bonded since her birth. After the Doom, wherein every other Targaryen dragonrider had perished due to their lack of belief in Daenys’ prophecy, and Daenys’ dragon Shrykos’ death two years later from old age, she and Balerion had been the only two dragons left in the world for about half a century, before his darling Vhagar had been born.

Father seemed more amused than angry at Gaemon’s cutting words, “It is good that you are only the fourth born son of the king, far from inheriting the Iron Throne or any fief for yourself. Any realms you would rule would be turned to nothing more than ruin, ash and death in short order.”

He took a breath and continued, “Were you not my son, I would have sentenced you to death for treason. You waged war without the authority of the Iron Throne, and you have broken the King’s Peace as a result. To add to that, you might have doomed us to a shadow war with an organisation that is famed for their subtlety and anonymity, sentencing us to ruin.

Gaemon had more to say, but the king would brook no further interruption.

“Ser Ryam, Ser Mertyns, take my son to his chambers. One of you shall stand guard outside the door, another will be with him inside his chambers. Ensure there is always eyes upon him, even as he bathes or uses the privy. He is not to leave, for any reason save my command,” he then turned to said son, “You are not to leave your chambers for any reason, until I grant you leave to do so, do you hear me boy?”

Gaemon looked as if he was about to defy that command, but upon seeing the two kingsguard upon his back, he relented, and only offered a nod in response. There was a pregnant silence in the great hall, only broken by the clinking of armour and the stomping of boots as they the three of them left through the great doors in the main hall.

Father descended the Iron Throne, going to take his place at the head of the small council table beneath it, a tired expression on his face. It was the first time that he looked his age, Baelon thought.

“Ser Joffrey, Lord Commander, gather all the knights and men-at-arms present in the Red Keep here by the next hour.”

“Including the retinues of the visiting lords, Your Grace?” Ser Gyles Morrigen, who had been Lord Commander of the Kingsguard for longer than Baelon had been alive, asked, “Aye. We are faced with a threat unlike any other, they’ll need to be briefed as well. Their lords or commanders may accompany them if they wish.”

Sers Gyles and Joffrey assented and left the hall to follow those orders.

“Jocelyn, Alyssa, court is at an end and you need your rest. You have my leave to go. Baelon, join us here if you will.”

After a rather filthy kiss, Alyssa followed Jocelyn through the king’s door, hands interlocked on their way to Maegor’s holdfast to see to their children. Baelon took his place next to Aemon, both as his deputy in the Mastery of Laws, and an advisor to the council at large.

No sooner had they left than the the great hall of the Red Keep was blown open once more, and a dragonkeeper walked in, armed and armoured in black.

“Your Grace! Your Grace!” he exclaimed breathlessly, “Balerion... Balerion has attacked Ser Lorence and two of my brothers.”

“How are they?”

”All three are dead, Your Grace,” he announced, downcast, “The three hatchlings flew to secure themselves in a saddle pack attached to Balerion’s saddle. Any who dares to approach him or the hatchlings indiscriminately burned or fed on.”

That was… queer. Dragons were rather solitary creatures, caring only for their own desires or that of their riders. Them protecting others, moreso hatchlings, was unusual, unless Gaemon ordered him to do so. The king hung his head in his hands.

“Leave him be. The hatchlings will fall hungry soon enough. Young dragons are ravenous creatures. They’ll have no choice than to abandon wherever they have been ensconced to look for food. Keep a watch on Balerion from a distance and seize the hatchlings when they do so. Is there anything left of the Ser Lorence or your two brothers?”

The Dragonkeeper only shook his head. A sigh left his father.

“Have Lord Roxton informed of his great-uncle’s death.”

Much chaos seemed to accompany his little brother, it seemed.

Chapter Text

“Perhaps we should put off the celebrations for the princess’ nameday, send the lords back to their homes” a rather horrified looking Barth suggested as the emergency meeting began.

“I don’t see why,” Aemon replied, “We’ve planned for these events for almost half-a-year.”

The Grand Maester, ever opinionated, chose to chime in, “The Faceless Men are not a threat we can withstand, not with so many unfamiliar faces in the Red Keep at the moment. They could already be right here, right now, waiting to strike when we least expect.”

Father spoke next, “Lord Manfryd, please have the fleet armed and ready. They should redouble their efforts in their patrols of the bay. The Braavosi have a fearsome fleet, we should assume that they would use them in war should they choose to retaliate.” Old Lord Manfryd nodded in assent.

“Grand Maester, send a raven to inform Uncle Daemon of the same. We might need the Velaryon Fleet to supplement our own in any such attack.”

“We should station more dragons at the keep, Father,” Aemon added his voice, “To enable a fast response should any seaward attack come from the East.”

Father assented, “That is wise. You and Baelon will move Caraxes and Vhagar to the Keep, in place of Silverwing and Balerion, who shall be herded to the Dragonpit.”

“Balerion, Father?” Baelon asked, “He’s just killed a knight of the Kingsguard and two Dragonkeepers for attempting to take the hatchlings away. He’s also refused to enter the Dragonpit since Gaemon claimed him.”

“He is only one dragon, and between us, we have three, not counting your mother and wife.”

As if the dragon was mocking him, his roar resounded, loud and deep and challenging to anyone who dared. The Red Keep was covered in shadow momentarily, before the crack of his leathern wings could be heard as he disappeared into the horizon, most likely to the cave in one of the lonely islets in Blackwater Bay that he had turned into his lair. Father did not seem to care for that, instead, turning to the rest of the council table and continuing the meeting, his manner much subdued.

“If any of you have any counsel on how we can thwart magical assassins that can disguise themselves as any man in the world, go ahead.”

Aemon put forth what seemed to be a radical idea, “What if Gaemon is telling the truth? What if the Faceless Men are indeed gone from the earth by his own efforts?”

“You would hedge our safety on the word of a boy?” Grand Maester Elysar asked, his tone rather mocking.

Aemon chose to ignore him and continued, “The dragons from those eggs have been returned, have they not?”

“We cannot be sure those dragons even are from those eggs. Prince Gaemon is a boy, and a restless one at that. It could be that he chose to gallivant around the world and return at his own leisure,” Lord Martin put forth.

“They are the same eggs,” Barth clarified, “Those three dragons resembled the description of the ones Princess Rhaena reported missing.”

“Might he have mayhaps known the look of those eggs and got similar ones hatched elsewhere?” Lord Manfryd asked.

“From where, my lord,” Aemon challenged, “The three wild dragons on Dragonstone are males from all we know. Regardless, if they any of them were to lay any eggs, they would be devoured by the Cannibal before long. And Dreamfyre, Meleys, Vhagar and Silverwing, the only female dragons in the world, roost here in King’s Landing, and any eggs laid by them are kept in the Dragonpit.”

“The prince is right,” Barth added, “There is no place to source dragon eggs without leave from the Iron Throne, save for the Iron Bank of Braavos.”

“Still, why are we to believe that the prince could actually single-handedly eviscerate the Faceless Men by himself. He is but a boy of fifteen,” Elysar countered.

It suddenly occurred to Aemon, all at once, “There has always been something… strange about my brother. I saw it first when he claimed Balerion. On that day, he had asked me to take him riding on Caraxes, in celebration of his tenth nameday. When one claims a dragon, a first flight is needed for the bond between dragon and rider to solidify. That was not the case between my brother and the Black Dread. As soon as the dragon lay eyes on Gaemon when we entered the Dragonpit, it was as if he recognised him already, as if they had already bonded. Balerion burned down the gates of his lair and marched on all fours to where Gaemon stood. There was no need for commands, no need for a first ride between the two.

“If you recall, we flew to Dragonstone that day. When we landed, Gaemon seemed… ill. Every few moments, he shuddered violently, and by the time night fell, he had a fever. Touching him felt like thrusting one’s hand in boiling oil, and no matter what the maester did, nothing seemed efficacious. Gaemon kept saying that he felt something was crawling under his skin.”

Aemon looked up from his recollection to see the rest of the council take him in pensively, at least all of them save for Barth. The Septon’s eyes were wide as saucers, visibly horrified. Huh, that was certainly curious.

“Why didn’t you say any of this?” Father asked.

“It was all resolved quickly, before a raven could reach you. He vanished in the middle of that night with Balerion. To where, he’s refused to say. All I know is that he was back by dawn; well, and hale and whole. Balerion seemed to have shaken off his sluggishness as well.”

“Forgive me, my prince, but how does this tale concern the matter at hand?” Elysar asked.

“Gaemon using sorcery to heal his dragon is a popular rumour at court. Balerion is known to have been slow, ageing and at the point of death before my brother claimed him. Alyssa chose not to claim him for this very reason. Yet now, he’s as fearsome as he was when the conqueror rode him.

“Queer things happened that day, my lords. There might be some shred of truth in these rumours of my brother’s knowledge of sorcery. His claims of putting an end to the Faceless Men should certainly not be dismissed without fair consideration. One would certainly need knowledge of magic to take on an order such as the Faceless Men. Braavos would have certainly not given him the eggs without sufficient cause to do so.”

The council seemed thoughtful.

“The prince is right. The last time we tried to negotiate with them, they were ready to counter the threat of our dragons with their assassins. The Sealord was ready to let his entire city burn to ensure those eggs remained in his possession. Something substantial must have changed,” Barth reasoned.

“We should still prepare,” Baelon was the one to chime in this time, “For the next fortnight at the very least. Gaemon asserted that they would send wergild to the Iron Throne in that time. We should be in high alert until then, screening every ship that docks here from Braavos and ensuring all of us are well guarded. Meanwhile, we should engage our agents in the Free Cities to confirm the truth of our brother’s war.”

“Lord Myrio, have your agents investigate Braavos, and the state of its Faceless Men,” Jaehaerys told his Master of Whisperers, Myrio Draz, the only remaining son of the old Pentoshi moneychanger that died decades ago after getting his head bashed in by a lose cobblestone.

The man, ever a miser with his words, only gave a nod in acknowledgement of that order.

“Apart from that, preparing our fleets, stationing more dragons at the Red Keep and enforcing the castle’s guard, we wait out the fortnight before deciding the next cause of action, as my son advised. If there is nothing more, my lords, this meeting ends here. It goes without saying, but, keep the contents of the discussion today to yourselves.”

Aemon and Baelon joined the lords in rising to go, but Father waved both of them and his hand, Barth, to remain seated.

“Aemon,” Father questioned, “You should have voiced your suspicions concerning Gaemon earlier.”

“Forgive me, Father. It did not truly occur to me until now. I’ve always thought that he healed due to his proximity to Balerion that night. The same way Grandfather became stronger and after Quicksilver was placed in his cradle.”

“Is there a way you can ascertain whether he indeed has knowledge of sorcery?” Father asked the three of them, his hands clasped and deep in thought, “Visenya was the last sorcerer of our house, and even her abilities were limited at best. If what you say about Gaemon is true, and if he has indeed ended a magical cult of assassins, it means his understanding of that perversion is much deeper than Visenya’s ever was.”

After a sigh, he continued, “Baelon, he was your squire before he left two years ago, was he not?”

“Aye, Father. Though, he did not particularly like the term squire.”

After his difficulty with Vaegon before he became a maester, Father had ensured Gaemon’s education at arms had began as early as possible. Their brother had chosen Baelon to be his tutor, and he had excelled in the practise as he grew.

“That matters not. Take him under your wing once more. Pry from him all the knowledge you can concerning these years he’s been away. How he completed this quest of his. How he even found Faceless Men before slaying them, as he claims he did.”

“Very well,” Baelon replied.

The great doors of the great hall opened and the men-at-arms Father had requested walked, led by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and Ser Joffrey.

“Baelon, you have leave to go. See to the dragons, as we discussed,” Baelon seemed hesistant to leave, looking from his father, to him, to the septon, before rising out of his seat and leaving through the king’s door. There was surely something in his brother’s mind that he wished to speak about. He would find out what once this entire song and dance was done.

As a dutiful heir should, Aemon shadowed his father as he held the meeting with all the guards in the Red Keep, uprising them of the situation regarding the Faceless Men. He could only admire how Father phrased the issue; owning the lie that it was he that sent their brother East on the mission to fight them, repeatedly praising Gaemon and the glory he brought to Westeros, and how pleased he was with his recalcitrant son. Were he of a lower breeding, he would have laughed. He knew his father, and he knew that he would be discontent with his last born son for a long while.

Next came urging them to be more vigilant of the behaviour of all those around them, encouraging them to put forth measures like secret phrases to identify their fellow men-at-arms and the leal lords they defended. Of course, it was all sold as precaution in case any of those assassins might have remained. To soothe their worries, Father once again assured them that were any to attack them, it would only be the last stragglers without the resources or talent that they would otherwise have. The House of Black and White was ash, Braavos was humbled and there was nothing to fear.

“Is there anything more?” Aemon asked, once the entire meeting was done, “I promised Rhaenys that I would take her flying today, and I wish to do so before night falls.”

“Be back in time for dinner. Alysanne will want to sup with all of us now that Gaemon has returned.”

After a perfunctory nod to both the king and the hand, Aemon left the room, leaving the two friends to their own discussions. With sure steps, he went to his chambers to see the two most important people to him, his wife and daughter.

An idea occurred to him. His two ladies had been inundated with welcoming and treating with the many, many guests arriving to the capital, and before that, queenly duties Mother had eschewed these past two years due to her grief and mourning over Gaemon’s disappearance. It would be good to spend at least one night on Dragonstone, the quiet castle on the sea that felt more like home than the court ever would. Father and Baelon would be enough to intervene against any potential Braavosi incursion, he was sure. Either Vhagar and Vermithor alone would be a more than a match for any fleet.

He dismissed those thoughts. Even if he believed in his younger brother’s arcane abilities, he could not leave King’s Landing at such a delicate time.

“Where are Jocelyn and Rhaenys,” he asked the maidservant he found cleaning their chambers.

“Oh, they’re having tea with other ladies in the gardens.”

Aemon was in said gardens before too long, indeed finding his wife, his bored-looking daughter, and most shocking of all, his sister Alyssa surrounded by a circle of ladies chatting away about this thing or the other. All of them, save for those in his family, stood to greet him once he was spotted with choruses of “my prince” and elegant curtsies. Alyssa gave him an eyeroll at their show of deference.

“My ladies,” Aemon greeted back, a charming smile upon his face, “May I steal my lovely wife and daughter from you? I had promised them a flight and I wish to take them before night falls.”

The ladies agreed, superficial as said agreement was.

“I’ll accompany you,” Alyssa said to them and moved to stand.

“No, no. There’s no need for that at all,” his smile grew brighter as he dismissed her, “You are forbidden from being near dragons until your time comes. Please, don’t let us keep you from the company of your lovely ladies.”

Ensuring Alyssa was well and truly trapped, the three of them walked away quickly, leaving her alone with the ladies. Served her right.

Jocelyn laughed when we were safe and away from the circle of ladies, “That was cruel of you, husband.” Aemon only laugh harder as they walked back into the castle.

“Are we truly going flying?” Rhaenys asked. There was nothing so appealing to Rhaenys half so much as dragons.

“Yes, sweetling” he replied, “It’s been a long time since we last did so, don’t you think?”

Rhaenys gave a vigorous nod at that suggestion.

“Don’t you wish to see Gaemon?” Jocelyn questioned.

“I have seen him. He is hale and healthy, and save for rousing Father’s ire, has faced no misfortune whatsoever,” he replied.

Gaemon and he had never truly been close beyond the relations expected of brothers. As a child, he much preferred Baelon’s company, and he could well understand that. Everyone fell prey to his brother’s natural charm. Jocelyn and Rhaenys were distant to him too. Thinking about it now, had he ever seen him speak with either of them? He could not recall. It did not truly matter, he supposed. Everyone had those they would generally be inclined to be close to. Gaemon had Saera and Viserra, and Baelon to a lesser extent, just he had his and Baelon’s family to count on, among the myriad of other lordlings and heirs he had befriended in the years he had been heir to Father’s throne.

Once he and his sweet ladies had changed into riding leathers and braided their hair, the three of them went to the stables, finding Baelon already there, securing Vhagar and Caraxes next to Vermithor and helping the Dragonkeepers tend to them. Rhaenys, with excitement brimming on her face, rushed to his dragon before he could stop her, though a Dragonkeeper was on hand halted her in her tracks. Not that he did feared the Blood Wyrm harming one of his own blood, but it was best to be cautious around as ill-tempered a dragon as he was.

The Dragonkeepers greeted him and helped him saddle Caraxes.

“Uncle Baelon!” Rhaenys shouted with glee once he spotted her favourite uncle. Baelon went on his knees and embraced her, “Are you coming with us?”

“Not today, sweetling,” he replied, “I’m staying with Aunt Alyssa and your cousins. I’ll see you at supper, however. Grandmother wants us to eat all together, in celebration of Uncle Gaemon’s return.”

“Come Rhaenys,” he called out once he had calmed his dragon enough and got him to flatten himself on his stomach, to enable their passengers to climb aboard easier. Rhaenys did not need to be told twice as he climbed upon the saddle speedily, settling herself and ensuring to secure the chains to her person. He yelled out commands for the dragon to fly, though Caraxes did not even move, thanks to Aemon forbidding him from doing so through their bond.

“Brother,” Aemon called out as Baelon went to leave the dragon yards, his hands absently stroking his dragon’s hide, “In the council meeting, you seemed as if there was something you wished to say.”

“Aye,” Baelon admitted, “I’ll tell you once we sup. Enjoy your flight and don’t take too long.”

Aemon climbed upon his dragon at his daughter’s visible impatience. With an excited trill, Caraxes, took off with much flourish, heading for the bay at a sedate pace.

“Faster! Faster!” Rhaenys demanded of him to Jocelyn’s merry laughter.

“As my queen commands,” Aemon responded, for what else could he do save for obliging her. Caraxes buffeted his huge wings and soon enough there were fierce winds whipping at their faces, drowning out their joyous laughter.

Instead of taking the route along the coast, Caraxes flew direct above the water, out towards the sea. Aemon enjoyed the shining surface of the water as it reflected the light of the setting sun. His dragon flew low, his wings and hind limbs occasionally touching the water for his ladies’ enjoyment. Caraxes enjoyed himself too, letting out screams of pleasure as they glided right above the water.

Their joy was cut shot when a deep thunderous grumbling answered one of Caraxes’ squeals, a few moments later. He had utterly forgotten about Balerion.

Since claiming him five years ago, Balerion had refused all attempts to be herded into the Dragonpit. According to Gaemon, the Dragonkeepers had been careless with his dragon; leaving him underfed and ungroomed for decades. His baby brother went as far as falsely accusing their father of deliberately trying to kill him. Nonetheless, he had taken Balerion’s care into his own hands since then, forbidding the Dragonkeepers or anyone else from so much as touching him.

When Gaemon was not sleeping, training or busy with his studies, he was with Balerion, flying with him or tending to him. In five short years, they had almost obliterated the entire population of whales, leviathans, dophins, krakens and sharks in Blackwater Bay. When not hunting in the sea, they would fly to some farm or the other in the Crownlands, and Balerion would finish an entire herd of cattle in a single sitting.

Unlike other dragons, who had preference for a certain type of meat above others, Balerion devoured all that could be devoured. Lady Fossaway had complained severally of the payouts the crown had to make to reimburse those farmers. Because of this, Gaemon turned to the wild countryside, where he would fly with Balerion to hunt elk, deer, boar, auroch and other game to feed his monster.

And when all that was done, he would return to this lonely, rocky, islet near The Spears that he had claimed for his own. With his own fires, he had forged himself a cavern in the tallest of the sharp, moutainous spires. All the birds and animals that made their home there had promptly fled. From here, he would sully forth to hunt by himself whenever Gaemon was not atop him.

From thence would he fly to the Red Keep whenever Gaemon needed him, though Aemon had never understood how Gaemon managed that. The connection between them was truly exceptional. Before every ride the four of them would take, Balerion was always present and ready for his rider on the expansive courtyard of the Red Keep. Gaemon would be the one waiting for them to fetch their own dragons from the Dragonpit.

“Can we see Balerion?” Rhaenys asked, with that pleading look on her face that Aemon had never been immune to.

“I don’t think that’s the best…” Jocelyn began.

“Aye,” Aemon replied before he even heard what Jocelyn was saying.

“Balerion is my brother’s dragon, my love, he would not hurt us,” Aemon tried to placate his glaring wife.

Caraxes made his landing, calling out to his progenitor, and he was answered by that same deep grumble from the mouth of the cavern he had made for himself. He helped his wife and daughter dismount, before following them, commanding Caraxes to keep close. Though he was not afraid of Balerion, there were bones strewn everywhere on this tiny isle, some of animals he could not even recognise, and that made him wary.

Balerion moved his massive head out of the cave, looking at them with suspicion on those blood-red eyes. His mouth was caked with blood and below him, Aemon could see why. A massive carcass of a kraken lay beneath him, bloody and burned unevenly. They watched as the dragon tore a massive chunk out of it.

“Don’t get any closer, Rhaenys,” he told his approaching daughter. It was not wise to disturb a dragon feeding itself.

Tiny shrieks sounded from the collasal dragon’s side, and once more, Aemon was stunned. Six little shapes flew to the carcass and began feeding on it.

“I thought Gaemon only had three dragons with him,” Jocelyn was the first to note. Indeed, where had Gaemon found the other three hatchlings? Rhaena only had three eggs stolen from her. The Dragonmont? No. All eggs hatched while their dragons roosted there were kept in the hatcheries, and the old ones laid from before the conquest secured in the undercellars of the castle.

The only answer was the wild dragons. There were three of them, last he had been there. Unlike what he thought and told the council, it is possible one of them turned out to be a female that hatched drakes of her own, dragons Gaemon got to before the Cannibal could feast on them.

He would need to inform Father of this. Aemon had suggested multiple times to have those dragons herded to the Dragonpit and kept there, like Caraxes and Meleys had been.

In his eyes, them living on Dragonstone served no purpose. They did nothing but devour the livestock of those that lived on the island, for which he had had to pay reimbursement for multiple times since he was made the island’s prince. Three more dragons would serve them well as their family continued to expand. Rhaenys would give him grandchildren soon enough, Baelon and Alyssa were having another babe already, and Gaemon was almost a man grown, to be married soon to either Saera or Viserra.

“They’re beautiful,” Rhaenys complimented.

She was right. Apart from the three they had seen in the throne room, there was a fourth hatchling with cobalt scales and wings, but with horns, claws, crests and belly-scales flashing in the evening sun like bright, beaten copper. A fifth was bright orange with seagreen wings, horns, crests and claws and the sixth had lovely magenta scales with yellow highlights, with horns, crests and wing bones that were yellow as well.

“Can I have that one?” Rhaenys asked, pointing to the magenta and yellow dragon, whose scales were flashing in the sun.

“Do you not want Dreamfyre?” Aemon asked. She had been promised Aunt Rhaena’s old dragon by the king for years already, to be claimed once she married, but his daughter, like all children, was not the most patient of people.

“I’m not allowed in the Dragonpit to even see her,” she complained.

“That might be true, but she is much, much bigger than this hatchling. Bigger than even Caraxes. Would it not be better to wait until you can claim her?” Jocelyn soothed.

“When will I be able to?”

“When you’re old enough to do so, my sweet.”

“But I’m almost ten years old. Uncle Gaemon claimed Balerion when he was my age,” she reasoned with them.

“Balerion chose your uncle as much as he claimed him. What he did was dangerous, and Grandfather was very displeased with him for doing so. It is why you can no longer enter the Dragonpit if you are not a dragonrider,” Aemon explained. Passengers had to wait for riders to fetch their mounts from the pit before they could mount alongside them.

“Wasn’t Ser Lorence meant to take the hatchlings to the Dragonpit?” Jocelyn asked.

“He was burned to death and eaten when he tried. Balerion is rather protective of these drakes.”

Jocelyn looked horrified, “Why?”

“Gaemon ordered him so, undoubtedly.”

“And he would keep to those orders, even in his absence?”

Aemon could only shrug his shoulders, “Gaemon and Balerion’s bond has always been… strange. Who can truly know the heart of a dragon?”

The next while went by as they were sat there watching Balerion let the hatchlings devour a portion of the kraken. Once they were all sated, they flew back into the darkness of the cavern, and the Black Dread feasted upon the rest of the carcass, leaving nothing but red stains once he was done. Rhaenys seemed fascinated with the whole affair, crooning at the tiny hatchlings at their apparent cuteness, and marveling at Balerion and his mothering of the little dragons.

The sun had begun to set when they landed on the dragonyards, the Dragonkeepers on hand to tend to Caraxes’ appetite which had definitely sparked as he watched Balerion eat. He had desired to eat with the Black Dread, but Aemon knew that was a death sentence. Fierce as he was, his Blood Wyrm was only a fifth the size of his brother’s dragon, and would certainly be torn apart should he have tried to disturb him.

“My prince, my princess, my lady,” a page called him once he was at the entrance of the Red Keep, “Her Grace summons you to the dining chambers for supper. It is to begin soon.”

“Very well, we will be there soon,” Jocelyn replied.

“Where is the king?” Aemon asked.

“In his solar, my prince.”

“I’ll join you soon,” he told Rhaenys and Jocelyn, before giving them both kisses, Rhaenys to her brow and Jocelyn to her lips.

Father had to know about the three other hatchlings Gaemon had hidden.

A sigh left him as he was announced into Father’s solar by Ser Joffrey. His baby brother had only been back a day, but his presence had already brought them more chaos than they ever needed.