King's Landing

Dragonstone Castle, Dragonstone Island

22 AC

The Twenty-Fifth day of the Sixth Moon

“Prince Maegor?” From her nervous, high pitched voice, I knew it was one of the younger female servants.

“Yes, what is it?” I rose from my desk and walked over to open my door. With her diary blonde hair and soft brown eyes, it could be none other than Bella. She was one of the newer servants hired on the recommendations of Petyr; the bastard daughter of a Dragonstone whore and a household knight sworn to House Targaryen.

“Her Grace the Queen bid me to tell you that she’s waiting in the main courtyard for you. She says it’s time to depart for King’s Landing.”

“Very well. Inform my mother that I will be down there in a couple minutes.” She curtsied and I closed the door after her.

Already garbed in my dragonriding leathers, I had just come from an inspection of the mine. Diamond production had greatly expanded since Edwyn’s discovery and the production of dragonglass continued at a steady pace as well. The diamonds were shipped to Claw Isle aboard small fishing skiffs, their captains paid to remain utmostly discreet about their cargo. At Claw Isle, they would be processed by Myrish artisans (slave craftsmen that Lord Corren had purchased for that exact purpose), and turned into fine pieces of jewelry. These would await pickup by the Lady Vaelaena, who was now sailing to Pentos, Tyrosh, and Lys to sell the glittering diamond jewelry while keeping a tight lid on its origins.

Profits had soared greatly after diamonds were added to the mix, so much so that a formerly disused part of the Dragonstone treasury had to be cleaned out in order to store all the wealth that was flowing into the coffers. According to my mother, the last time that part of the treasury had been occupied was during the reign of Gaemon the Glorious, when he was able to exact tribute from Pentos, Tyrosh, and the local Blackwater Bay nobility like House Darklyn, Sunglass, and Moonton using Fyrestorm and the other four dragons at his command.

Grabbing my whip and leather riding gloves from where they lay on my table, I tucked a small scroll of parchment inside my black leather coat before locking the door and heading out. My riding boots impacting noisily against the stairs, I raced through the halls until I entered the main courtyard. Visenya was already in the process of mounting Vhagar, so I put on my gloves and clambered aboard Bloodfyre, who gave a happy growl as I mounted him. Reaching down, I affixed the saddle chains to my legs before turning around to make sure the small chest containing the sapphire necklace set was securely strapped to my saddle.

“Once we reach King's Landing, you are to land in the Aegonfort. I will join you when my meeting with your uncle has concluded.”

“Where will you be going then, Mother?” In the weeks prior, my mother gave me a crash course in dragonriding navigation. And as I suspected, it basically amounted to using landmarks like cities and bridges to determine one’s positioning while following roads and coastlines where available. Visenya had already explained to me yesterday the path we would follow, a rather simple route in my opinion. Fly west till Driftmark, then follow the coastline to Duskendale. From there, fly along the Duskendale road till King's Landing.

“The Stormlanders pitched a camp south of King’s Landing, by the Kingswood.” My mother paused for a moment. “I have one more thing to tell you before we leave." Visenya's expression grew serious and I tensed up. Uh oh, not good.

“There will be no fancy flying from you today. Your barrel rolls with Bloodfyre yesterday did not go unnoticed.” Damn it. I wanted to do a couple barrel rolls over King’s Landing.

With that, my mother spurred Vhagar forward with the lightest touch of her whip. The great bronze she-dragon flapped her wings, leaping into the air as she ascended. Higher and higher she flew, before my mother ordered her to change the angle and direction of her wings for horizontal flight. I gave Bloodfyre a light touch of the whip and my dragon began to flap his wings as well, before leaping into the air after Vhagar. A pat on the side and Bloodfyre switched to horizontal flight, flapping his wings with all his might as he followed Vhagar into the blue sky.

As we flew higher and further, Dragonstone shrank in size till it looked like a child’s toy castle. The virgin landscape of Crackclaw Point peered out from the fog, with its thick pine forests, dark caves, and desolate bogs. Fishing skiffs and merchant vessels traversed the Blackwater, riding the waves as if they were toy boats in a bathtub. Admiring the pristine, untouched landscape below me, the realization dawned upon me that Bloodfyre had grown drastically over the course of the last two years. He was but a hatchling two years ago. Now he’s almost a quarter Vhagar’s size. No wonder the bonding ritual was practised even after the Freehold officially banned it. Fast growing dragons must have upset the balance of power within the 40 Families.

As if in response to my thoughts, Bloodfyre let out a roar that pierced the silent skies, while winds whipped around me. I patted him on the head as we flew onward towards King's Landing. After about an hour of flying over the Blackwater, I observed the outlines of a large town ahead. It possessed curtain walls and a thriving port, for I counted the tall masts of at least a couple dozen ships docked in it's harbor. Though there was smoke rising from several chimneys, I noted that there wasn’t any sort of foul odor emanating from the town. The buildings within the walls were arranged in neat little rows, with proper streets that formed into a grid, only disrupted by the Dun Fort at the northeastern corner. A big castle, it had a large square keep in the center and big drum towers at each corner, connected by curtain walls both tall and somewhat thick. The port town of Duskendale, home to House Darklyn. And spared the horrors of being sacked thanks to my mother.

I glanced at my surroundings as we flew over the city. To the northeast, the silhouette of a castle rose out from the distance. There were walls and a central keep, though it was much too far for me to pick out the precise number of towers. Probably the castle of some wealthy minor lord or landed knight. A lord like Darrold Darklyn probably has quite a few of them under his command.

The castle's silhouette quickly faded from view, replaced by endless acres of fields and woods. Villages of wattle and daub sprouted from the ground hither and thither, usually near a stream, pond, or small river. I urged Bloodfyre into a light dive, and he obliged, gliding down towards the ground. A sharp tug on the reins leveled him out once we reached treetop altitude. There were dozens of peasants working in the fields, for it was the second year of summer. Fields of wheat, barley, oats; all ripe and ready for harvest. Smallfolk were busy harvesting their crops below, all by hand. Pity I know little of agriculture, else I could think of some innovative solutions to lift the labor off the wretched shoulders of these peasants.

As I soared above the masses, I spied a little boy no older than I looking up at me. The kid waved at me and I waved back at him. Swiftly we flew, Bloodfyre and I, following Vhagar and my mother as we sped across those golden fields. Ahead lay Stokeworth, another one of my mother’s victories during the Conquest. Curtain walls of stone surrounded a square keep of four drum towers. The roof however, was fashioned of wood tiling, a critical weakness that Visenya exploited during the Conquest. Lord Loras Stokeworth (the father of Lord Lucas Stokeworth, the current Lord of Stokeworth) surrendered for the sake of his wife and children, who were on the upper floors of the keep and trapped by falling inferno created by Vhagar’s dragonflames. They were rescued as soon as Lord Stokeworth surrendered, and mostly unharmed save for some burnt clothes and singed hairs.

I saw some Stokeworth men-at-arms manning the walls and the battlements of the central keep, but unlike the last time my mother had flown over the castle, they weren’t taking potshots at us with crossbows. Visenya certainly has a helluva lot of self control. If someone tried to take potshots at me with crossbows, their whole castle would be burning rubble and they’d be a small pile of ashes.

Stokeworth soon disappeared from view, as we travelled onwards towards King’s Landing. A large stone bridge spanning a decently big river appeared on the road, with an inn located on the southern bank. Some time passed before the shape of Castle Rosby appeared on the horizon, another castle of classic Andal design, though it was a little smaller than Castle Stokeworth. Villages of wattle and daub were interspersed among fields of crops and livestock, a few small streams and ponds dividing them.

After Rosby, it was another (rather boring) stretch of forests, fields, villages, keeps, holdfasts, ponds, and streams before the sprawling mass that was King's Landing appeared on the horizon. Half built stone walls greeted me, given they had only started work in 20 AC. The Dragon Gate however, had some armed men milling about on its battlements, indicating that it had been completed. There were no golden cloaks among them, for it would be decades before they were reorganized by a man who might not even be born. I glimpsed a handful of large warships bobbing on Bay, guarding the Blackwater estuary. Several dozen smaller boats and other large ships dotted the Bay, a symbol of King's Landing prosperity as Aegon's capital.

I held my breath as I entered the city limits, hoping for the legendary stench to be non-existent. My hopes were sadly, in vain. The Fourteen damned stench of King’s Landing; a foul, sickly smell made worse by the fact that we were right above Flea Bottom. I immediately pinched my nose and covered my mouth with the remaining fingers of my left hand in an attempt to keep out the smell. By now, I was sorely regretting my decision to not bring my black balaclava knowing that it would be a short, low altitude flight. Bloodfyre shook his head and growled, annoyed by the rotting stench as much as myself. Despite the horrid stench, I managed to catch a glimpse of the Sept of Remembrance; a large sept of stone and white marble named in memory of my late aunt Queen Rhaenys.

I pulled on the reins, adjusting Bloodfyre’s flight path to keep left of the sept. I peered down at the ground and sure enough, there were thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of people below. There were hundreds of faces staring up at Bloodfyre and myself, something I expected since this was the first time anyone (aside from the people of Dragonstone) had laid eyes upon Bloodfyre.

Vhagar continued on her journey, flying over the city as she headed south with my mother upon her back. I made a sharp right turn and headed for the Aegonfort, the massive, ugly fort of wood and earth that served as my father's castle. Amid the confusing sprawl of structures of which the Aegonfort was composed of, the imposing figure of a massive black dragon caught my eye. Balerion was even bigger than I had anticipated, his wingspan shadowing almost the entire courtyard. A direct comparison in the form of Quicksilver gave more perspective to the disparity in size; a tiny white snowflake standing beside a massive lump of coal. Holy shit, that is one big dragon. No wonder the Battle above the God’s Eye ended so quickly.

The gigantic black dragon, the last living creature that had seen the Freehold in its glory, turned its head towards Bloodfyre and myself. And then he roared, an earth-shaking sound that was probably heard all the way in Duskendale. Bloodfyre roared in return, but it was a faint echo compared to Balerion’s cry. As I circled the Aegonfort, looking for an empty spot to land, I spotted him exiting the great hall. Aegon fucking Targaryen, the worst father in the Seven Kingdoms.