Storm of the Stag - 336/337 (Patreon)

Chapter 336: The Dragon Trainer

“Lothor, bring out the armored dummies!” Gendry ordered. Training dragons had to be done one step at a time. Dragons were willful by nature; if they were not trained properly now, they would become far more troublesome later.

“As you command, Prince.”

Several squires set up dummies in the courtyard, stuffing old armor and helmets with torn clothes and padding, propping them upright with wooden poles, and giving them oak shields and weapons in their hands.

The black dragon Balerion beat the air with his black wings. The green dragon Vhagar bent his head back, ready to breathe fire. The white dragon Viserion roared, gray smoke rising from his pointed snout.

“Balerion! Dracarys!” Gendry spoke the word as if awakening the dragon’s muscle memory.

The black dragon Balerion spat a twisting stream of red-black flame. It struck one dummy at once and swallowed it whole, making the figure seem to swell within that scorching, domineering black-red fire. The flames started from the top, burning downward and consuming everything.

In an instant, the old cotton padding vanished in the flames, and the oak and steel shield broke apart with it. The steel armor, however, proved much more stubborn. The dragons’ flames still needed time to grow stronger.

“Be brave.” Gendry gestured for Daenerys to step forward. She wore a purple dress that set off the violet of her eyes.

“Vhagar, Viserion,” Daenerys called warmly, forgetting all her fear. “Dracarys!”

The green dragon and the white dragon shrieked, then spat out two different colors of flame. One was an orange-yellow storm threaded with green light, belonging to Vhagar. The other was a pale golden pillar of fire mixed with blood-red and orange, belonging to Viserion.

The two spears of flame struck their dummies, and the air filled with smoke, dust, and the smell of fire.

Balerion tried to hook his claws into the partially melted black steel armor and carry it off, but the suit was still too heavy for a dragon of his size.

Bang!

Balerion angrily lashed his long tail against the armor. The half-melted suit broke apart as the wooden pole snapped, and then the dragon soared high into the air.

“That’s Balerion for you,” Gendry praised. The black dragon had the keenest instincts for killing and hunting, the finest of the three.

A dragon’s attacks relied mainly on fire at range. Only in special circumstances would it use its other weapons, claws dark and hard as steel, teeth sharp as swords, and a tail like a long whip.

Everyone watched the dragons’ performance, Barristan and the others included. Though the dragons were still young, their Dragonfire already had considerable killing power. They were growing too quickly, and their flames were too strong.

Ser Barristan watched with mixed feelings. Dragons overturned the rules of war. There was no reasoning with them. In the Field of Fire, three great dragons had burned four thousand soldiers to death. That kind of casualty ratio was simply unnatural.

When the dragons finished their fire display, they flew back to Gendry and Daenerys. The young dragons beat their leathery wings, the membranes creaking with each flap, while their flames lit the courtyard.

“Well done, Balerion. Good lad.” Gendry stroked the black dragon’s red horn. Balerion roared, snorting hot breath.

The dragons stretched out like giant serpents. Their bodies were the size of foals, but their wingspans were far larger. First came the long-horned dragon head, then the long neck, then the rest of the body. A dragon’s neck and tail were especially striking.

Only after the flames had dimmed somewhat did Gendry walk into the center of the fire. In truth, he had already grasped some of the methods of fire magic, and with the Firekeeper’s Ring, he could draw in the flames. Still, he needed to check the exact strength of the Dragonfire.

Gendry glanced at the three ruined dummies. The old cloth padding and oak shields had been reduced to ash. Though parts of the armor had not melted, the flames had heated it red-hot, enough to roast a knight inside like meat in a tin. Once the dragons grew to the size of full-grown horses, melting brass and steel would be much easier.

Balerion followed in Gendry’s footsteps, his eyes glowing like blood-red lava.

“The dragonfire is still lacking a little heat,” Gendry said.

“They are still too young,” Qyburn added. “As dragons age, their defenses and the intensity of their flames continue to strengthen. Once they reach the age of Balerion and Vhagar, they can melt steel and stone.”

Yes, stone. Gendry thought for a moment. Stone fortresses were what dragons feared most. Never mind Dragonfire, even bombs would struggle to pierce those heavy layers of rock.

And Casterly Rock, unfortunately, was a massive stone.

“It is time for the knights and warhorses to enter, once the smoke and sulfur stench thin out a bit,” Gendry said. The courtyard of Dragonstone was still filled with that foul smell, enough to make breathing difficult. As the dragons grew larger, the fire and smoke they produced would only become thicker and more suffocating.

A little while later, Lothor and Robar appeared in black armor, while guard knights wearing studded vests and wool trousers led their warhorses over. This was the first meeting between dragons and mounted knights, and the experiment was rather exciting.

Just as Lothor and Robar were about to mount and enter the yard, the warhorses smelled the sulfur and stink rising from the courtyard below Dragonmont and began to tremble, refusing to go in at all. Once they saw the dragons’ shadows, they turned and fled, utterly ignoring the knights’ commands.

Balerion let out a mischievous roar, a sound enough to make a hundred lions tremble. Then the green dragon and the white dragon roared as well. Vhagar and Viserion followed, their voices rolling like thunder.

The warhorses were terrified out of their wits. They tore at the ground with their hooves and bolted in the opposite direction. The reserve knights, well trained, used nets and ropes before they finally brought the two runaway horses under control.

“Even small dragons are enough to frighten lions and tigers,” Qyburn sighed.

“A dragon appearing on the battlefield is a disaster for both knights and horses.” Ser Barristan looked at the poor warhorses as the knights led them back to the stables in a sorry state. In that brief moment, the horses had seemed to go mad.

Gendry looked at the noisy, lively crowd in the courtyard. Even a lower supernatural creature like a Direwolf was enough to drive warhorses wild, let alone dragons, the highest of their kind.

“Come here, good lad, Balerion.”

The dragon came to Gendry. Balerion, the proudest and fiercest of the black dragons, had been trained well by Gendry. He flew over obediently, his leathery wings stirring a faint breeze.

Gendry examined Balerion closely. The dragon landed on his arm, his scales like black jade, radiating heat as hot as sun-baked armor. Though Balerion looked about the size of a foal, a dragon’s wingspan was three times its body length. Once his wings spread open, he already looked imposing.

Because dragonbones were light and hard, and because a dragon’s body was mostly neck, tail, and wings, a dragon weighed less than an ordinary animal of the same size.

The dragons would need to grow at least four or five feet tall before they could carry him in flight. By then, they should be able to carry Daenerys.

“Eat.” Daenerys picked up a bowl of salted meat and tossed strips into the air. The dragons stretched out their long, serpentine necks and began snapping the pieces up midair.

Balerion also darted away from Gendry and quickly swallowed a piece of salted meat in the air.

“It is time to give the Lannisters a little surprise,” Gendry said, looking at Balerion. Once the dragons grew a little larger.

Casterly Rock was like a natural barrier, but other castles did not have such protection.

...

Chapter 337: The New Baratheon

“Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.”

The sea wind swept in, the gale snapping the golden banner until it seemed to come alive. Against the field of gold, the three-headed red dragon in one corner perfectly echoed the three dragons now before them.

The courtyard of Dragonstone Castle was filled with mingled smells: the sulfur and stench of dragonfire, the salty tang of the sea breeze. Fire and salt.

“Slow down, children.” Daenerys Targaryen, silver-haired and violet-eyed, tossed pieces of cooked meat into the air. The dragons immediately began fighting over them. The black dragon won the quickest and ate the most.

Their heads struck as fast as cobras. The winner roared in triumph, while the losers hissed in frustration.

“All right, Viserion, don’t fight with your brothers.” Daenerys immediately noticed the unfortunate white dragon, who could never beat the others to the food and always needed encouragement and comfort.

“A miracle!”

“The Dragonlord!”

The dragons seized everyone’s attention. This was a miracle restored to the world, and a strange pride rose in every heart. These were the dragons of Baratheon and Targaryen, proof that the two great houses had become one, and a sign that dragons would dance again.

Dragons were proud and highly intelligent. They formed a deep dependence on and trust in those who raised them, but Gendry could also clearly sense how willful they were.

Take the black dragon Balerion, for example. If Daenerys tried to train him, he would be terribly disobedient. He was violent and aggressive, and Gendry had only managed to raise him properly because he had trained him from a young age with food and the stick. Dragons also favored fierce warriors. They trusted those who raised them, those who possessed “Dragonblood,” those whose inner fire burned strong, as if they had found a beacon in the dark.

“Come here, good boy.” Gendry looked at Balerion, and Balerion curved his neck around again, beginning to nibble at his fingers.

Balerion’s teeth were as sharp as swords, yet they never broke Gendry’s skin. Man and dragon seemed to be playing together. Gendry held out his hand, and Balerion stretched his head forward to chase it.

Gendry played a game of chase with the black dragon. His speed was astonishing, like a streak of black storm, unusually nimble. The more Balerion chased, the angrier he became. He slowly began to roar, his tail swaying as well. The black dragon was the tallest, strongest, fiercest, and wildest of them all, with scales like midnight and eyes like hellfire.

Ser Barristan watched Gendry’s figure and could not help marveling at his incredible speed. He was strong, agile, and remarkably resilient. Even if one judged him purely by the path of a knight, Barristan had to admit that the storm stood upon the mountaintop.

“The bond between man and dragon is deeper than ordinary bonds.” Gendry looked at Balerion. This was a contract formed in some unseen place.

A young dragon could grow alongside its master, making that master strong and vigorous. Targaryens rarely fell ill. The once frail and sickly Aerys had nearly collapsed when he heard of his mother Rhaenys’s death, but after receiving the hatchling Quicksilver, his health quickly improved.

Daenerys had once told Gendry about her Dragon Dreams. In the dream, flames consumed her, and afterward she became stronger and sturdier, as if reborn.

“The ancient Valyrian Dragonlords used horns and binding spells to command dragons,” Daenerys Targaryen said regretfully. “But now all we have is a single word and a whip.”

“A whip can make a Dragon fly, but we still need to wait a little longer,” Gendry said, taking Daenerys’s hand. “Dragons and horses are nothing alike. A dragon’s instinct is to attack. We’ll have to study that when the time comes.”

Daenerys nodded. She longed to fly with a Dragon again, just as she had before.

“Valyrian binding spells and horns really are hard to find,” Gendry thought. “Could they only exist now in the ruins of Valyria? Even House Targaryen never mastered such things.” Secrets like these might have belonged only to the highest Dragonlord families.

Gendry now had the Firebinder’s Ring, which allowed him to command flame. If he could obtain the binding spells and the dragon horn, it might further improve his ability to control a Dragon.

“If I could fly while commanding a Dragon, and have the Pyromancer and the Dragon attack together, that would be the strongest Skill of man and dragon as one.” That was Gendry’s vision.

After the dragons finished eating the strips of meat, they were somewhat tired. They went straight into the courtyard, found places for themselves, curled up together, and basked in the sun. The dragons coiled around one another, their heads resting on their tails.

“This place must be very different from your homes, isn’t it?” Daenerys asked Dacey Mormont and Brienne of Tarth.

“Tarth is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,” Brienne said proudly. She was a simple girl. “There is no place in the world more beautiful than Tarth. It has hills and waterfalls, high mountain pastures and shadowed valleys.”

“But this place has dragons,” Daenerys said with a smile.

“Bear Island is very different from here as well, Princess,” Dacey said, then swept her gaze over the courtyard of Dragonstone Castle. “Bear Island is remote, but beautiful, and its surroundings are nothing like this. It is the harsh North, a place beyond what you can imagine. Gnarled old oaks, towering ancient pines, flowering hawthorn groves, gray stone covered in moss, and clear streams running through steep hills. The hall of House Mormont is built from massive logs and surrounded by an earthen rampart.”

“I would truly like to see those places,” Daenerys said, her expression filled with longing.

“You will have the chance. You will ride Dragons to survey the Seven Kingdoms, just as the Conqueror did in his day,” Dacey replied with certainty.

Gendry listened to them talk with a smile. Tarth and Bear Island were utterly different.

But then Dacey hesitantly asked Gendry for help.

“Prince,” Dacey said. “You may grant Ser Jorah a pardon, but I was wondering whether you could also persuade him. His father is old. At the very least, he should go see him and listen to his advice.”

“I’ll speak to him again,” Gendry said with a nod.

Gendry naturally understood Jorah’s knot of resentment. A man could fail, but he could never fail and slink away in disgrace.

Jorah still dreamed of returning home in wealth and glory, of holding his head high before Lynesse Hightower. Sending him hurriedly to the Night’s Watch now would leave a fire in Jorah’s heart with nowhere to go. Besides, the Great Bear was a man with desires, and he would not easily give them up.

“My mother, and the rest of us, haven’t seen this cousin in a very long time. I gave him the letters, but he refused to speak with me much,” Dacey said, somewhat dejected.

“Poor Ser,” Daenerys thought to herself.

“Jorah and that woman were a terrible match,” Gendry remarked.

“She should have found a Northern woman, someone who could wrestle with a Great Bear or a direwolf, instead of chasing her own desires and vanity by seeking out a Southern noble lady,” Dacey replied after a long silence.

“That lady was from House Hightower,” Daenerys said, piecing some of the answer together from the details.

Just as they were discussing Ser Jorah’s past, new information arrived.

“A letter from the Hand,” Anguy said. “From the Tower of the Hand in King's Landing.”

Gendry opened the letter. Its contents concerned the coronation ceremony to be held at the Dragonpit, along with certain details: how many guests were needed, how many performances there should be.

“A new surname.”

Gendry picked up his pen and wrote down his name: Gendry Targaryen Baratheon the Breaker. Such a thing was rare, but not unheard of. House Martell, for instance.

House Nymeros Martell. “Nymeros” meant “of the Bloodline of Nymeria,” proof of the union between maternal and paternal lines. In reality, it would be more common for a royal family name to be a long string of names.

The birth of a new house.