Chapter Five (Patreon)

Aerea stared at her drakeling. It had been years since she’d seen him, yet some part of her still expected the same black-scaled infant from her blurred recollections, peering up at her with those slitted purple eyes.

Instead she was the one peering up at him. Not by much, but still. It was so not fair.

Then her drakeling smiled, white teeth against black scales, and all was forgiven.

“Aerea!” he declared, and stepped towards her. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Aerea admitted, embracing her little cousin. His scales, said to be tough as iron, felt smooth against her hands. “At least there’s something good from moving to this rock.”

“What do you mean?” Aenar asked.

Aerea sighed, remembering that despite his height Aenar was still just four years old. Barely more than a child. “There’s no court,” Aerea said. “No knights in armor, no ladies in silk, no intrigues to follow, no gossip to manage.”

“Then we’ll have to find our own!” Aenar declared.

“How?”

Aenar gestured towards the castle looming over them, its black stone unchanged by centuries of waves and sea wind. “We trade intrigues for mysteries,” he suggested. “If we can’t find gossip among the living, we find it from the dead. Our ancestors built this castle from fire, stone, and blood. Wanna find out how?”

Aerea stared at him. “You think we can?”

Aenar shrugged. “I think it’ll be fun to try.”

“Fine,” Aerea said after a moment’s thought. “But if there’s too many dusty manuscripts, I quit.”

“I promise nothing,” Aenar grinned. “So, tell me all the best places to hide on the island. Proper research like this needs a proper secret lair.”

Aerea grinned. Now he was talking.

*

Rhaena Targaryen smiled as she breathed Dragonstone’s air. After decades away, after suffering the indignities of marriage both true and false, she was finally home. The sulfur fumes brought back memories of her father, his kindly face as he tended personally to their scraped knees and childish proclamations. Dragonstone was a dragon’s home, and now it was hers.

“Princess.”

Rhaena turned. “Maester Vaelyn,” she greeted. “Please, have a seat.” There was little room at the top of the Sea Dragon Tower. It was a long and winding creation of fused black stone, made by Valyrian artists at the height of their magical power. A noble dragon, calmly surveying its vast domains to the west. They stood now in the tip of the dragon’s horn, a space large enough for a small room and a staircase leading down. Yet from these windows Rhaena could see the whole of Dragonstone, from the sulfuric fumes of the dragonmont and the flapping wings of wild dragons to the calm green-blue waters of Blackwater Bay. “How are the ravens?”

“They are well, your Highness,” Maester Vaelyn reported. “There have been some issues with one of the newer wild dragons, but the arrows deter it for now.” He paused. “Young Aenar has asked to handle the issue.”

Rhaena’s eye rose. “Has he.”

“He believes that the young dragon chases the ravens for entertainment,” Maester Vaelyn said. “I concur, as there is not enough meat on a raven to survive dragonflame. He proposes other means of entertaining the young wild dragons, as a manner of occupying them and teaching them that humans are not prey.”

“And what precisely does he propose?”

“He wishes to journey to the dragon’s lair once a sennight, and play with it. Accompanied by knights, in case of danger.”

Rhaena grimaced. She did not want to say yes. But Aenar was strong. Stronger than he had any right to be, in all honesty. Just yesterday Ser Jaeceryn Celtigar had reported that Aenar managed to beat him in an arm-wrestling match, though he still had much to learn in terms of skill. Then there was the fire. Aenar did not burn. Ever. He had shown her, not once but many times. A torch, the hearth, a blacksmith’s glowing furnace–none so much as scorched his scales. Much as she wanted to reject Aenar’s request, she had few reasons to.

“How are his lessons?” Rhaena asked, reaching for an excuse.

“They are coming along well,” Maester Vaelyn answered, and Rhaena’s heart sunk. “He knows the Houses of the Stormlands well, and has already learned the major Houses of the Crownlands. I suspect by the year’s end he will know the minor Houses as well, and we will be ready to move on to the next region.”

“What region do you propose?” Rhaena asked, more out of curiosity than a need to know.

“The Westerlands,” Maester Vaelyn said. “While the Riverlands are closer, their minor Houses change frequently, and your Highness’ court has a great deal more Westerlanders than any other region.”

Rhaena nodded. It was sound logic. “You may inform my nephew that his plan to play with the wild dragons is permitted,” Rhaena said, returning to the original topic. “He will take a half-dozen knights with him.”

Vaelyn nodded, quickly noting it down.

“What other issues are there?”

“There has been a dispute over naming rights,” Maester Vaelyn revealed. “You are familiar with the mild springs?”

Rhaena nodded. They were a simple set of hot springs, warm enough for comfort yet cool enough that even those who lacked dragonblood would not risk harm by immersion. One of the few such spots on Dragonstone.

“There are two villages located by the springs,” Maester Vaelyn said. “Both primarily work in offering so-called cures to wealthy merchants, and both desire to name themselves the Healing Springs.”

“Then let them be named East and West Healing Springs, or North and South Healing Springs, as the sun and stars direct,” Rhaena decided. “They may share the name, yet keep their distinctness. What else?”

*

Vorelkorth growled as he heard the metal-clad men approaching his lair. Their steel feet crunched the glass-pebbles, their scent clogged his nostrils. Yet there was something different this time. Something new.

Vorelkorth rose from his bed of treasures, legs carefully avoiding the latest addition (a buck’s skull) as he sniffed the air. The humans and steel made it difficult, but he could smell fire with them. Did they think to challenge him?

A face appeared in the pair’s entrance, scaled and round. Vorelkorth met it with a fearsome roar.

The face grinned. “Hi there! I’m Aenar. Wanna play?”

Vorelkorth stared at the face. He looked down at the body. The two-legged body. A scaled two-leg. Not a challenger? he asked.

“I’m not here to try and take your lair,” the scaled biped said. “I don’t think I could either, you’re very fierce.”

You understand me? Vorelkorth asked.

The scaled biped held up his hand and wiggled it. “Kinda? I’m learning to, but it’s hard. Right now it’s like . . . Like trying to tell where things are based on what you hear inside this lair.”

Ah. A lack of practice then. Vorelkorth knew that well. Mother-Vhagar had been able to hunt for miles just by listening to the sounds that reached her lair.

You’re young and learning, Vorelkorth said.

“I’m . . . small and getting better?” Aenar asked. “Small and learning!” He grinned. “Like you. Wanna learn stuff together?”

Vorelkorth hesitated. The boy was strange. He was loud. But he made something in Vorelkorth warm, something that had been missing since Mother-Vhagar kicked him from her lair.

Sure, Vorelkorth decided. He paused. So, what do we do now?

“I’m not sure,” Aenar said. “We could play tag if you want? Wrestle a bit? See who can breathe fire in the smallest area?”

Why small? Big fires are fun.

“Control,” Aenar said. “If you force the fire into a small area, it can get hotter. Maybe. I think. Besides, it’s a game.” Aenar shifted awkwardly. “Plus, if it’s too big the knights will come in and they don’t know I can breathe fire. They might get weird about it.”

Knights?

“The big guys outside with metal armor.”

Ah. Yes. They were already quite strange, even for two-legged standards. Well, Vorelkroth supposed he could indulge his new companion in a silly game. But only once. After this, they were going rabbit-hunting.

“Sure! Sounds like fun, I’ll hold the bucket and skin the rabbits. That way you can eat the meat and crunch the bones without getting the fur stuck in your teeth.”

Vorelkorth looked at his new companion and nodded. That did indeed sound like fun.