King's Landing, a bustling tavern.
After Daemon gradually restored order and the economy in King's Landing, the taverns that had either gone underground or gone bankrupt under Rhaenyra's "Ten Thousand Taxes" rule began to revive. With investments from numerous behind-the-scenes patrons, these taverns now attracted all sorts of people from the city. They served as both a place of leisure for the common folk and a gathering spot for those eager to seek opportunities in this city of power.
Thud.*
A silver-haired man barged into the tavern, clutching a bottle of wine: "Haha, this time I saw the entire dragon landing!" After saying this, he took a big swig of mead and slurred, "Who said I didn't dare? Pay up, come on, pay up!"
A dark-skinned sailor from the Summer Islands cursed under his breath as he fished out a handful of copper coins: "Damn it, Ulf, you lucky bastard. Why didn't Vermithor crush you to death?"
"Ha! My father was Baelon the Brave. Vermithor had to spare me out of respect for my old man." Ulf plopped down beside his old drinking buddies and casually tossed the coins he'd just won onto the counter.
The tavern owner, also silver-haired, shot his regular customer a glare before pulling out a bottle of mead that had clearly been aged for several years and slamming it onto Ulf's table.
"Wait a minute, the coins I just gave you could buy four or five bottles of fresh mead. How dare you—" Ulf slammed the table, ready to explode, but the owner smacked a slightly tattered piece of parchment onto his face.
"You owe me over twenty coppers already. Consider those coins payment for your debt."
"Uh…" Ulf was momentarily speechless. He had once been an ordinary soldier on Dragonstone, tasked with guarding the castle during the Dance of the Dragons. After the war ended, he received his final military pay and retired in style. Taking advantage of Daemon's efforts to rebuild the streets and houses in King's Landing, he settled down in the city.
Unfortunately, aside from fighting, drinking, and boasting, Ulf had no real skills to make a living. In just a few years, he had nearly squandered all his savings. Fortunately, he still had a bit of luck and a silver tongue, managing to scrape by by spinning tales.
As for his claim that he was the bastard son of Prince Baelon, most people just treated it as a joke. While his age and background made it unlikely for him to be one of those bald-headed pretenders in King's Landing who claimed to be Targaryen bastards (but were actually the offspring of the Valyrians brought by House Vaelerys), the influx of Valyrians settling in Westeros had made silver hair and purple eyes far less rare and noticeable among the common folk.
"Fine, fine," Ulf grumbled as he took the mead. He pulled out the cork and took a swig. "Seven hells, this is sour as hell."
"Alright, Ulf, tell us about the dragons," the dark-skinned sailor from the Summer Islands quickly interjected, raising his cup to defuse the tension. "Didn't you follow the King and Prince's procession the whole way? Tell us about it."
"Yeah, tell us!" The other patrons in the tavern chimed in.
Ulf, now in high spirits, jumped onto the table. The sailor didn't hesitate, pouring a large mug of strong ale from his own jug and handing it to Ulf, who downed it in one go.
"I won't talk about Vermithor—you all saw it. By the Seven, when it flew over King's Landing, the sky turned dark. Let me tell you about the dragons His Grace brought to the palace outside the city." Ulf proudly began to describe the dragons he claimed were his grandfather's. When he mentioned the Vaelarys Black Keep, even this drunkard couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy.
The palace had been constructed quickly with the help of dragons. Its tall black walls protected the magnificent structure, leaving the common folk to only gaze from afar and imagine the opulence within.
"This time, I'll tell you about the two new dragons. Listen up—that black dragon with the beautiful roar? I asked my friends in the Gold Cloaks, and they told me its name is Starsong. By the Seven, I can't believe it's only ten years old."
"How is that possible?"
An older King's Landing resident immediately stood up: "How can that young dragon only be ten?" He had also witnessed the King's procession entering the city and had seen the five dragons flying over the capital.
"I've seen King Aegon—" Before he could finish, his drinking companion quickly raised his cup: "To King Jacaerys I, the People's Friend!"
The entire tavern raised their cups in unison. The companion then quietly tugged at the older man's sleeve: "You should call him Aegon the Usurper. The one on the Iron Throne now is King Aegon."
After a round of drinks, the crowd turned their attention back to Ulf and the older man. They knew the older man's words were out of line, but it had been nearly seven years since the Dance of the Dragons.
Though many things were no longer as sensitive as they once were, it was still good to be cautious.
"That golden dragon of Aegon the Usurper, what was it called again?"
"Sunfyre," a sullen man replied flatly. Unlike the others, this man wore rough leather clothing, his hands large and calloused, clearly not an ordinary citizen.
"Right, Sunfyre. By the Seven, I swear to the Father, that black dragon is almost as big as Sunfyre now."
"Impossible, you must have seen wrong."
"How is it impossible? I saw it with my own eyes."
Ignoring the argument between the older citizen and the other drinkers, Ulf happily accepted a cup of sour wine offered by a drinking buddy and downed it in one gulp. "Boss, your sour wine really hits the spot. Honestly, how much vinegar do you mix in?"
"Shut up and get on with the story."
"Oh right, and the Queen's dragon. Seven hells, it's so ugly." Ulf exaggeratedly widened his eyes with his fingers. "That dragon's eyes are bigger than—"
He looked around for a reference and finally settled on his own head: "Bigger than my head. Its head looks like an eel, or a toad, but definitely not like a dragon."
"Ulf, if the Silver Dragon folks hear you, you're in deep trouble," a chubby merchant said with a laugh. "They're very particular about the appearance of their princess's dragon."
"Heh, as long as none of you sell me out, they won't find me. That dragon isn't small either. I watched it land at the palace outside the city, and let me tell you, when it landed, a bunch of octopus tentacles suddenly fell off its body. Scared the hell out of us."
Ulf lowered his voice mysteriously: "I don't think that thing even counts as a dragon. It doesn't even have horns—"
"Ulf," the owner interrupted sharply. "Are you trying to get my place shut down? If the Gold Cloaks raid my tavern, I'll kill you first."
"Don't get so worked up," Ulf said with a cheeky grin, raising his bottle. "I'll stop talking, alright?"
Meanwhile, in a villa beneath the Dragonpit.
A young man with silver hair and purple eyes hurried into the villa's basement.
Several others with similar features sat around a long table in the basement, their faces covered with sketches of the dragons that had landed in King's Landing that day.
"Everyone, we still have a chance," the young man said as he laid out a new stack of drawings. "The boy King on the Iron Throne has ordered the dragons from Dragonstone to be moved to the Dragonpit in King's Landing for his descendants to use."
"R'hllor above, I can't believe he doesn't see the threat from the Vaelarys ."
"Shut up," a man with a notoriously bad temper snapped at the speaker. "You think you're the only one who can see it? Even if they want to curb the Vaelarys, they'll do it from within their own family, not by relying on outsiders like us."
"Then what's the point of us being in this filthy place?" a younger man said dejectedly. "Ben, Hoegon, they're dead. The Rogare bastards are hunting us more eagerly than they hunt spies. If we can't get dragons, we might as well go back to Volantis."
"He's an idiot, and so are you," the leader said coldly. "The deaths of those three weren't in vain. At the very least, they taught us a lesson. Everyone, time is on our side. Our goal is to restore our family's greatness. Whether it happens in our generation or not doesn't matter. Our task is to record the appearance and temperament of every dragon, learn how to raise them, tame them, and hatch them."
He smiled faintly.
"Wait. Our opportunity will come."