Crackclaw Point ― Bay of Crabs…
Vaelor flew across the sky over a mountainous plateau in Crackclaw Point, overlooked Brownhollow, and circled the Bay of Crabs. The Swiftrunner raised its snout to sniff the air, hissing as the dragon began descending. His wings flap before keeping them extended for a stable glide. Aeonar retained a firm grip on the saddle's harness as both dragon and rider flew closer to the ground as Vaelor came in for a landing. The Young Dragon suspected that this was the spot on the map, confirmed by the notion Vaelor had picked up a scent.
"*Grrrrrrr!*"
"Lyka sir, Valor. (Easy now, Vaelor.)" Aeonar dismounted.
Vaelor growled and stretched his wings. The dragon shook his head and surveyed the area. He continued sniffing the air, certain the scent carried by the wind originated from this exact location. Having a heightened sense of smell, a healthy dragon could smell certain creatures from miles away. But for some reason, the Swiftrunner was on edge about his surroundings. Senses are on high alert. Whatever it was he was detected, it made Vaelor feel uneasy.
"*Hiiiiiissss!*"
"Aōle lykēdan. (Be calm.)" Aeonar again commanded. He unveiled the map detailing the marked trajectory and flight patterns. The prince was sure they were in the right spot. You were elusive since my grandfather died. You gave my agents the slip for a while now, but you were bound to get caught eventually no matter where you went. "Now… let's go on a hunt, shall we?"
As Aeonar trod the sandy shores of the Bay of Crabs, Vaelor followed closely behind his rider. Turning his head left, then slowly to the right, the Swiftrunner knew they weren't alone. There was something here, and it was a big one. With each step, the dragon's spines along his neck and back stood up in a cautious display.
"*Ruuuuua!*"
"Gimin sko, Valor. Ziry kesīr mirriot. (I know, Vaelor. She's here somewhere.)" She knows she's not alone. Aeonar then felt himself trip over something in the sandy dunes. Looking down, he noticed his left foot was standing on the edge of a large footprint. Kneeling to the ground, the prince traced his fingers across the sand. His eyes examined the size of the footprint as well. "330 feet… she grew a bit. But it'll likely be her last one." Aeonar's nose then detected a faint, yet pungent smell nearby. Quickly approaching the source, he grasped a big pile of sand in his hand and brought it up to his nose. Smelling the sandy grain, Aeonar's face scrunched in disgust. "Eugh!" he gagged. "Yeah. These are scent markings, alright." According to the old texts, dragons in Old Valyria would mark their territory with these scents to keep people and other dragons away. Seven hells, dragons had few, if any, rivals at all. The only thing they could fear would be a larger dragon. But Vhagar was hatched on Dragonstone one-hundred seventy-eight years ago. Only Balerion himself was the last dragon from Old Valyria. It is possible, though, that memories could be genetically passed down from one generation to the next. Aeonar then looked up at Vaelor who stared down at him. Well, dragons are smart enough to figure out another one's age, sex, and size and, if necessary, to track them down based on these scent markings. I wonder…
"*Rooooooo.*"
"Ykynan kesir, Valor. (Smell this, Vaelor.)"
Vaelor leaned down, bringing his snout close to Aeonar's hand. He sniffed once, twice… but then the Swiftrunner quickly drew his head back, snorting before shaking his head. "*Gwuaaarr!*" he vocalized. Vaelor instinctively confirmed the scent marks belonged to an older, much larger dragon bigger than himself. A female!
"Kōttan ao rhēdan zirȳla? (Can you find her?)"
"*Grrrrrr!*" Vaelor growled and moved his front feet forward, then the next. His crimson-slitted eyes were particularly keen; able to maintain his focus on a moving target and had no trouble keeping a rival dragon within his line of sight. The Swiftrunner's sense of smell could detect prey from miles away but could also locate another dragon by its scent marks. Aeonar followed close behind, senses on high alert as well. Even though Vhagar was the ultimate prize, she was still the oldest and largest of all known living dragons. If they were to proceed into her territory, they'd have to be careful. Vaelor again tracked his target, nostrils flaring with each exhalation, but kept his eyes peeled for potential ambushes.
"*UWAAAAAAARRR!*"
Vaelor stiffened, sniffing the air in all directions as his spines curved backward. He heard the chilling roar loud and clear. It was powerful enough to shake the very foundation of Storm's End itself. "*Grrrrrrr!*" the dragon snarled baring his teeth. As the Swiftrunner rears himself up on his hind legs, he feels the ground begin to vibrate beneath his feet. The sound can be heard from miles away. "*Raaaaarrr!*"
Aeonar felt it too. This tell-tale sign says, there's something big and it's nearby. So… you finally decided to show yourself after all these years. "Adhirikydho Valor. Zirȳla nȳmagon. (Vaelor, quickly. Call out to her.)" he commanded.
"*Uwaaa! Reeee! Raaaaaarh!*" Vaelor howled in three consecutive calls.
Silence, at first. But then…
"*Uwaaa! Wooooo! RAAAAAAARH!*"
Vaelor tilted his head as the dragon responded to his call. As the thundering footsteps grew closer and closer, the Swiftrunner raised his head upwards to see the older dragon finally coming into view.
Vhagar, the Queen of All Dragons and the last remaining Targaryen dragon from the days of Aegon's Conquest, towered over both Vaelor and Aeonar. She was twice the Swiftrunner's size. No living dragon could match her for size or ferocity. Her scales were bronze, with greenish-blue highlights, and had green eyes. The hardened survivor of a hundred battles, Vhagar fought in the War of Conquest, the Faith Militant uprising, as well as the First and Fourth Dornish Wars. As evidenced by her advanced age, her wing membranes were tattered, her scales were overgrown with each other, and her skin was wrinkled, scarred, and sagging under both her throat and stomach. However, Vhagar looked annoyed at being disturbed.
Aeonar stood in awe at the wonder of Vhagar's majesty. "Ílon… Ílon arlī rhēdan, Vagar. (We… We meet again, Vhagar.)" He spoke.
Vaelor, his eyes still honed on Vhagar, turns his body sideways in a defensive posture to demonstrate his size. "*Hiiiiissss!*" The spines along his neck and back were flattened, his tail raised and slammed to the ground.
"*Hrrrrrr!*" Vhagar growled.
They might be intelligent beasts, but they're still animals. "Valor. Daor. (Vaelor. No.)" Aeonar commanded cautiously. "Ȳdraion idakōs zirȳla. Ivestretan zirȳla īlonnūmāzmazirȳla ōdrikilza.(Don't attack her. Tell her we mean her no harm.)"
Vaelor didn't take his eyes off Vhagar. Giving a low grumbling growl, the Swiftrunner steadily raised his head. "*Pnnnnnnnnn!* *Hmmmmm!* *Mmmmm!" Puffing his throat, the young dragon submissively shows his throat colors to his elder kin to prove he was not threatening her.
Vhagar eyed the small dragon in front of her. Her nostrils flared, but once she saw the Swiftrunner acting more submissively, the elder dragon vocalized a small growl. Before long, Vhagar redirected her gaze toward Aeonar.
"Nyke kostilusrūnas ao. (You probably don't remember me.)" Aeonar communicated, raising his right hand. Reaching into his pocket with his left, the prince pulled out an old Valyrian gold medallion. "Yn rūnas gaomagon ao kesys, ȳdra Vagar issa? (But you do remember this, don't you Vhagar?)"
Vhagar snarled as the medallion bounced the sunlight off its surface. Slowly, the Queen of All Dragons leaned down to examine the relic closely. The shiny metal's coating had deteriorated with time, but the insignia of the Valyrian Freehold's pantheon remained. The elder dragon blinked, familiarizing herself with the relic. Soon, Vhagar recalled that there was only one individual from her past who possessed such a medallion.
ooOoo
Flashback: 16 years ago (100 AC)…
"She was named after one of Old Valyria's gods, my child. Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar were instrumental to the conquest, my child," Baelon observed. The medallion around his neck jingled. "The Field of Fire was perhaps the most decisive battle of Aegon's conquest, and the only time Aegon and his sister-wives Rhaenys and Visenya took all three of their dragons into battle at the same time."
Vhagar growled at the mention.
"The combined forces of the Westerlands and the Reach were defeated there. By that point, the Seven Kingdoms got the idea that if they bent the knee quickly to House Targaryen and their dragons, then they won't kill you. That's exactly what Torrhen Stark, the King in the North, did when he marched his army south. Visenya and Vhagar easily took the Vale when they flew to the top of the Giant's Lance. Anyone who faced her failed or died, but many chose not to face Vhagar at all. As dragons get older, their fires grow even hotter," Baelon turned to his young grandson. "You see, child, I claimed Vhagar as soon as I earned my knighthood. She's been at my side for 27 years." He turned back to Vhagar. "But she's earned a moment's respite from centuries of battle. Now she gets to enjoy her old life in relative peace and comfort, don't you girl?" He massaged the dragon's snout.
Vhagar vocalized a comforting growl at Baelon's touch. Balerion and Meraxes were gone, and she was the only dragon from that era to remain. She was lonely, but her rider made sure that she wasn't sad for long.
"Konir sȳz riña. (Good girl.)"
ooOoo
Vhagar's slit eyes dilated with reminiscence. It took her a while, but the Queen of All Dragons finally recognized that medallion as having previously belonged to her last rider, Prince Baelon Targaryen. She felt like she was seeing Baelon again, but the child looked almost like him. The elder dragon grumbled a deep growl again, her teeth bared. Vhagar then recalled the year before Baelon died that a small child was at his side, accompanied by a smaller dragonling. She recalled how the little one would quickly close the gap whenever flying and soared through her conflagration unscathed, screeching and chirping loudly. If that dragonling was indeed the same beast that stood before her now, then that also means… Vhagar slowly began to settle down.
So, she does remember me. "Rytsas arlī. (Hello again.)" Aeonar said calmly. "Ziry iksos nyke. Aeónar Targārien. Dārilaros Baelon se Nēdenka sȳztrēsy. (It's me. Aeonar Targaryen. Prince Baelon the Brave's grandson.)" He glanced at his dragon. "Ūbriltan Valor rōvyktys ao mōrī ūndegīon zirȳla. (Vaelor's grown larger when you last saw him.)"
"*Grrrraaa!*" Vaelor growled in acknowledgment.
Vhagar turned her head towards Vaelor, the Swiftrunner. She felt she had encountered this little whelp somewhere before, but now it all made sense. The Queen of All Dragons recognized how much bigger Vaelor was growing… and how much he closely resembled Balerion the Black Dread himself. He was the dragonling that followed Aeonar wherever he went, as did she with Baelon. "*Oooooorr!*" Vhagar creeps closer until she is inches from Aeonar.
"*Raaaaaarh!*" Vaelor roared as he instinctively moved between Vhagar and Aeonar to protect his rider.
"Lyka, Valor. Lyka. Aōle lykemās. (Easy, Vaelor. Easy. Calm yourself.)" Aeonar calmly commanded. Removing one of his clawed gauntlets, the prince slowly extends his right hand toward Vhagar, who lowers her head and allows the Young Dragon to touch her snout to soothe her temperament. You've been isolating yourself for years to cope with the pain of loss. Of grief. You felt very lonely when my grandfather died. I know how you feel, old girl. I too lost someone especially important to me four years ago and it's never stopped hurting. Someone I cherished more than life itself. But there are lessons through pain. Fate can hurt us as many times as it wants, but we'll only come back stronger from it. "Vȳs ajorrāelza Vagar arlī jaelāt. Kostos beldan īlva? (The world needs you once more, Vhagar. Can you help us?)"
Vhagar growled with a groan, turning her head away. "*Ouuwrrrrr…!*" Pondering. Deep in thought. She was old, 178 years. She was tired. The Queen of All Dragons had been through enough hardship in her lifetime. All dragonriders who claimed her as their own were long gone as time had taken them away from her. Queen Visenya, Prince Baelon… Both times Vhagar was used as a weapon of war, but her second rider showed her more genuine care and attention when there were no battles left to fight. The memory of Baelon collapsing on the beach along the Blackwater Rush still haunted her. No matter how desperate her attempts to wake him up were, Vhagar had already sensed that Baelon died before her very eyes fifteen years ago.
"*Raaaaaa!*" Vaelor vocalized in quick-paced growls. "*Reeee, ooooo, grrrrr, raaaah!*"
Vhagar again redirected her sights toward Aeonar and Vaelor. It's been so long since any Targaryen requested her help for anything. If anything, she's only been used as a weapon of mass destruction most of her life. What were his intentions? Both Vhagar and Aeonar continued to lock eyes, their gaze digging deep into each other's souls. Studying, unflinching. The Queen of All Dragons snarled while Vaelor watched anxiously.
A decision was about to be made that would soon be the foundation for what is to come.
Driftmark ― High Tide…
"Oh, I could go on for days, but the splendors of Braavos are more extravagant than any place you've seen, my lady," bragged Lysadhor Phassatis. As the son of the Sealord of Braavos, he was next in line to rule the wealthiest and likely the most powerful city-state in Essos. However, the lad was pompous, snobbish, and arrogant. "Wench! Another cup!" he demanded, snapping his fingers.
Laena, now sixteen years old, rolled her eyes. Four years had passed, and she had grown into a tall, slender, and beautiful young woman. But Laena was not having a good day. Why did her father arrange her betrothal to such a wastrel and a fool, squandering his family's wealth and power? If anything, she would rather fly a dragon as her brother did with Seasmoke.
Laenor cringed, as did his lover Joffrey. Even they knew it was a mistake to wed Laena to Lysadhor.
Corlys, however, lacking a graceful means to rid himself of the embarrassment yet unwilling to proceed with the marriage, had repeatedly postponed the wedding. Rhaenys, meanwhile, remained mostly expressionless. It was clear the Queen Who Never Was did not approve of the match the Sea Snake made for their daughter. And who was this insolent brat barking orders to her family's servants? How dare he act like he owns the place.
"Now," Lysadhor gulped down his wine, "how soon can preparations be made for our wedding? I've been very patient, Lord Corlys, but I'm at my wit's end. Do you want Braavosi support or not?"
"You'll get married when we say you'll get married, boy," Vaemond snapped. "So you'd best mind your tongue if you're going to squatter in our proud home."
"A threat? Well, I could inform my father of your insolence, ser," the youth arrogantly replied.
"Enough!" Corlys barked. I need to buy some time. "While I do acknowledge my brother occasionally forgets himself, I advise you to restrain yourself from any further acts that might jeopardize the arrangement."
"Lord Corlys, at this point I'm through with all this waiting. You offered me your daughter's hand, and I will have it one day or another."
"I'm not a prize to be bartered with," Laena protested.
"Laena!" Corlys barked again.
Lysadhor waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, but once our business is concluded here, I'm afraid you won't have a say in the matter," he said pompously. "You will be my wife, you will leave this pile of rock behind, and you will take your place at my side in Braavos giving me heirs until I'm satisfied."
"How dare you speak to my sister as if she's a broodmare," Laenor warned.
"Lord Corlys, I'm afraid your heir is speaking out of turn. Please do kindly put him in his place or―"
"Or you'll what?" a voice called.
Corlys, Vaemond, Rhaenys, Laenor, and Laena turned to see who it was that arrived at Driftmark uninvited but also talk back to the Braavosi Sealord's son. But to their surprise, they saw it was Prince Daemon Targaryen who had entered the courtyard with Caraxes slithering his way over menacingly. Lysadhor looked up at Caraxes; he had heard tales of the Blood Wyrm's formidable, fearsome, and experienced ferocity. Stories of the dragon's role in the War for the Stepstones were well-known in the Free Cities.
"Who do you think you are talking to me like that, knave?" Lysadhor dared.
"*REEEEEE!*" Caraxes screeched menacingly, causing the youth to stumble back.
"I'd be careful with what you say next," Laenor warned. "His name is Daemon, a prince of the Targaryen dynasty and His Grace King Viserys's brother."
"The Rogue Prince. I see… So, what business do you have here, Daemon Targaryen? As you can see, we're right in the middle of discussing some important business."
"Business, you say?" Daemon mocked. "Looks more like demanding." He turned to Corlys and Rhaenys. "Good to see you again, Lord Corlys. And to you as well, cousin."
"Daemon, you have me at a disadvantage. We weren't told you would be coming," Corlys admitted.
"I've been going back and forth between King's Landing and Dragonstone these past few days. But I'm here to tell you that you're making a big mistake in choosing a suitor like this boy for your daughter."
"How dare you!" Lysadhor said angrily. "I'll have you know that―"
"That you've squandered your house's wealth and abused your power, how that same spoiled behavior will drive Driftmark into the sea the way you're doing yours?" Daemon raised an eyebrow.
Corlys, Rhaenys, and Vaemond shifted their gaze toward the Braavosi youth. It was clear that someone had concealed an important detail from them. Being the wealthiest house in the Seven Kingdoms, surpassing House Lannister of Casterly Rock, Corlys, armed with this new revelation, suspected that if what Daemon said were true, then Lysadhor would squander Driftmark's wealth and drive his family to ruin if the betrothal were to go through.
"Lies! Slander! All of it!"
"Is it now?" Daemon continued mocking. The Rogue Prince was baiting him the way he planned. "Then perhaps we should wait until he arrives?"
"Who's he?!"
"*UWAAAAAAARRR!*"
All parties, except Daemon, heard the echo of a loud, thunderous roar across the Driftmark skies. Seasmoke, having rested in the courtyard, instinctively raised his head at the call. The young silver dragon hissed and reared his head back. He knew a bigger, stronger dragon was approaching. Everyone looked up at the clouds anxiously. Before long, Vhagar swooped down from above and flew past High Tide. When Corlys and Vaemond turned, Vaelor followed close behind the Queen of All Dragons at astonishing speeds as Vhagar circled. Rhaenys, however, was the only one watching. She had not expected the dragon once ridden by her uncle to ever return one day.
Leana, meanwhile, felt excitement swelling up inside her. So beautiful! Majestic! Incredible! Her eyes never left Vhagar as the elder dragon made her descent with a heavy thud. Vaelor flew past her and landed on the opposite side of the courtyard between Seasmoke and Caraxes.
Aeonar, having ridden atop Vaelor, calmly dismounted. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said.
Four?! There's more of them now?! "Who… Who are you?!" Lysadhor demanded, a sense of dread gripping him tighter.
Laena raised an eyebrow. "You don't pay attention, do you?" she mentioned.
"They call him 'the Young Dragon,'" Laenor mentioned.
The… the Young Dragon? N-no, it-it can't be…! Lysadhor knew who he was now. From Braavos, he heard tales of systematic devastation occurring in Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh. Thousands of high-ranking magister lords were quietly assassinated by their servants under the cover of darkness and city-states burned almost at the same time, drastically reducing the Triarchy's economic and military power to a severely weakened condition in one fell swoop… "You… You're Aeonar Targaryen? The Young Dragon, Heir to the Flames?"
"Well nephew, it seems you have quite a reputation overseas," Daemon mocked.
Aeonar rolled his eyes. I'm thrilled, uncle. "Names are names. Who I am is not important. But rather your intentions toward House Velaryon, an ancestral ally of my house," he looked down at him. "Seems you weren't being entirely truthful to Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys from the beginning."
"I… I don't know what you're talking about―"
"Don't play the fool, boy," Daemon shook his head. "We know you squandered your father's wealth and power long before you came here."
"Was it your intention to bring ruin to House Velaryon with your wasteful spending habits?" Aeonar mentioned. "Alienate trading partners, or dare I say offend the crown?"
"How dare you!" Laenor nearly drew his sword.
"Stand down, Ser Laenor." We've driven him into a corner. Now that he's been exposed, the betrothal will never take place. Time to seal the deal and bring Driftmark back to the fold. The Young Dragon shifted his gaze towards Vhagar. "Her name is Vhagar. Beautiful, isn't she?"
"Once she was the smallest among herself, Balerion, and Meraxes during our ancestor's invasion of the Seven Kingdoms," Daemon carried on, "Vhagar is now the oldest and largest dragon in the world. She is the last from an era where House Targaryen demonstrated their might by unifying the independent kingdoms of an entire continent into a single realm. So, who do you think is more worthy of the hand of Lady Laena Velaryon?" You're really going to make me do this, aren't you?
Aeonar seized his chance. "We offer a counterproposal: in addition to an arrangement between Lady Laena and my uncle, Prince Daemon Targaryen, we also present Vhagar as a dowry. To be given to Laena and her children after her." He turned to Lysadhor. "What do you have to offer?"
"I… I…" Lysadhor stammered. All eyes were now on him. Before long, he unsheathed his sword. "ENOUGH! I will not stand for this humiliation!" he dared.
"*Reeeeeeee!*" Caraxes screeched.
Daemon smirked. "Good. I was hoping you'd say that." He unsheathed his Valyrian steel sword. "Dark Sister was made for nobler tasks than slaughtering sheep. She has a thirst for blood." He turned to Aeonar. "Let all present declare the terms of the duel."
"It shall be fought according to the traditions of Old Valyria: a test of arms in single combat until one party yields or is slain. And we who are assembled will abide by the outcome."
"I will have your tongue for this! I don't care if you are a prince! All who insult me shall die!" Lysadhor howled.
"Then quit barking and show us your mettle, boy," Daemon replied.
The Rogue Prince and heir to Braavos sized each other up, but it was no contest; for Lysadhor Phassatis was a boy, whereas Daemon Targaryen was an experienced swordsman. The ringing clash of steel on steel jarred. Lysadhor's movements were sloppy and predictable. Daemon calmly countered each blow, stepping lithely over rock and root, his eyes never leaving his foe. He was quicker, more experienced, and deadlier. Laena watched with excitement – her purple eyes locked on Daemon. Something was compelling about the Rogue Prince that captivated her. She continued watching the champions dance as if there were nothing else in the world. The brief flurry of fighting ended as swiftly as it had begun when Daemon sidestepped avoiding Lysadhor's undisciplined lunge.
Blind with arrogance as he was, even the knights and servants of Driftmark could see what was happening below them, yet Lysadhor could not. Another clumsy thrust was quickly deflected, the steel bouncing off Dark Sister before Daemon's blade slashed across his midsection. Falling to his knees, Lysadhor felt himself growing weaker, watching as his entrails slowly slid out of his body. He didn't feel any further pain for long. Daemon swung Dark Sister around and cut off Lysadhor's head in a single swing. The heir to Braavos shuddered and lay still.
"How disappointing," Daemon stood over the dead Lysadhor's body. "Not even a challenge at all. Stupid boy."
Aeonar stepped down from the rocks and approached, passing by Laena, giving her the aged golden Valyrian medallion. "It belonged to my grandfather, and to Queen Visenya before him. She's all yours now, Lady Laena. Take good care of her." He then approached the Sea Snake. "Repeatedly finding ways to postpone the betrothal, unwilling to let it go through but unable to gracefully put the arrangement aside. Now… House Velaryon's honor remains intact," he said. He graciously waved a hand towards Vhagar. "And now, Lord Corlys, it's time for me to fulfill the promise I made to your house years ago. On behalf of House Targaryen, I hereby present to you a gift worthy of Driftmark."
Corlys watched Vhagar. "It is… a generous gift, my prince." He watched as Laena was already eagerly petting Vhagar's snout, cooing gently at her. The Queen of All Dragons was curious at the notions of this girl but isn't shying away or displaying signs of aggression either. Instead, Vhagar slowly began accepting her. "And you say Vhagar is to be given to my daughter and her children after?"
"I promised you a long time ago when I said my agents tracked her movements. Still, Vhagar never remained in one place for too long, so they had to move as well. Once her flight patterns were more familiar, it became easier to know where she was going next." Aeonar folded his arms. Are you watching this, grandfather?
A servant approached. "My prince, His Grace is nearing Dragonstone," he reported.
Ah, hell. Him again. "Huh. What in the Seven hells could he possibly want this time?"