Chapter 91: The Return of the Dragonrider
270 AC — Dragonstone, Dragonmont
Soon after the tourney ended, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen brought the young dragons back to Dragonstone, the place they loved best.
They hated crowded noise and shadowed depths; the Dragonpit of King's Landing had never suited them.
Dragonmont still rumbled, pale grey steam billowing from its crater.
Heat, sulfur, and salt-laced sea wind—everything a wyrm desired.
Rhaegar, dressed in flowing silver robes, stood outside Silver Emperor's cavern and watched three draconic silhouettes wheel across the distant sky.
Silver Emperor. Balerion. Balerion.
The dragons of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen—the last living dragons in the world.
They chased one another through the heavens, rising and diving in turn.
At times they clustered like a single flame, then scattered like falling stars.
In their excitement, fire spilled from their jaws—silver, purple, and black-red—painting the sky with blazing trails. Even ships far off the coast of Dragonstone could see the distant flares.
Rhaegar could feel them faintly, far above.
Their moods. Their joy. Their danger.
Every dragonrider could sense his dragon—but Rhaegar's awareness was sharper, deeper.
Dragon and rider were bound by blood and fire. They had shared flame together, companions and comrades.
The three specks plunged together, skimming the sea. One of the younger dragons snatched a great fish from the waves.
Rhaegar nearly laughed aloud. A dragon that flew freely for a day could cross ninety thousand li.
They returned to Dragonmont. One dragon spat the fish toward Rhaegar, then roasted it with a purple-edged burst of dragonflame until it blackened and filled the air with rich scent.
The costliest grilled fish in the world.
The purple dragon hesitated, then nudged the offering toward him.
"Eat, girl," Rhaegar said softly, stroking her head.
Some instinct told him she was female.
Dragon sex was uncertain—some maesters claimed dragons were neither male nor female, others that only egg-layers were truly female. Certainty came only with eggs.
The purple dragon lowered her head, only to find Silver Emperor already tearing into the fish. A brief hiss followed before the meal was divided.
Young dragons preferred cattle and sheep, but fish would suffice.
In desperation, dragons would even devour one another.
This was the third year Rhaegar had possessed dragons, and they had grown swiftly.
The smaller dragons' skulls already dwarfed a horse's head. Silver Emperor, largest and fiercest, dominated them both.
They now laired separately in nearby caverns. Silver Emperor still claimed the Glutton's Cave, marked by scent and scorch.
"Ready, partner?" Rhaegar asked, patting the great dragon.
Golden eyes flashed. Silver Emperor lowered his back slightly.
Silver flame burst skyward in answer.
When Rhaegar tried to mount, the dragon refused.
"Not here?" Rhaegar guessed.
Silver Emperor led him forward—to the very lip of Dragonmont's crater.
Heat and brimstone washed over them.
"Your Grace, no farther!" cried Ser Barristan Selmy and Cesar together. "The molten rock still flows!"
"This is my command," Rhaegar said — and leapt.
For the first time in a century, dragon and rider danced together.
Silver Emperor roared and plunged into the volcano.
Barristan and Cesar went deathly pale.
To lose the heir of House Targaryen—to lose a dragonrider—was unthinkable.
Rhaegar clung to the dragon's neck, staring down at rivers of molten stone.
Even with the Blood of the Dragon, a fall would mean death.
Silver Emperor trilled in delight. He loved fire, lava, and smoke—and wanted his rider to love them too.
Silver flame splashed across the molten rock.
If he fell now, he would die a fool.
But Rhaegar was a Targaryen.
He wrapped himself tighter around the dragon's neck, moving as one.
They circled the lava again and again—then Silver Emperor spread his wings and roared skyward.
Rhaegar's heart thundered.
Past centuries flashed through his mind.
Onward, dragon prince.
"I am a true dragon!" Rhaegar shouted.
The wyrm roared in answer.
The other two dragons leapt from the crater, their cries shaking the land.
Barristan and Cesar nearly collapsed with relief—then terror, seeing Rhaegar ride without saddle or harness, clinging only by strength and will.
Silver Emperor climbed higher.
"I am the king of the world!" Rhaegar laughed wildly.
The Dance of Dragons had begun anew.
They burst beyond Dragonstone, soaring into endless sky.
Ships shrank to specks, then vanished.
Thin air clawed at Rhaegar, but dragonlord blood sustained him—without it, no man could endure such flight.
Clouds split beneath them.
"Dracarys!"
"Rybas!"
"Sōvēs!"
Rhaegar shouted commands in High Valyrian.
Dragonflame bloomed—silver, purple, black-red—outshining any mortal fire.
He laughed, drunk on speed and height.
Sea, land, and sky—he had conquered them all.
They dove toward the ocean, skimmed the waves, then soared again.
Salt spray drenched him.
The young dragons squealed with delight.
At last, exhausted and exultant, they turned homeward.
Silver Emperor flew low over the harbor so every sailor could see.
"What use is power unseen?" the dragon seemed to think.
"That's Prince Rhaegar!"
"A dragonrider!"
"The dragons have returned!"
Cheers followed them back to Dragonmont.
Smoke curled. Wings folded.
The dragons rested.
Rhaegar stood soaked and breathless, gazing into Silver Emperor's golden eyes.
"Once, I was proud to be a Targaryen," he said softly.
"From this day on, House Targaryen will be proud of us."
He stroked the dragon's brow.
The Dragonrider had returned.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you like the story please give it some power stones and reviews. And if you want to read 40+ advance chapters or just want to support me please join my patreon at [email protected]/Translatingfanfics