90 AC. King's Landing
The night silence enveloping Maegor's Holdfast seemed as calm and serene as the castle itself, which stood atop Aegon's Hill. Within these chambers, shielded by thick red-stone walls, time seemed to slow its pace. Only the dim light of dying candles and the rhythmic rustle of guards behind heavy oak doors disturbed the peace of the royal sanctuary. Yet in a single instant, this fragile illusion of safety was ruthlessly shattered.
The roar that shattered the night silence was unlike any sound the capital's inhabitants had heard in years. It was not merely a cry of rage or hunger - it was the triumphant, deafening roar of a creature breaking free from its captivity. Rolling over the rooftops of King's Landing, the sound made the very earth tremble. The castle's heavy stone walls vibrated faintly, and inside the chambers of the King and Queen, the thin stained-glass panes in the windows rattled plaintively, threatening to shatter into a sharp rain upon the stone floor.
King Jaehaerys Targaryen sat up abruptly in bed, instantly casting off the remnants of a heavy sleep. The King's long silver hair was disheveled, and in his once-calm purple eyes flared the tension of a ruler whose realm was under attack.
Beside him, Queen Alysanne awoke, pressing a hand to her breast. Her face, still retaining its former beauty beneath a faint web of fine lines, grew pale in the gloom of the chambers. Her breathing quickened as she listened to the dying sound still echoing through the city's dark alleyways.
"What is it, Jaehaerys?" she asked softly, almost in a whisper, her voice carrying not so much fear for her own life as an intuitive dread of the looming trouble. "That is not Caraxes. Nor Vhagar. That voice..." Her eyes widened as memories came rushing back. "I have not heard it in too long, but I could never forget it."
The King did not answer. He rose swiftly from the bed, throwing a heavy silk robe over his shoulders as he moved, and walked with rapid, decisive strides toward the massive arched window facing Rhaenys's Hill. Alysanne followed close behind her husband, her bare feet moving silently over the cool carpets.
Flinging open the heavy wooden shutters, Jaehaerys let the cool, damp night air into the room, carrying the scent of smoke and the brine of the Blackwater. They both cast their gazes toward the summit of Rhaenys's Hill, dominated by the majestic dome of the Dragonpit.
There, in the pale glow of the moon breaking through the ragged night clouds, a silhouette was rising. Enormous, graceful wings shimmering with silver and pale azure beat with powerful, confident strokes. The dragon was not merely taking flight - it was climbing rapidly, as if desperate to leave the hated earth behind as quickly as possible. With every wingbeat, its outline grew smaller until it vanished entirely into the thick shroud of predawn clouds, leaving only a faint, silvery trail in the night sky.
Jaehaerys rested his hands heavily upon the stone sill, his fingers gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
"Dreamfyre," the King said slowly, confirming his wife's worst fears. "It was her. Our sister's dragon."
"Seventeen years," she whispered, staring at the spot where the clouds had just swallowed the beautiful dragon. "Seventeen years she has languished in the dark since Rhaena's death. Oh, gods... Jaehaerys, how could she escape? The Dragonpit was built to hold even the fiercest of dragons. The chains, the gates, the guard... It is impossible."
"Nothing in this world is impossible when it comes to dragons," the King cut in coldly, his face hardening into a stern, unreadable mask.
At that moment, a persistent knock rattled the chamber door. Without waiting for the official leave that would have been mandatory on any ordinary day, the heavy door swung open, and Ser Ryam Redwyne, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, strode into the room. He wore full plate armor, over which draped his snow-white cloak, and his hand rested upon the hilt of his sword. The seasoned knight's face was grim and focused.
"Your Grace," Ser Ryam said, bowing his head quickly. "Forgive the intrusion at such an hour, but the matter is of the utmost urgency. The Dragonpit has been breached... or rather, one of its denizens has broken free."
"We saw, Ser Ryam," Jaehaerys replied calmly, though a sharp edge of authority cut through his voice as he turned to face the knight. "Dreamfyre has just taken wing, likely heading east. Give me the details. How did a dragon, locked in the deepest subterranean vaults and bound by heavy chains, manage to escape her lair? Where were the dragonkeepers? Where was the guard? Learn everything you can, as quickly as possible."
Ser Ryam pressed a hand to his chest and bowed his head:
"As you command, Your Grace. I shall ride to Rhaenys's Hill myself and gather all reports."
The Lord Commander swiftly departed the royal chambers. Outside the door, the heavy tread of his boots was followed by sharp commands barked to the guardsmen on duty.
For the King and Queen, long, agonizing minutes of waiting stretched on. Time crawled, slow as cooling resin. Jaehaerys did not return to bed. Instead, he permitted his servants to enter and help him dress in attire fitting his station - a simple yet fine doublet of dark wool fastened with silver buttons, and a heavy cloak. Alysanne sat by a small table near the hearth.
"Jaehaerys," she began softly, watching her husband. "When Rhaena passed, the dragon seemed to withdraw from the world. All these years in the Dragonpit she slumbered, barely touching the meat brought to her, never showing any wildness. Why now? What could have roused her from this long torpor to take such a step?"
The King slowly paced the spacious room, hands clasped behind his back, every movement betraying his inner tension.
"Dragons are mysterious beasts, Alysanne. Their bond with our house is deeper than we can comprehend. Perhaps she felt something we cannot. But it is the worldly side of this matter that concerns me more. A living, dragon of that size, soaring over Westeros without a rider or control, is the gravest threat to the peace of the realm. If she begins burning villages or striking at livestock, panic will take hold. Our power rests upon the belief that we hold absolute dominion over our dragons. The lords of the Seven Kingdoms submit to the Iron Throne because they believe in our invincibility and our order. If they see our dragons roaming free, shattering the walls of their own prison, that faith will crumble."
Nearly an hour passed before the sky outside the window began to turn from pitch black to a deep predawn gray. The city was gradually waking, and a low murmur of hundreds of voices drifted up to the castle - the news of the night's events had already spread through the streets of King's Landing, sowing panic and breeding the wildest rumors.
At last, the heavy doors of the chambers swung open once more. Ser Ryam Redwyne entered. His white cloak was soiled with gray dust and ash, dark smudges of soot marred his plate armor, and his face was drawn with exhaustion and strain. He breathed heavily, proof that he had ridden hard back to the Red Keep without a single pause.
"Your Grace," Ser Ryam said, bowing low. "I have returned from Rhaenys's Hill. What I saw with my own eyes, and what the surviving dragonkeepers recount, is strange indeed."
Jaehaerys stopped in the middle of the room and fixed the knight with a demanding look.
"Speak, Ser Ryam."
The Lord Commander took a deep breath, striving to speak clearly, though his eyes still betrayed utter bewilderment at what had transpired.
"I have personally questioned the senior keepers. What they report is highly alarming. The guards on duty in the lower tiers heard a terrifying crash that shook the caverns. When they rushed to Dreamfyre's pen, they found that the colossal steel chains binding the dragon had been shattered. Some of the links were literally flattened."
The King frowned, his eyes narrowing.
"Shatter chains of such thickness? No dragon, not even the largest, is capable of such a feat by muscle alone, trapped in a cramped pen with no leverage. Continue, Ser Ryam. What happened next?"
"Once Dreamfyre broke free of her pen, the keepers tried to bar her path in the inner corridors, using their traditional prods and nets. But she paid absolutely no heed to any commands in High Valyrian. Dreamfyre swept the guards aside, ignoring their attempts to reclaim control. Two keepers suffered severe burns, and several others were maimed trying to stand in her way. No one else dared to try and stop her."
The knight paused briefly, catching his breath.
"At the gates of the Pit, bound in iron and held fast by massive crossbeams, Dreamfyre halted. The keepers hoped the barrier would hold her, but the dragon simply blasted the oak doors with a directed torrent of flame. The heat was of such intensity that the iron melted instantly, and the wood was reduced to ash. The keepers fled for their lives. Once the fire subsided, Dreamfyre slammed her massive chest against the remnants of the gates, shattering them onto the plaza, and soared into the night sky."
King Jaehaerys stood motionless, digesting what he had heard. His face darkened with anger. The negligence of the keepers, the inexplicable burst of the dragon's strength, and the destruction of the Pit's great gates - it was all a brutal blow to his sense of security.
"This is a demonstration of power. Power we cannot control. If Dreamfyre begins razing towns, Westeros will plunge into chaos."
He turned sharply to Ser Ryam, his eyes blazing with resolve.
"Wake my sons immediately, Prince Baelon and Prince Aemon, if they are not already awake. Tell them it is my will that they saddle their dragons at once. Vhagar and Caraxes must take to the air before the sun has fully risen over Blackwater Bay."
"What are your orders, Your Grace?" the Lord Commander asked, ready to carry out the King's every word.
"Have them scour the skies along Blackwater Bay and over Kingswood. Their task is to find Dreamfyre and shadow her. If she shows no aggression, let them attempt to steer her toward Dragonstone, or at least keep her in sight until we decide how to proceed. But should she prove a danger to the smallfolk..." Jaehaerys paused heavily, his face drawn. "Should she show wrath, they must do what they are sworn to do as princes of the realm. They must protect the people, at any cost. Go, Ser Ryam. Every minute counts."
The knight swiftly left the chambers, leaving the royal couple alone with their anxieties.
90 AC. Driftmark
Meanwhile, on the island of Driftmark, in the beautiful castle of High Tide, the predawn light was lazily beginning to illuminate the town. Silence reigned within the chambers of the Lord and Lady Velaryon, but it was far from peaceful.
Princess Viserra Targaryen, sat on the edge of her luxurious canopy bed, pulling a light silk robe close around her. Her silver-gold hair fell in waves over her shoulders, and her purple eyes were fixed on the dark window, beyond which the sea murmured.
Corlys had departed hours ago, telling her to lie down and sleep. But Viserra had managed to close her eyes for only a miserable hour or two. Her slumber had been fitful, filled with vague images, the whistling of wind, and the screeching of chains. Once awake, sleep eluded her entirely. Her thoughts were consumed by the conversation they had shared the evening before. The question kept echoing in her mind like a persistent whisper. Did she want to be a dragonrider?
She, the daughter of Jaehaerys Targaryen, had dreamed of her own winged dragon since childhood. She remembered how she had envied her older brothers and her niece Rhaenys as they soared into the clouds. Viserra had repeatedly asked her father to let her claim one of the riderless dragons or to give her an egg. But the King had always remained unyielding. To him, she was first and foremost a political tool, a beautiful daughter to be wed off advantageously to strengthen the realm's alliances. He deemed her too willful, proud, and headstrong to be trusted with power capable of burning cities. And now, her husband was offering her the very thing her own father had denied her.
Viserra still could not fully comprehend who the man she had married truly was. To the rest of Westeros, Corlys was a brilliant mariner, the wealthiest lord, and the ambitious head of House Velaryon. But after their wedding, he had pulled back the veil of his secrets, revealing his hidden magical powers to her. She had witnessed this magic with her own eyes, and it terrified her as much as it fascinated her. But to steal a dragon from the royal family? Was such a thing even possible?
Her fears were not groundless. Viserra knew her father's nature all too well. If she were to acquire a dragon without his official leave, it would be seen as a direct challenge to the authority of the Iron Throne. The Velaryons already possessed colossal power, controlling the shipping lanes and trade. The acquisition of their own adult dragon could shatter the fragile balance of power in the Seven Kingdoms. Her father would not forgive it. He might declare them traitors, seize their island, or force them to return the dragon by strength of arms.
The soft click of the door opening made Viserra start. She looked up quickly.
Corlys entered the chambers noiselessly, wearing a simple dark travel cloak. His face looked slightly weary, but his eyes shone with the very confidence that had always captivated Viserra. He carried a faint, strange scent - one she had smelled many times in the Dragonpit.
Corlys paused at the threshold, tossed his cloak onto a wooden chest, and looked at his wife. A soft, warm smile touched his lips.
"You should have slept, Viserra," he said quietly, stepping further into the room. "A long day lies ahead, and it will demand much of your strength."
"I tried," she answered, rising to her feet and taking a few steps toward him. Her voice trembled slightly with emotion. "But I only managed to sleep for a couple of hours. My thoughts would not let me rest. Corlys... where were you? What did you do?"
Corlys stepped close to her, gently took her hands, and looked into her beautiful eyes. His palms were warm and reassuring.
"I was in King's Landing," he replied calmly, as though speaking of a routine walk through the markets of Spicetown. "I paid a visit to your future dragon. And I am glad to tell you that she is already on her way. Soon, Dreamfyre will arrive at High Tide."
Viserra froze. Her heart skipped a beat, and her breath caught. She stared at her husband, trying to comprehend the meaning of his words. The reality of it struggled to settle in her mind.
"You... you were in the Dragonpit?" she whispered, her eyes widening with horror and astonishment. "You freed my family's dragon? One of the largest dragons in the realm? Corlys, you are mad! How could you do such a thing? How did you slip inside?"
"Dragons are not cattle, Viserra," Corlys replied softly but with absolute conviction, gently squeezing her fingers. "They were not made to be kept in stone prisons beneath the earth and bound in steel chains for the safety of men. In captivity, they only weaken, wither, and stop growing. Dreamfyre spent seventeen years imprisoned. Seventeen years of solitude and darkness for a creature whose true nature is fire and sky. I merely helped her set herself free. I shattered her chains and opened her gates. And, most importantly, she has agreed to accept you as her new rider."
Viserra shook her head, feeling her senses reel.
"Agreed?" she repeated, her voice laced with sheer disbelief. "How could you possibly know that, Corlys? How can you be so certain of the mind of a dragon that has not known a rider for nearly two decades? Dragons do not speak. They cannot say "yes" or "no." They submit to will, to the strength of blood, or..."
"They do speak, Viserra," Corlys interrupted, his smile widening, taking on a mysterious cast. "It is just that men have forgotten how to listen. Remember when I told you I possess certain... unusual gifts? One of them is the ability to understand the tongue of serpents and speak it. In ancient scrolls, they call it Parseltongue. And since serpents and dragons are both reptiles by nature, that gift extends to them as well. I can understand the thoughts of dragons, and they understand my words."
"You... you speak to dragons?" her voice sank to a whisper. "Are they... are they truly so intelligent? I always thought they were merely powerful beasts driven by instinct and the bond with their rider. After all, they only understand commands in High Valyrian!"
"Therein lies the greatest misconception of your family," Corlys said, stepping closer and wrapping his arm around her waist to draw her near. "Dragons are incredibly intelligent and proud creatures. They do not comprehend ordinary human speech, and they heed commands in Valyrian only because thousands of years ago, Valyrian bloodmages literally wove those words into their very essence, forging a key to obedience. That influence endures to this day. But when they commune amongst themselves or with those who speak the true tongue, their minds unfold in full. They are clever, wise, and capable of deep feelings."
He gently ran his hand through her silver hair, soothing her agitation.
"Dreamfyre was desperate for freedom. She hated her chains and the men who kept her in the dark. I offered her a bargain: freedom, the boundless skies of Driftmark, care, protection, and... magic that would restore her former strength. In exchange, I asked her to accept you. She agreed to give you a chance."
Viserra pressed her forehead against his chest, listening to the steady, calm beat of his heart. A tempest of emotions raged in her soul. On one hand, she felt a soaring ecstasy, her lifelong dream of becoming a dragonrider was closer than ever. On the other hand, the fear of her father's wrath had not vanished.
"Corlys..." she said softly, without raising her head. "My father... When he learns that Dreamfyre has fled and ended up on Driftmark, he will realize everything. He will send Baelon and Aemon. He will accuse us of stealing a royal dragon. This could destroy everything you have built. It could ruin your house."
"Your father will be powerless to act, my love," Corlys said, tenderly tilting her chin upward to meet his gaze. "That is the beauty of my design. No one in King's Landing saw me. I slipped into the Dragonpit invisible, leaving not a single trace of my presence. The chains look as though the dragon herself snapped them in a fit of rage. The gates were consumed by her own fire. Everyone will be certain that Dreamfyre escaped of her own accord, weary of her captivity."
He smiled triumphantly, his dark eyes flashing in the gloom.
"And as for her flying to Driftmark... well, that is easily explained. Our island is very close to Dragonstone. Here lives a pureblood princess of House Targaryen, whose blood calls to the dragon. Dreamfyre simply flew to the scent of her own kin's blood and chose you herself as her rider. Once the bond is forged between you, your father will be helpless. By the laws and traditions of his own house, the bond between dragon and rider is sacred. No one, even the King, has the right to sever that union or take a dragon from its lawful rider without risking a rift in his own family and shattering ancient traditions. It will look like the will of the gods. And your father will have to accept it."
Viserra gazed into his face, and gradually the fear in her soul began to yield to peace. Her husband had calculated every last detail. He had risked his life by infiltrating the guarded Dragonpit, defied every law of the realm, and all of it to fulfill her deepest childhood dream.
"You are incredible, Corlys Velaryon," she whispered, a faint but incredibly tender smile finally gracing her lips.
"I am glad you have finally come to appreciate it," Corlys laughed softly, holding her closer. "We have a few hours yet before Dreamfyre appears on the horizon. She is likely flying at her leisure, savoring her first hours of freedom in the clouds. And it seems to me... after so much labor and such grand gifts, I have earned at least a modest reward from my beautiful wife. Besides, we did promise one another to think of an heir for our house. And without our joint efforts, he is unlikely to be brought into the world."
Viserra felt a flush of heat rush to her cheeks. Her eyes darkened with a sudden spark of passion, mingled with immense relief and gratitude.
"A reward, you say?" she asked archly, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Well, Lord Velaryon... I think it is within my power to devise something that will show my gratitude."
With one swift, confident movement, she pushed him backward. Corlys, caught off guard by her vigor, tumbled obligingly onto the soft silk sheets of the bed. Viserra was on top of him in an instant, her long silver hair cascading over his chest, shielding their faces from the rest of the world. She leaned down and kissed his lips passionately, demandingly, pouring into that kiss all her love, her fear, her anticipation, and her wild, untamable energy.
A few hours passed. The morning sun had risen high above the horizon, dispersing the night fog and bathing the coast of Driftmark in golden light. A light, cool sea breeze pleasantly refreshed the skin, carrying the murmur of waves breaking on the shore.
On the broad sandy beach that stretched far beyond the bustling town of Spicetown, a small group of people stood. In the center of this group were Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Viserra. This time, the princess was clad not in lavish court gowns, but in a light, form-fitting bathing suit - a short sleeveless vest and narrow trousers of the finest, treated fabric that resisted water and dried quickly in the sun. Naturally, to preserve propriety, she wore an elegant cloak emblazoned with the Velaryon crest, which she could easily discard before stepping into the water. This attire appeared to those around them as ideal for training in the warm waves. Her long silver-gold hair was plaited into a tight, neat braid so as not to hinder her movements in the wind or get wet in the water.
They were accompanied by Ser Adam - one of the most loyal and seasoned knights of House Velaryon - along with some twenty guardsmen in blue-and-silver cloaks and gleaming armor bearing the seahorse emblem. The presence of such an impressive escort was part of Corlys's subtle plan. These men were to be unwitting witnesses to the "accidental" appearance of the dragon. Their presence ensured that the tale of how Dreamfyre had chosen Viserra on the shores of Driftmark of her own free will would spread rapidly through the realm and reach the King's ears in the most genuine, unquestionable form.
To outside observers, there was nothing unusual about this outing. Since their wedding, Corlys had, as promised, begun regularly teaching his young wife to swim and handle herself in the water. They often spent their morning hours on this secluded beach, so the guardsmen remained relaxed, speaking in low voices and watching the waves.
Viserra walked slowly along the water's edge, letting the cool foam lap at the toes of her leather boots. Her outward composure was merely a mask, within, her entire being was taut with extreme tension. Every second she scanned the vast expanse of sky over the sea, wondering when the moment would arrive. Corlys walked beside her, his pace leisurely and confident, his face completely serene.
Suddenly, one of the guardsmen standing a little further off raised his hand and pointed northwest, toward the mainland.
"My Lord! Look!" he called out, drawing the attention of the others. "There, in the clouds... I believe it is a dragon!"
Ser Adam focused instantly, shading his eyes from the bright sun with his palm, and peered at the indicated spot. Indeed, high in the heavens, breaking through the light white clouds, a dark silhouette was rapidly approaching. Its vast wings beat with sparse but powerful strokes, testifying to the creature's colossal size.
"A dragon," Ser Adam confirmed, his hand instinctively falling to the hilt of his sword. "Flying from the direction of King's Landing. Perhaps one of the royal family has decided to visit you, Princess? Prince Baelon or Prince Aemon?"
Viserra lifted her head, her heart pounding so fiercely she could hear it in her ears. The silhouette approached with incredible speed, and soon, as the sun's rays glinted off its scales, the details became visible. The beast was neither crimson like Aemon's Caraxes, nor deep green like Baelon's massive Vhagar. This creature possessed remarkably graceful, swift contours, and its scales shimmered with the delicate shades of the dawn sky, casting pure silver along its crests and wings.
"No, Ser Adam," Viserra said quietly but clearly, striving to sound both natural and surprised. "Those are not the dragons of my brothers. That is... oh, gods, could it truly be Dreamfyre? But how did she come to be here?"
The guardsmen whispered excitedly, exchanging looks. The news that the dragon of Princess Rhaena, riderless for seventeen years, was suddenly flying toward their island made the men grow tense.
Meanwhile, Dreamfyre drew near Spicetown. A massive shadow swept over the port town. The smallfolk, noticing the majestic dragon, poured into the streets and onto the wharves, casting their eyes skyward. The dragon carved one wide, smooth circle over the harbor, as if surveying unfamiliar territory and displaying her power, then wheeled sharply and descended along the coastline, heading straight for the secluded beach where the Velaryon party stood.
As the dragon neared, the wind on the beach intensified, turning into a veritable gale. Sand whipped into the air, forcing the guardsmen to squint and shield their faces with their hands. With a deafening, heavy clap of her immense wings, Dreamfyre touched down on the wet sand a few dozen paces from the group. The earth beneath their feet shuddered perceptibly.
The dragon was magnificent and terrible in her primal power. Her pale, icy-blue eyes burned with a wild, dangerous fire. She drew in a noisy breath through her broad nostrils, venting streams of hot steam, and then let loose a low, vibrating growl, baring rows of razor-sharp teeth. The sound was a clear warning to the armed men.
The Velaryon guardsmen instantly drew their swords, forming a solid wall of steel in front of Corlys and Viserra. Ser Adam stepped forward, shielding the princess and the lord with his own body.
"Back, Princess! My Lord, retreat! She is dangerous!" the knight shouted, trying to make himself heard over the beast's growls.
But Viserra, driven by a sudden, irresistible impulse, stepped forward resolutely. She gently but firmly pushed Ser Adam aside, bypassing the wall of shields and swords.
"Lower your weapons!" she commanded loudly and imperiously, her voice ringing with the true royal cadence of House Targaryen, brooking no argument. "Do not dare to provoke her! Everyone, get back!"
She stepped into the open stretch of the beach, spreading her arms wide to show the dragon she was unarmed and harbored no ill intent. Her gaze remained locked on Dreamfyre's bright eyes. The princess took a deep breath and spoke in the pure, musical tongue of High Valyrian - the language her ancestors had used to commune with their dragons.
"Lykiri, Dreamfyre... Lykiri… (Calm down, Dreamfyre... Calm down...)" her voice was steady and soft, yet laced with firm resolve. "Dohaeras, Dreamfyre… (Serve, Dreamfyre...)"
Dreamfyre snapped her head up, her nostrils flaring as she caught the scent of the approaching human. She took a heavy step forward, her massive talons sinking deep into the wet sand, kicking up sprays of water. She let out a loud, fierce hiss that sent shivers down the spines of the guardsmen behind Viserra.
Corlys stood slightly behind, watching closely. He made no move to intervene, knowing this moment belonged to the two of them alone. To his ears, in Parseltongue, the dragon's hissing and growling carried a very specific challenge.
"You have come, woman..." Dreamfyre's voice reached him. "You seem fragile and weak, like all of your kind. Your man promised me you were worthy to fly with me. But I do not submit to the promises of men. Show me your strength! Show me your blood! Are you truly capable of withstanding the heat of my flame and the whistle of the wind in my wings?"
Viserra did not take a single step back. On the contrary, hearing that challenge - even without understanding its literal meaning - she felt the ancient, fierce fire of Valyria stir within her, a fire that had slept for so long under the weight of her father's prohibitions. Her purple eyes flashed with a proud, untamable light. She pressed on toward the colossal dragon, step by step, without showing a shred of fear.
"Dohaeras, Dreamfyre… (Serve, Dreamfyre...)" she continued in Valyrian, her voice growing steadier and more powerful, carrying over the roar of the sea. "Iksan aōha ānogar. Nyke desire ao… (I am your blood... I desire you...)"
She came right up to the dragon. Dreamfyre's immense, blue-scaled head was now directly in front of her. The beast's hot breath, smelling of sulfur and scorched stone, washed over the princess's face, stirring the silver strands that had escaped her braid.
Viserra slowly, smoothly stretched her hand forward. Her palm, warm and trembling slightly with the rush of emotion, came to rest gently on the hard, hot scales of the dragon's snout, right between her wide nostrils.
At that very instant, Dreamfyre froze. Her growling ceased abruptly, replaced by a deep, long exhale. She half-closed her eyes, tilting her head slightly to accept the touch of the human hand.
Corlys listened intently and clearly heard a single, most momentous word spoken by the she-dragon with deep satisfaction:
"Dōrīs… (Worthy...)"
And in that same second, a colossal wave of dragon's incredibly powerful emotions literally swept over Viserra. It was as if a dam in her soul had burst, and a raging ocean had flooded in. The bond, the ancient magic, sealed between them instantly and irrevocably.
Images not her own flashed before the princess's mind's eye. She felt the unbearable, suffocating ache of seventeen endless years spent in the utter dark of the subterranean pen. She felt the profound grief for her first rider, Rhaena Targaryen, whose death had left the dragon vulnerable to imprisonment. But following that pain came the wild joy of the first breath of free night air, the mad ecstasy of wings beating against the wind, and... her own approval of Viserra. The dragon recognized her. She sensed in her the same pride and the same hunger for freedom that burned in her own chest.
Viserra held her breath. It seemed to her that all these years of her life, something had been catastrophically missing. She had felt incomplete, divided, as if half of her very being had been severed at birth. But now, with her hand resting on Dreamfyre's scales, that void was filled in an instant. At long last, she was whole. She had found her other half.
Dreamfyre opened her massive blue eyes and looked at Viserra with approval. Then, she slowly, gracefully inclined her left wing, lowering it to the golden sand of the beach, creating a welcoming path leading up to her back.
Upon the dragon's back, right between her shoulder blades, there still rested the old, heavy leather saddle, reinforced with plates and chains. This saddle had not been used for seventeen long years. The dragonkeepers in the Pit had tried many times to strip it from her to put it away, but Dreamfyre had never allowed them to touch her back, snapping fiercely at any attempt to loosen the straps. She had preserved it for the day her rider would come. And that day had arrived.
Viserra turned and looked back at Corlys. Her face shone with indescribable happiness, and tears of delight glistened in her eyes. Her husband smiled back at her and gave a firm, reassuring nod, silently urging her to take this final, decisive step.
The princess turned back toward the dragon. Clutching the ridges of her scales, she began to swiftly and confidently climb up Dreamfyre's lowered wing. Her movements were precise and agile, as though she had been doing this her entire life.
Once atop the dragon's broad back, Viserra deftly settled into the deep leather saddle. Her hands found the mountings on their own. Without difficulty, she tightened the heavy riding straps around her waist and thighs, securing herself firmly in the saddle. Viserra had seen her niece Rhaenys do this countless times whenever she took her along for flights on Meleys. Every movement the princess made now was guided by those memories and an intuitive understanding of how it all worked.
Having finished securing the straps, Viserra gripped the heavy steering chains tightly in her hands. She leaned forward, pressing her entire body against her dragon's neck, and cried out the ultimate command in High Valyrian, pouring her whole soul into it:
"Sōves, Dreamfyre!"
The dragon unleashed a deafening, triumphant roar that made the ears of the guardsmen on the beach ring. She snapped open her colossal silver-blue wings, kicking up a fierce gale that instantly scattered the sand around them for dozens of yards.
With one powerful, incredible surge, Dreamfyre launched herself from the earth.
Viserra felt her body pressed with immense force into the soft leather of the saddle. Her stomach dropped with a sweet thrill, and her breath caught at the sudden acceleration. The ground, the beach of Spicetown, the figures of Corlys, Ser Adam, and the guardsmen rapidly shrank, turning into tiny playthings upon the golden sand of the coast.
They soared into the air, piercing the warm morning wind.
Viserra cried out in delight. It was a shout of pure, absolute euphoria, untainted by a single drop of fear. She had flown as a passenger behind Rhaenys upon the Red Queen countless times, but that feeling paled in comparison to what she experienced now. To fly upon one's own dragon was not merely a journey through the air. It was a union of minds.
She felt every movement of the muscles beneath her thighs, every beat of Dreamfyre's colossal wings as though they were her own. When the dragon tilted her head to catch a thermal, Viserra understood the movement intuitively and leaned into the saddle herself, helping to maintain balance. They became a single whole - a winged dragon and her proud rider.
Dreamfyre made a wide, triumphant bank over the waters of the bay. The sea below seemed a dark-blue mirror reflecting the bright morning sun. The dragon climbed rapidly, soaring higher and higher, to where the air grew crisp and cool.
Viserra turned her face into the whistling wind, letting it sweep away the last remnants of her tension. She gazed at the endless horizon where the sky merged with the sea, feeling herself the true queen of this world. Now she possessed power. Now she possessed freedom. And no one, not a single king in the world, would ever lock her in a cage again.
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Read ahead on P@treon!
• Navigator Tier: 4 advance chapters & images.
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