The air in the Targaryen camp, once heavy with hope and fear, now thrummed with awe. As dawn cast silver across the treetops, every face turned toward Daenerys—her arm draped with the newborn dragon, its scales glinting with smoky gold and obsidian shadows. The crackling of the fire was not just warmth; it was a proclamation. The world had changed overnight.
Whispers Take Wing
Aryan knew the power of rumor—how swiftly it moved, how it grew in the telling. He called a council of his trusted advisors: Daenerys, Marei, Ser Willem, and several seasoned scouts.
"We cannot keep this miracle secret for long," Aryan said. "But the story must be ours, not our enemies'."
They set to work immediately:
Trusted spies and messengers were sent to villages and trading posts, each bearing tales of the Silver Prince and Princess, who had awakened a dragon child from stone, heralding the return of House Targaryen's glory.
Minstrels and sell-sword poets were quietly paid to weave the tale into song—"The Rebirth of Fire"—and perform it in markets and taverns from the Crackclaw woods to the coast.
Mercenaries and unlikely allies were let glimpse the hatchling, mouths quickly sealed with oaths, coin, or threat when needed. Each swore what they'd seen was no trick.
Aryan instructed his followers to keep details vague, to let awe do the rest:
"Tell what you saw, but let the listener imagine greater things. Rumor grows best in shadows."
The Smallfolk's Response
By the week's end, gossip had run ahead of any army. Peasants whispered of mysterious lights and terrible roars in the woods. Fishermen swore they heard wingbeats by the moonlit river. In every village, awe mingled with relief—Westeros had not seen a living dragon in over a century, and fear of the lion banners gave way to hope.
Marei returned daily with new stories:
In a nearby market, a fruit seller had started burning candles to "the young dragon queen," hoping for her protection.
Bandits who once preyed on Aryan's scouts now sought them out, offering tribute in exchange for the promise of dragon-blessed luck.
Word reached the ears of minor lords, some wavering in their loyalty to the crown, who sent cautious riders seeking parley.
Enemies Move
Of course, the legend's spread brought new threats. Lannister and Baratheon agents heard rumors and began laying coin for proof or for the dragon's head. Aryan responded with counter-rumors: stories of three dragons, or of the creature soaring above an army five thousand strong.
He met privately with his most skillful agents:
"Plant tales of a Targaryen host on the march," he said. "Let our enemies split their search and waste their gold on phantoms."
Scouts reported travelers from King's Landing, seeking truth or perhaps a bounty. Aryan set traps of false leads—hints that the dragon had flown on, that the eggs had multiplied, that R'hllor's priests had blessed the rebirth. The web of rumor became a shield, protecting the fledgling legend.
Daenerys—The Dragon's Light
Daenerys, with the tiny dragon draped across her shoulders, became the living heart of the movement. In every farmstead and outpost, she inspired awe and wondered faith. She spoke simple truths:
"The dragon is not for vengeance. It is for hope—so you do not have to kneel to fear or hunger ever again."
Smallfolk knelt where she passed, clutching hands to hearts. Where once Aryan had fought for grudging respect, now the Targaryen cause bloomed in every hearth.
Aryan's Meta-Awareness
In a quiet moment with Marei, Aryan confessed, "In the tales I studied, dragons were doom and madness. But here, we choose what the legend becomes. Not a tale of burning cities, but of a family returned. That's the story I want whispered on every road."
He nurtured every rumor with care—sometimes feeding them, sometimes denying just enough to make the improbable seem possible. Through this careful balancing, the movement grew stronger than any army.
Sunset Council
As the day closed, Aryan gathered his most loyal around the flickering campfire. The dragon purred in Daenerys's lap. The mood was reverent—but also tinged with boldness.
"Our strength is greater than even dragonfire," Aryan said. "It is in the hearts that now believe again. Our legend will loosen chains and win swords before we ever set foot in King's Landing."
And as the first true night of legend blanketed the Westerlands, it was clear:
The flames of old Valyria burned anew—not just in the dragon but in the stories that flew faster and farther than wings.
End of Chapter 17