"Higher, Dreamfyre," Aegon urged silently through their bond.
The dragon answered with a powerful sweep of her wings, rising smoothly into the crisp morning air. Below them, the rooftops of King's Landing shimmered in the distance, sprawled out like a sleeping beast at the edge of the horizon.
He had departed from Driftmark earlier that day, after a quiet breakfast with Rhaenys. Their parting had been calm, warm, even, but brief. There was still much to do.
At his side, the weight of the trade deal hung heavily but reassuringly, a pouch of coin fastened tight against his belt. Rhaenys had given him nearly six thousand gold coins in exchange for the Valyrian steel dagger.
Generous, though unsurprising as the first lady of House Velaryon, the wealthiest house in the realm.
But Aegon wasn't foolish enough to carry that kind of fortune openly into the Red Keep. Too many eyes. Too many questions.
So he had taken a careful portion for himself, and flown north of Dragonstone, where he found a small, uninhabited island. There, beneath a jagged black rock near the treeline, he buried the bulk of the gold.
Now, only sixty gold coins and a handful of silver remained with him, tucked safely inside a worn leather pouch, light enough not to draw suspicion.
Rhaenys had purchased the Valyrian steel dagger after careful inspection, agreeing to the deal on one condition: that he promise not to do anything reckless.
Aegon had given her his word, though the hidden glint in his eyes suggested how loosely he defined "reckless."
He smiled now as Dreamfyre soared over the capital. Though he'd sold the only Valyrian steel dagger he possessed, it wasn't a loss, he would forge more. Better ones. This was just the beginning.
They descended into the Dragonpit, Dreamfyre's wings casting a shadow over the dome as she landed with thunderous grace. The great bronze doors opened, and a dragonkeeper approached, bowing low.
Aegon dismounted smoothly and gave the man a nod.
"She's had a long flight. Give her something fresh, preferably goat. And honeyed water, she likes that."
The keeper blinked, surprised at the specificity, then bowed again.
"Of course, Prince Aegon."
Before leaving, Aegon removed a small pouch from his belt, counting out ten gold coins, minted tokens, stamped with the image of King Jahaerys. He kept these on him for now.
The other fifty, he tucked securely beneath the saddle mount on Dreamfyre's riding seat, concealed beneath a hidden panel of leather and reinforced wood. No vault in the Red Keep was safer than his bonded dragon.
With a final glance at Dreamfyre, who had already begun to settle in for rest, Aegon turned and made his way toward the Red Keep, the morning sun behind him and a silent satisfaction in his step.
"I say it's a beautiful day, isn't it, Ser Robin? Perfect to roam around King's Landing," said Aegon as he leaned against the stone balustrade of his chamber's balcony, eyes scanning the city stretched below under the golden light of morning.
Ser Robin stood by the chamber door, arms crossed and lips drawn in a wry smile. "Yes, it is," he replied. "Your cloak is ready, my prince."
A few days earlier, Queen Alyssa had summoned Ser Robin to speak with him privately, an assignment, quiet but unmistakably clear. From that moment on, Ser Robin was to shadow Aegon, responsible for his safety both within and beyond the Red Keep.
Whether it was protection or a polite form of surveillance, the knight couldn't say for certain. Likely both. He didn't fault the Queen; she had already buried too many of her children.
And now, with Aegon as the youngest dragonrider in Westeros, there were few more tempting targets for those who would see the Targaryen legacy broken.
Ser Robin hadn't protested. Duty was duty, and more than that, the boy was growing into someone formidable. It was better to be at his side than anywhere else.
Today's "outing," however, was something else entirely.
Aegon turned from the balcony, already fastening the worn, ash-gray cloak around his shoulders. The fine silver-threaded tunic beneath was covered completely now, and the hood would shadow his pale hair and Valyrian features.
To the eye, he could pass for a street boy, or perhaps the squire of a minor knight.
He pulled up the hood and walked past the knight, a certain lightness in his step.
"Let's go," he said simply.
And Ser Robin followed.
The morning sun bathed King's Landing in a golden haze, and the city was already alive with noise and movement. Merchants cried out their wares, donkeys brayed under heavy loads, and the ever-present scent of salt, sweat, and roasted meats hung thick in the air.
The capital pulsed with its usual chaos, the cobbled streets of the Fishmonger's Square teemed with barefoot children chasing dogs, washerwomen gossiping over laundry lines, and carts creaking beneath crates of dried fish, fruits, and barley.
Aegon moved through the bustle in his worn gray cloak, his hood pulled low. Ser Robin followed a step behind, alert but casual, blending in well enough with the crowd. Despite the hood, Aegon's posture had a grace and surety that wasn't common among the smallfolk. Still, most eyes were too busy bartering and surviving to take notice.
He passed a fruit vendor and paused, glancing down at a stack of ripe red apples. "How much for one?" he asked.
"Two copper," the woman replied, barely sparing him a glance.
Aegon blinked. "Two? That's double what they were last week."
The vendor shot him a look. "Then maybe ye should've bought one last week." Ser Robin snorted quietly behind him, and Aegon smirked, handing over the coins anyway.
They wandered deeper into the heart of the city, weaving through Ragman's Hill, where secondhand goods and stolen trinkets were laid out on patched cloth.
Aegon examined a rusted dagger with mild interest, but quickly moved on when the seller tried to convince him it once belonged to Maegor the Cruel.
In Cobbler's Square, he watched a boy no older than seven expertly repairing a boot sole with hands blackened by pitch. "Even the children work here," Aegon muttered.
"They have to," Ser Robin replied. "There's no feasting in Flea Bottom."
Eventually, they came to the Street of Steel, a long, smoke-filled lane echoing with the sound of hammers striking anvils. The forges roared behind open shutters, and the tang of molten metal stung the nose.
Here, the finest smiths of King's Landing plied their trade. Men and women worked with sweat-drenched brows, forging swords, horseshoes, armor, and nails alike. Most shops were cluttered, crowded, but one stood out, wide, organized, with the distinct clang of precision and rhythm inside.
Above the door, a modest iron sign read "H. Hammer – Master Smith."
Aegon exchanged a quick glance with Ser Robin before stepping inside.
The forge was hot, but clean. Tools were hung neatly along the walls, and in the back stood a broad-shouldered man with arms like tree trunks, his shirt soaked with sweat. His face was lined with age and soot, but his eyes were sharp.
"Looking for something, boy?" he asked, not glancing up from the glowing steel he was hammering.
The smith's hammer paused mid-strike, and he looked up at last, squinting through the heat and smoke.
Aegon smiled faintly beneath his hood.
"I'm looking for daggers," Aegon said, his voice calm but purposeful. "Short swords, too. That sort of thing."
Harold Hammer furrowed his brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in suspicion. "What for?" he asked, his tone less hostile than wary.
"Collection," Aegon answered simply, brushing a bit of soot off a nearby workbench with his gloved hand. "I have a taste for fine weapons."
The smith's eyes flicked from Aegon's partially shadowed face to Ser Robin standing silently at the door. The guard's posture was too upright, too composed to be that of a mere servant or street companion.
"Who exactly is asking?" Harold said gruffly. "Might be polite to say who you are before talkin' coin."
Aegon tilted his head slightly, the faintest smirk forming on his lips. "I could say the same," he replied. "Shouldn't a smith introduce himself to his customers first?"
Harold blinked once, then let out a short grunt of amusement. "Harold Hammer. Smith of the Street of Steel, and I don't waste time with cheats."
"Good," Aegon replied, voice still smooth. "Then we'll get along just fine."
He stepped closer to the workbenches, eyes gleaming under the hood. "And as for who I am… that's not something a good smith needs to know, so long as the coin's real and the work is honest."
Harold studied him for a beat longer, then gave a grunt of reluctant approval. "Fair enough."
Just then, a lanky teen boy wandered into the forge, wiping his hands on his apron. "Father, who is it ?"
"Go away, Hugh," Harold barked without looking back. "I'm working."
The boy scowled slightly, then disappeared into the back.
With a muttered sigh, Harold reached beneath a heavy cloth and brought out several blades, five gleaming daggers with varying hilts and one short sword, its edge freshly honed. "These are finished. Good steel, sharp, balanced. If you've got the coin, I've got more in the back."
Aegon took his time examining the selection, feeling their weight in hand. He turned the daggers slowly, admiring the craftsmanship. All of them bore fine edges and no excess ornamentation, they were practical, beautiful in their simplicity.
"These five," Aegon said, pointing with gloved fingers. "I'll take them."
Harold nodded and wrapped the weapons in cloth, bundling them into a leather satchel. "Seventeen silver stags, then."
Aegon paid without hesitation, pulling the coins from within his cloak and placing them neatly on the workbench. Once everything was secured in the bag, he turned to Ser Robin.
"Lets go back," Aegon said casually, slinging the bag over his shoulder.
Ser Robin raised an eyebrow. "What did you buy?"
Aegon grinned faintly, the expression almost boyish. "Just some good-looking daggers. I thought they'd look fine adorning my chambers."
Robin looked at him for a moment longer, but then gave a resigned sigh and turned to leave.
Aegon stepped out into the street with a faint laugh on his lips and a satchel full of steel on his back.
Looking at the five weapons spread across his chamber's table, Aegon felt a quiet satisfaction settle in his chest. Each blade, two short swords, three finely wrought daggers, gleamed faintly under the flickering torchlight. Though they looked ordinary for now, he knew better.
Now the raw materials for the Valyrian steel weapons are ready, he thought, his violet eyes narrowing with purpose.
There is still a week before the agreed time to meet Rhaenys, so let's wait till then. Anyway… turning them into Valyrian steel weapons isn't difficult anymore.
He stepped back from the table and took a moment to breathe in deeply. The door to his chambers remained closed behind him. No one had stopped him from bringing the weapons inside the Red Keep, this was, after all, a different era. In King's Landing, and most of Westeros, it was common for nobles and lords to keep weapons on hand.
Even ladies of noble houses carried small blades or dirks for "protection." Only the maids and low-born servants went unarmed.
His fingers brushed across the hilt of one dagger. The steel was solid, well-forged.
With a shift in focus, he brought up the image of his internal class tree. It had grown in complexity over the past year, the branches extending wider with each path he mastered.
Now there were three Tier 1 classes, each represented by a thin, singular branch bearing a single gleaming leaf:
- [Gluttonous Child]
- [Nimble Rascal]
- [Knight's Squire]
Then there were two larger, twisting branches that branched off from the base like mighty limbs of a growing tree. Each had two leaves shimmering like gold-flecked fire:
- [Heir of Old Valyria]
- [Dragon Rider]
He'd only recently managed to push [Dragon Rider] to its peak, an effort that drained 33,000 EXP in one go. The final rewards, however, were immense.
[Class: Dragon Rider (Tier 2)]
[Prerequisites:
- Class: Heir of Old Valyria at max Level 10 (satisfied)
- INT ≥ 9.0 (satisfied)
- DEX ≥ 6.0 (satisfied)
- AGI ≥ 6.0 (satisfied)
- Accepted by a Dragon for riding (satisfied) ]
[Level 10 (MAX)]
[Trait : Symbiosis of Flame and Flesh
(+65% Riding efficiency and control with bonded dragon)
(+65% Mental connection with bonded dragon)
(+55% Growth rate of bonded dragon)]
[Trait : Draconic Conduit
(+65% Dragon fire temperature when riding)
(+60% Combat efficiency with bonded dragon)
(+55% Magic resistance)]
The change had been very, very obvious.
Dreamfyre could now perform summersaults mid-air while he rode her.
Well, he had only tried it a few times, and always far away from King's Landing. He wasn't that reckless.
If anyone in the city had seen a full-grown she-dragon doing acrobatic flips above the clouds, half the population might have fainted and the other half would've written songs or sermons about it.
The mental connection was the most drastic improvement. Before, it had felt like they shared a thread, a tug when he pulled too hard, a reaction when emotions spiked. Now, it was as if they were joined by a live current.
Aegon could speak to Dreamfyre mentally, in full thoughts, and she would respond, sometimes dryly, sometimes playfully. He could feel her mood from over a kilometer away, sense her hunger, her restlessness, even her satisfaction when sunbathing atop the Dragonpit's dome.
The link was clear, precise, and an incredibly rare effect among all his traits.
At a full 3 kilometers, he could mentally summon her. Not just signal or call her, but urge her to rise and fly to him with an unspoken command. In a land of kings and blades, that was a weapon no one else had.
He was fairly certain, no, absolutely certain, that no dragonrider in Westerosi history had ever achieved such a bond. Not even Aegon the Conqueror himself, as far as records told.
And Dreamfyre's flame? It had become terrifying. He'd tested it only once at full force, aimed at a massive boulder by the shore, and the fire had turned the stone to molten slag in seconds.
Even with his [Blood and Flame Awakening] trait, Aegon had to shield himself or risk burns. That was new. Before, he could dance around Dreamfyre's fire with enough control. Now? Not unless he wanted to test the limits of his pain tolerance. But the most noticeable change was her size.
In the past few days, Dreamfyre had grown by nearly five meters, and she hadn't stopped yet. The dragon keepers had noticed, of course.
One of them, an older man, had scratched his head and muttered something about "a growth spurt like we haven't seen since the days of Meraxes." Another younger keeper had stared in awe, whispering rumors about old magic returning.
Aegon had just shrugged and smiled, saying, "She probably just needed the exercise after being unclaimed for so long."
He wasn't about to explain that a mix of blood resonance, class traits, and flamebound communion had likely reignited dormant growth pathways in her blood.
Let them wonder.
***
***
***
⚔️ Boost the pace!
Next chapter unlocks at 750 Power Stones !!
Once the milestone is hit, I'll release the new chapter within 6 hours ⏳🔥
🧱 You can check the total Power Stones on the novel's main page to see how close we are to the next release.
Help Aegon's class tree grow — your support keeps the story alive 🐉📚
***