Chapter 77: The Dragon Lands on a Claw
The flight across the Narrow Sea was an epic of wind and speed, a journey of a hundred leagues in a single day. Maegor, mounted on the colossal spine of Balerion, felt the full, terrifying might of his divine-tier dragon. Below them, the endless expanse of the sea was a blur of grey-blue, broken only by the occasional whitecap. Balerion cleaved through the clouds, his wingbeats a thunderous rhythm that pushed them ever westward. Maegor, accustomed to the endurance of his Sand Steed, felt the profound exhaustion of the long flight, his muscles aching, the wind tearing at his face. Balerion, however, seemed tireless, a monstrous force of nature for whom the sea was a mere pond.
After what felt like an eternity, but was only a matter of hours, the familiar, jagged coast of Westeros appeared on the horizon. Maegor directed Balerion south, towards the heart of the Crownlands. His destination: Claw Isle, the ancestral seat of House Celtigar.
Balerion's landing was a world-shaking event. The castle guards of the Celtigar keep, men who had long sworn fealty to a long-dead dynasty, stared in disbelief as a black mountain of scales and bone descended from the heavens. The thunderous impact of his landing shook the very foundations of the keep. Balerion settled in a field just outside the castle walls, his immense form dwarfing the ancient towers. The sight alone was an undeniable declaration of the Dragon's return.
Maegor dismounted, his legs shaky from the strain of the ride, his cloak tattered by the wind. He was exhausted, but his gaze was unyielding, his purpose absolute. Balerion, with a low, rumbling chuff, watched his master, smoke curling from his nostrils, his obsidian eyes scanning the shocked guards.
Within moments, a man strode from the castle, his face etched with a mix of awe and unyielding fealty. This was Lord Ardrian Celtigar, a man in his late fifties, his silver hair and piercing eyes a testament to his ancient Valyrian blood. He was a proud, dignified lord, who had held Claw Isle for decades under a regime he despised. He saw Maegor's silver hair, his purple eyes, and the legendary blade of Blackfyre at his side. He saw the colossal dragon. There was no doubt.
Lord Ardrian immediately dropped to one knee, a profound relief and a long-held hope shining in his eyes. "My King," he declared, his voice thick with emotion, "Ardrian Celtigar, Lord of Claw Isle. I answer your call. The Dragon has returned!"
Maegor allowed a brief, tired smile. He was not here for political posturing. He was a man on a mission. "Rise, Lord Ardrian," Maegor commanded, his voice hoarse from the long flight. "Your loyalty is noted. Your house has proven its honor. I have a more urgent matter at hand."
He took a few steps, his body aching with hunger and fatigue. "This is not yet the time for war, Lord Ardrian. I have not returned to conquer. Not yet. I have an urgent, personal business in the North, with my family. This journey… it was long and demanding." Maegor's voice was uncharacteristically strained, revealing his vulnerability. "I require but a few hours of rest and a proper meal. I am starving, Lord Ardrian. The Dragon, too, is in need of a rest."
Ardrian, ever the loyal vassal, immediately understood. The King was a man, a tired man, and a hungry one. He had come not with a host of armies, but alone, on a matter of utmost importance. His visit, while not the start of the war, was a deeply personal, symbolic act.
"My King," Ardrian said, his voice ringing with a newfound purpose, "consider my castle your own. You and your dragon will be given everything you require. My finest rooms are yours. My cooks will prepare a feast. We will guard your dragon and ensure no harm comes to it. You are home, my King. At least for a night. All of Claw Isle is at your command."
Maegor gave a slow, tired nod, a flicker of genuine gratitude in his eyes. Ardrian's steadfast loyalty was more valuable than a dozen more cities in Essos. It was a direct, personal link to the land he was born to rule. He had found a safe harbor, a temporary roost for the Dragon before its next, critical flight. The North, and a forgotten kin, awaited him.