Beyond the rewards granted by the achievement system, Baelon had also strengthened himself considerably, both militarily and financially.
Crab Bay, the North's sole true window to the Narrow Sea, had poured steady wealth into his coffers for years. Merchant caravans now passed through under his banners, tolls were collected without resistance, and when this income was joined with shiploads of luxury goods from Myr and the immense spoils seized from Tyrosh, even Harrenhal's Wailing Tower, long famed as the greatest storehouse in the Seven Kingdoms, was beginning to feel pressed for space.
In matters of soldiery, Baelon believed firmly in quality over number. He had not swollen his land forces. Harrenhal still fielded two thousand men, well-trained and well-paid. The true expansion had come upon the sea.
His navy, once numbering a thousand sailors, had doubled. Each year, Baelon purchased new warships from every corner of the realm, replacing those lost to age or damage. None were wasted. Ships retired from war were refitted and sent directly into his merchant fleets.
Throughout the Seven Kingdoms, Baelon's trading caravans were almost certainly the only ones armed with scorpion ballistae, monstrous engines capable of striking at terrifying range.
From the very day he took Tyrosh, Baelon had turned the city into a forge for such weapons. Not a single one was sold. Every scorpion belonged to him.
The Tyroshi fleet itself had been rebuilt under his direct command, and the city's four thousand soldiers answered to him alone. Archon Equis ruled in name only, a silk-robed shadow propped up for appearances.
For the journey to Dragonstone, Baelon intended no escort. He would fly alone, mounted upon his dragon, to reunite with King Viserys and the rest of the royal family.
"Tyraxes," he said quietly, resting a hand against the warm scales of the dragon's neck. "We fly."
As he mounted, the familiar weight and living heat beneath him stirred a deep, steady awe. Tyraxes had hatched alongside him, and as a dragon of the old Dragonlord strain, it seemed to change with every passing season.
Three years ago, Tyraxes had been formidable, but not extraordinary.
Now, the difference was unmistakable.
Its wings were the first thing any observer would notice. Shorter than those of other great dragons, they were thick-boned and immensely powerful, built for brutal acceleration rather than graceful soaring.
Its hindquarters were massive, the rear limbs thick as tower pillars, with cruel bone spurs running along its flanks and shoulders. These gave the dragon a savage advantage in close combat.
Its neck was shorter than most, far shorter than that of Caraxes. Where other dragons presented long, vulnerable throats, Tyraxes kept its most vital point guarded by muscle and scale.
The dragon's muscle density surpassed that of any common wyrm. Each movement carried explosive strength, though at the cost of some endurance and nimbleness.
Baelon found the trade more than acceptable.
In length, Tyraxes was what dragonkeepers would call solid-bodied. Stocky and heavy, it had only just passed thirty meters after three years of growth, yet it already dwarfed both Syrax and Seasmoke.
Harrenhal's strange air, combined with alchemical draughts devised for dragon breeding and Tyraxes's ancient bloodline, had driven its growth at a fearsome pace, nearly five meters each year.
When Baelon reached Dragonstone astride his dragon, Viserys's household had already been there several days.
"Baelon has come?" Rhaenyra asked, rising from the courtyard stones.
She had flown ahead on Syrax and, due to the chill between herself and Queen Alicent's children, spent much of her time in the open yard, keeping her dragon company.
Syrax, who had been basking lazily, lifted her head at once. Her posture shifted, wings drawing in, neck arched in unmistakable recognition.
Rhaenyra smiled faintly. There was only one dragon in the world that made Syrax react so.
Tyraxes descended without hesitation.
The great dragon dropped straight from the sky, trusting its thick hide and tremendous mass. The impact shook the ground with a thunderous boom, stone dust leaping into the air. Servants, guards, and courtiers spilled into the yard, staring in stunned silence at the brutal, unfamiliar shape of the beast.
"So Baelon has arrived," Viserys said as he stepped forward with his family. His eyes widened as he took in the dragon. "It has been a long while, Tyraxes. By the Seven, does he not look even… heavier than before?"
The dragon's shape lacked elegance, but the raw force it radiated was overwhelming.
Among all the dragons of House Targaryen, there was likely no other quite like it.
Perhaps not even in the days of Balerion.
"Blame Harrenhal's warhorses," Baelon replied, swinging down and brushing dust from his sleeves with a grin. "Tyraxes eats the better part of a cavalry troop each day. If he did not grow heavy, something would be wrong."
Tyraxes lowered itself and bent its neck with surprising gentleness, setting Baelon upon the stone.
Baelon stepped toward Syrax and laid a hand against her warm, golden scales. "And you," he said lightly. "Why do you laze about all day? Dragons do not grow strong by sleeping."
Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight. "It has only been a few years," she said sharply. "Syrax can already carry a double saddle. Not every dragon grows like your Tyraxes."
That was true enough. Most dragons grew scarcely a meter each year once past their earliest youth. Two meters was already remarkable. Syrax nearing twenty meters was no small feat.
Sunfyre himself had gained only a handful of meters since hatching.
Baelon laughed and stepped forward, drawing Rhaenyra into a firm embrace. She hesitated only a heartbeat before returning it.
Viserys followed, then Alicent, and after them Aegon and Helaena.
When Baelon clasped Aegon, by the shoulders, his voice dropped, calm and deliberate. "Sunfyre is a rare dragon. Do not waste him."
Aegon blinked, confused, then nodded. "I know." He smiled faintly. He liked this cousin of his.
Baelon said no more. He embraced Helaena, then Aemond, and finally turned back to the king.
"The Dragonkeepers went out this morning," Viserys said, his expression weary. "Neither Helaena's egg nor Aemond's hatched. Word reached me that several eggs on Dragonstone have hatched in recent years, so I brought them here, in hopes that fortune might favor them."
Baelon glanced toward the smoking peaks of the island, eyes thoughtful, and said nothing.
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