"How many hatchlings were born?" Baelon asked, a faint smile touching his lips. "That is welcome news."
He sounded pleased, yet his thoughts were anything but settled.
Even so, his knowledge came only from the television series. He knew that during Viserys I Targaryen's reign, several young dragons had hatched on Dragonstone, and he even remembered some of their names... but no matter how he tried to line it up, the timeline simply didn't quite fit.
Syrax's brood? No.
Vermax and Arrax should not yet have been born. In the true telling of events, those dragons were meant to hatch alongside Rhaenyra's sons. And Rhaenyra was not even twenty.
Then another thought surfaced, slow and unwelcome.
How old had Rhaenyra been when she bore those children?
Baelon frowned slightly, as he searched his memory.
King Viserys answered before Baelon could speak again. The king leaned back, brow creased, as if rummaging through his own recollections.
"According to the Dragonkeepers," Viserys said at last, "six or seven hatchlings have emerged on Dragonstone these past years. One, hatched from Silverwing's clutch, was devoured by a wild dragon. Black from head to tail, they say. The others have made their lairs high in the mountains."
He paused, then went on, glancing toward the windows that looked out over the dark sea.
"This time, Helaena and Aemond have set their hearts on those hatchlings."
"There are four they watch most closely," Viserys added. "One pale silver, one green, one black, and one light brown."
He laughed then, soft and self-mocking, shaking his head.
"The Dragonkeepers have given them names, of course. I cannot recall a single one. The years steal more from me than I would like."
At that, the captain of the Dragonkeepers stepped forward. He bowed low, one hand to his chest, his voice grave with ritual respect.
"They are called Vermax, Arrax, Mogul, and Scorix, Your Grace. The eldest hatched several years past. The youngest broke free of its shell only last year."
Baelon inclined his head in acknowledgment, absorbing the names. After a moment, he spoke again, his tone casual, though his eyes were sharp.
"I have also heard that wild dragons still haunt Dragonstone's slopes. One of them is said to be an eater of its own kind. How large is it?"
The Dragonkeeper's jaw tightened.
"It is called the Cannibal. A dragon black as pitch, with eyes the color of poisoned jade. It feeds upon eggs and hatchlings. By our reckoning, it has consumed more than ten."
Baelon's expression did not change.
"Then do not trouble yourselves," he said calmly. "tyraxes is here. If the Cannibal shows itself, I will see it dealt with."
He had not come to Dragonstone merely to watch children test their courage before newly hatched beasts.
His true purpose lay with the riderless dragons that haunted the island.
As tyraxes grew, its nature revealed itself more fully with each passing year. Baelon had already witnessed its bloodflame. But there was another quality, quieter and far more dangerous, which he had come to understand in his own way.
He thought of it as dominion.
Not a spell, nor a trick of training, but an instinctive authority, a kingly pressure that pressed upon other dragons. Against its kind, tyraxes struck harder, while their fire and fury seemed blunted in return.
Yet that was only its outward face.
The heart of the matter was command.
A call that riderless dragons could not ignore.
Dragons already bonded to riders lay beyond its reach. Once a dragon accepted a rider, its loyalty was complete. Dragon and rider ceased to be wholly separate beings. Their spirits intertwined, thought with thought, will with will, until intent alone could guide claw and flame.
That was how Prince Daemon commanded Caraxes without a word.
Few men could achieve such communion.
Daemon could.
Baelon could.
Perhaps Rhaenys, in time.
But Rhaenyra, Laenor, and Laena could not. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
Baelon had many paths to strength. His soldiers were loyal. His coffers full.
Only one road remained that promised true dominion.
Dragons.
One dragon could reduce a castle to slag and smoke.
Ten could break a kingdom.
Hatchlings were fragile things, easily slain. Only when a dragon grew large enough that its scales could turn steel did it become a weapon worthy of fear.
Dragonstone sheltered many such beasts.
Vermithor.
Silverwing.
Sheepstealer.
The Cannibal.
Above all, Vermithor and the Cannibal.
Vermithor, second only to Vhagar in size, was his foremost desire.
The Cannibal was something else entirely. A creature born for slaughter, savage and unbroken. Against such a beast, even adult dragons fell screaming from the sky.
Grey Ghost, perhaps, if it could be found.
Dragons were always stronger in number.
To Baelon, they were the living heirs of the war machines of his former life. One might be answered. Many could not.
"Let Helaena and Aemond make their attempts," Baelon said, turning to Viserys. "I will patrol the skies above Dragonstone on tyraxes."
"I will go as well," Rhaenyra said at once, leaning forward. "Syrax can fight."
Viserys raised both hands, chuckling.
"Peace, peace. There is no hurry. They will not approach the hatchlings until the morrow. Tonight, we rest. Especially you, Baelon."
In the king's eyes, Dragonstone was the cradle of House Targaryen. What danger could truly threaten them here?
After supper, the family lingered in the hall, candles burning low as voices softened with the hour.
Alicent Hightower remained close to Baelon's side. Though she saw him less often now, the distance only sharpened her affection, and she listened to his every word with quiet attention.
Rhaenyra noticed.
She said nothing. After a time, she rose from her seat and left the hall without a word.
Baelon watched her go, then exhaled softly and shook his head.
At twenty, Rhaenyra had grown in body, but not in sense. She was still governed by impulse.
This was the moment she should have stayed.
By leaving, she had not spurned Alicent so much as removed herself from the family that still wished to claim her.
Foolish.
Baelon did not make the same mistake.
He remained where he was, speaking easily, listening patiently, quietly strengthening his place within Alicent's household.
Power, after all, was built as much at the table as on the battlefield.
*
[ A/N- I'm back! The chapters I owe you will be released today. Thank you all for the continued support!
and please give me some power stones... I'm broke...]