Even without seeing it clearly, Brayden knew at once that the dragon's body was far longer than Prince Baelon's Tyraxes.
The realization struck him with a chill. Dragons varied in size, yes, but this was no modest beast. The length of its neck alone eclipsed Tyraxes, and its wings cast shadows broad enough to swallow the stone yard whole.
How had Princess Helaena managed to tame such a colossal creature?
The question rose unbidden, then fell away just as quickly. There was no time for wonder. Brayden gathered his cloak and ran.
By the time he reached the steps and burst into the circular plaza beyond, the great pale dragon surged upward, wings beating thunder into the air. Upon its back sat a slight figure in silver and blue.
Dreamfyre was flying again.
"Helaena…" Brayden breathed, skidding to a halt as the dragon climbed. His hand braced against the stone balustrade, fingers whitening as he stared upward. "Seven save us."
He had just witnessed it with his own eyes. A true bonding. Not rumor, not ceremony, not careful preparation under the Dragonkeepers' watchful gaze. A living dragon had accepted a rider.
Yet if triumph should have crowned the moment, it did not rest upon Helaena's face.
Though Dreamfyre bore a dragon saddle fashioned long ago for Targaryen riders, its size betrayed its age. The saddle was built for a grown prince or princess, not a young girl whose arms trembled as she clutched the handholds. Helaena leaned forward, pressing her chest low against the leather, her braid snapping wildly behind her.
Years of confinement had left Dreamfyre starved for the sky. Once freed, the pale blue she-dragon flew as if possessed, banking sharply and climbing too fast, loosing her pent-up fury with every furious beat of her wings.
The wind alone was punishment.
"Hngh…" Helaena's breath came in short gasps. She tightened her grip, knuckles pale beneath her gloves. "Dreamfyre… slow. Please."
Her voice was torn nearly from her mouth by the gale, but she forced the words out again, lowering herself further, clinging to the saddle as the world blurred beneath her.
The saddle saved her. Its reinforced frame absorbed the worst of the strain, keeping her from being torn loose. Without it, she would have been lost to the sky already.
For several long moments, Dreamfyre did not heed her. The dragon wheeled and surged, reveling in the open air, roaring her defiance to the clouds.
Then, slowly, the great head turned.
One luminous eye fixed upon the small figure at her neck.
Dreamfyre felt it. The tension in Helaena's body. The fear beneath the command. With a rumbling sound deep in her chest, the dragon eased her wings, the furious wind softening into a heavy rush.
Helaena sagged with relief, her forehead pressing against the leather. She swallowed, steadying her breath.
But a dragon's pride was not so easily soothed.
Dreamfyre did not descend.
Instead, she climbed higher and began to circle King's Landing, wide and deliberate, her shadow spilling across the city like a living thing. Over the Red Keep she roared, a sound that rattled stone and bone alike, and loosed gouts of flame harmlessly into the open sky.
The fire painted the clouds gold and blue.
Below, the city erupted.
"A dragon!" someone screamed in the streets. "Seven above, a dragon!"
"I have never seen one like that!"
Fear spread like wildfire. People fled doorways and toppled carts, pointing upward as the unfamiliar shape passed overhead.
"Can no one stop it?" a woman cried, clutching her child. "The Faith, the crown, anyone!"
"The Faith cannot fight a dragon," another shouted back. "Only the royal family can!"
As panic seized the streets, those within the Red Keep had already taken notice.
King Viserys stood rigid on the terrace, hands gripping the stone rail. His face had gone pale beneath his crown.
"That dragon…" he said slowly. "Is that Dreamfyre?"
Ser Harrold Westerling stepped forward, squinting into the sky. His jaw tightened. "It is, Your Grace. And she is not alone."
Viserys stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"There is a rider," Ser Harrold said, voice grave. "Small, but seated true."
Viserys recoiled as if struck. "A knight?" His voice rose, sharp with disbelief and fury. "Who would dare claim a dragon without my leave?"
His hands curled into fists. Dragons were the legacy of House Targaryen, their greatest power. Even his own blood did not mount them without permission, without ritual, without trial.
To do so without his command was no boldness.
It was defiance.
It was nothing short of trampling his crown into the dirt.
"Your Grace," Ser Harrold said, his tone steady though his hand had already gone to the pommel of his sword, "our first concern must be to stop Dreamfyre before the city suffers real harm. We will need a dragon that can oppose it."
Viserys let out a sharp, humorless breath and shook his head.
"To match Dreamfyre?" he said, bitterness creeping into his voice. "There is no such dragon in King's Landing."
Dreamfyre was ancient. Older than even his grandfather's reign. Among the living dragons, perhaps only Vhagar could overwhelm her with certainty.
Meleys might contest her. Caraxes as well, blood-wyrm that he was. Yet even then, the outcome would be uncertain at best.
And neither was here.
"Meleys is on Driftmark," Viserys went on, pacing a step before the balustrade. His fingers worried the ring upon his hand. "Caraxes is at Harrenhal. By the time a raven flies and a rider answers, half the city could be ash."
He stopped, shoulders sagging for a heartbeat before straightening once more.
"It matters not," he said at last, his voice hardening. "You said there is a rider. Then Dreamfyre is not running wild."
Ser Harrold inclined his head slightly.
"When the dragon lands," Viserys continued, eyes narrowing, "bring the rider to me. At once. I will see for myself who dared slip into the dragonpit and claim a dragon without my leave."
Each word was clipped, cold. The wound to his authority burned plainly beneath the calm.
If this rider proved not to be of House Targaryen, but some reckless wretch with a whisper of dragon's blood in their veins, Viserys would make an example of them. Bonding with a dragon did not grant the right to defy a king.
House Targaryen, under his rule, would not be challenged by a single beast and an audacious rider.
"As you command, Your Grace," Ser Harrold said, already turning.
High above, Dreamfyre's fury began to fade.
The great she-dragon's wingbeats slowed, her circling narrowing as Helaena gathered her courage and lifted herself once more against the saddle. She raised one trembling hand and pressed it to the warm scales at Dreamfyre's neck.
"There," she whispered, her voice hoarse but steady. "Enough now."
Dreamfyre rumbled low in her chest. With a final sweep over the city, she turned toward the Red Keep and descended, landing upon the rocky cliffs along its outer walls where the stone jutted wide and bare. The castle's yard was far too small to receive such a vast body.
Below, the Kingsguard altered course at once. Ser Harrold led them hard toward the cliffs, cloak snapping in the wind, his gaze fixed upon the massive form settling against the stone.
He had expected many things.
He had not expected this.
Princess Helaena?
The Great Hall of the Red Keep had fallen utterly silent.
Viserys stood frozen at the foot of the steps, staring as his daughter was led forward. Her silver hair had come loose from its bindings, strands clinging to her flushed face. Her riding leathers were scuffed and smeared, her hands red where she had clutched the saddle too long.
She looked very small beneath the high arches of the hall.
For a long moment, the king could not speak. Shock warred with disbelief, with fear, with a rising tide of questions that tangled in his throat.
At last, all of it gave way to a single thought.
Viserys stepped forward, his voice low and unsteady despite himself.
"…Are you hurt?"
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A/N: If you think you know what comes next… you don't. The answers are already waiting ahead.
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