Rhaenyra returned from Rosby with the dragon egg.
Viserys’s anger cooled.
But he had grown to despise the Lysene dancer.
Heeding Rhaenyra’s counsel, he resolved to wash his hands of Daemon’s affairs.
The dancer was forbidden from setting foot in King’s Landing.
Seeing Rhaenyra cradle the egg with such care, Viserys smiled.
“Still the same as when you were small.
I remember when your mother was pregnant with you.
I chose a golden egg from Silverwing’s clutch myself.” That egg had been placed in Rhaenyra’s cradle.
It hatched into a topaz-colored dragon, the one now called the “Golden Beast” — Syrax.
Placing a dragon egg in a Targaryen babe’s cradle, watching child and dragon grow together, was a tradition of ancient origin.
The incubation time varied.
Some grew impatient and sought out adolescent or adult dragons to tame.
Thus, there were two ways to become a dragonrider.
Hatched dragons shared their rider’s temperament.
They grew close, protective, intuitive.
They sensed their rider’s danger, understood their emotions, and acted accordingly.
Daenerys’s Drogon and Rhaenyra’s Syrax were fine examples.
Rhaenyra had bonded with Syrax since childhood.
They were like twin sisters.
At seven, she had mounted Syrax for the first time.
They were nearly inseparable.
Syrax was the only dragon fully tamed to the point of living outside the Dragonpit.
She stayed in the Red Keep’s courtyard, causing no harm unless commanded.
Rhaenyra could spend time with her daily, never letting their bond weaken.
But lately, Rhaenyra had been loosening Syrax’s chains, sending her to socialize with other dragons.
A dragon that never hunted would grow soft.
Syrax understood.
She no longer played the lady.
She practiced her hunting and fighting skills.
Rhaenyra imagined a scene: during a tense negotiation, her dragon read her intent, slowly spreading its wings behind her, baring fangs.
The other party would blanch.
This was a classic Targaryen tactic.
Rhaenyra loved it.
The fiercer Syrax looked, the better.
Recently, knights and lords had been pursuing Rhaenyra with embarrassing enthusiasm.
Each time, she turned to Syrax for help.
When suitors swore they could protect her, Syrax would fly over.
Their words died in their throats.
Laughter followed.
“The princess has a dragon, she doesn’t need your protection!
You should be begging hers!” Ser Criston Cole and Ser Harwin Strong laughed loudest.
The suitors fell silent.
Of course.
Who was safer than a dragonrider with a dragon at her side?
Rhaenyra and Syrax shared a magical bond.
Every dragonrider who hatched their own dragon knew this.
Of course, hatching a dragon was not always better than taming a wild one.
Hatchlings took years to grow.
Wild dragons were fierce and ready to fight.
Each method had its merits.
With time, even tamed dragons could share their rider’s mind.
Caraxes was not hatched by Daemon.
He had tamed the Blood Wyrm in the Dragonpit.
Yet the two were perfectly matched.
Their partnership was greater than the sum of its parts.
Sometimes, riders inherited the prestige of a dragon’s previous owner.
Rhaenyra cradled the egg and sighed.
“Father, why can a dragonrider only bond with one dragon?
Even our Valyrian ancestors had the same limit.
Were there no exceptions?” Viserys shook his head.
“Every dragonrider has asked that question.
But we are far from the Valyrian Freehold.
We are not among its forty greatest families.
Some of our ancestors joined the Circle of Great Wizards, but much has been lost over the centuries.
All that remains is the song of ice and fire, and our family’s mission.” He paused.
“In Old Valyria, some used horns and whips.
Others used magic and blood.
Even bastards were skilled in magic and became riders.
They say Valyria raised thousands of dragons when they conquered the world.
Only the ashes beneath the Fourteen Flames know those days now.” He looked at his thoughtful daughter.
“Rhaenyra, return the egg to the Dragonpit.
Let it wait for a child of our blood.” Rhaenyra said she wanted to keep it for a while, to see if it would hatch on its own.
Viserys indulged her.
He knew what she was thinking.
He patted her head.
“Father believes you can hold your throne even without a second dragon.” Viserys had ridden Balerion the Black Dread, the first dragon of the Conquest, its last rider.
He had only flown once, circling the city.
Balerion was too old to fly far.
The dragon died soon after, its skull now displayed in the Red Keep’s great hall, surrounded by dozens of others.
They stood as monuments to the family’s bond with dragons.
After Balerion’s death, Viserys never tamed another dragon.
Unlike Rhaenyra, who craved dragons like a dragon craves gold, he was content.
Rhaenyra felt no shame in her desire.
It was the most primal Targaryen instinct.
When the magic tide receded and dragons vanished, tragedy struck at Summerhall.
Wildfire consumed a king, a queen, and their heir — all in a desperate attempt to bring dragons back.
This was Targaryen obsession.
She knew how bloody and cruel the Dance would be.
One reason was that Rhaenyra had been too weak.
Her father would face a different situation than she would.
But a father’s love for his daughter was always real.
Lost in thought, Rhaenyra carried the egg back to the courtyard.
Elly was waiting anxiously by the door.
When she saw Rhaenyra safe, Elly rushed forward.
“Princess, everything you asked for has been arranged.
The Household is running smoothly.” “You have done well, Elly.” Elly smiled, then glanced at Syrax in the courtyard.
“Princess, the dragon seems hungry.
Should we send for livestock?” “Syrax can hunt when she needs to.
I will only feed her if she fails to find prey.
She has been fine these past days.” Rhaenyra walked to Syrax, who was stretching her neck, golden light rippling across her scales.
Her next words caught the dragon off guard.
“Syrax, can you hatch an egg?” “SKAHR?” Read ahead with 30+ chapters now with daily updates!