Rhaenyra gazed at the young dragons in the pit, her feelings complicated.
A dragonrider could bond with only one dragon.
Even her descendant, Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons who had hatched three from stone, could not break that rule.
When her three dragons grew, only the black one remained bound to her; the green and the white were chained in the Great Pyramid because she could not control them.
Dragons without riders were called wild dragons.
During the Dance, the most infamous wild dragon was undoubtedly the one they called the Cannibal, who made his lair on Dragonstone and survived by eating eggs and hatchlings.
He was vicious and savage, and no one could tame him.
Rhaenyra’s heart ached as she watched the dragons in the pit.
When the dragon war came, how many of them would take to the sky against her, bound by contract to other riders?
When the conflict between the Greens and the Blacks escalated, bastards with dragonrider blood would swarm in like vultures, claiming Targaryen dragons for themselves.
Though, of course, only Targaryen bastards could do so.
The Velaryons and Celtigars were also of Valyrian descent.
When the Doom of Valyria struck, House Targaryen had relocated to Dragonstone near Westeros, while the Velaryons and Celtigars, who had intermarried with the Targaryens for generations, settled on Driftmark and Claw Isle.
But they had no claim to Targaryen dragons.
In those days, the Valyrian Freehold ruled the world.
Trade federations, the nomadic Dothraki, all bowed beneath the shadow of dragons and magic, submitting to the rule of the Fourteen Flames.
In a single war against the Rhoynar, the Freehold had deployed three hundred dragons.
Rivers had boiled dry.
House Targaryen, during the Freehold’s time, had been little more than minor lords beneath the Fourteen Flames.
Twelve years before the Doom, a girl named Daenys the Dreamer, daughter of the then-patriarch, foresaw the coming catastrophe in a vision.
Her father moved his entire family away.
The Celtigars and Velaryons, who held a status similar to landed knights beneath the Targaryens, also escaped the Doom.
After Aegon conquered the Seven Kingdoms, House Velaryon, the lords of the tides, were rewarded for their service.
They developed trade and built a navy, producing several masters of ships.
They became one of the most powerful houses in the realm.
It was said that the port towns of Driftmark were more prosperous than King’s Landing itself.
The current head of House Velaryon was Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake.
He had sailed his ship, the Sea Snake, on nine great voyages, amassing wealth that doubled his house’s fortunes.
Though much was lost at sea, the treasures he brought back, elephants, silk, and spices, made House Velaryon the wealthiest in all of Westeros, richer even than the Lannisters and the Hightowers.
The ship’s name had become his epithet.
His wife was an even more significant figure.
Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, the “Queen Who Never Was,” was the eldest granddaughter of the Old King, and she was beloved by the people.
She had dragonrider blood.
This was Rhaenyra’s aunt by marriage, and a powerful rival.
Rhaenyra pushed those thoughts aside and ordered the guards and servants in the Dragonpit to assemble.
“By the princess’s command, all present!” Some came forward without hesitation.
Others lingered, eyes darting nervously, reluctant to approach.
The crowd was a disorderly mess.
Rhaenyra frowned.
It seemed she commanded little authority here.
They regarded her as a beautiful decoration, not as a worthy successor.
King’s Landing was never short of unruly subjects.
Even the vicious Queen Cersei of later ages could not stop the smallfolk from cursing her as a whore behind her back.
Syrax let out an annoyed shriek and beat her wings against the ground.
The other dragons in the pit responded with a chorus of deafening roars, and the crowd fell silent.
Some legs began to tremble.
They had all seen dragons feed before.
One snap of those jaws, and a man was gone.
Rhaenyra walked to the front of the assembly.
When the crowd had settled, she spoke.
“You are my people.
You are the lambs of the Seven.
You have served well in guarding the Dragonpit.
Continue to serve the crown faithfully.” A smattering of half-hearted responses rose from the crowd.
Rhaenyra signaled to Elly and the other handmaidens, who brought forward platters of wine and fine food.
“Today, everyone shall receive a reward.
No one will be left out.” Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“Did the princess say something about rewards?” “She said everyone gets something.” “Surely not.
She never pays us common folk any mind.” “The princess is so kind…” Elly had to raise her voice to restore order.
Rhaenyra continued.
“Come forward, one by one.
Receive your reward from my hands.” Elly offered to take over the task, but Rhaenyra refused.
The crowd began to mill about in confusion.
Rhaenyra pressed a hand to her forehead.
“One at a time.
No cutting in line.” Ser Criston Cole and the court guards stepped in, using the pommels of their swords to discourage anyone who tried to push ahead.
The first man in line received a meat pie and a cup of wine from Rhaenyra’s hands.
She studied him with a quick, appraising glance.
The ones at the front, judging by their clothing, were those who held more respectable positions in the Dragonpit: the stewards, the accountants, the guard captains.
Rhaenyra smiled.
“You have worked hard tending the dragons, my good man.” The steward looked flustered.
“I would not presume, my princess.
To serve the crown’s dragons is my honor.” Rhaenyra continued, personally handing out food and drink to those who followed.
Farther back, the crowd’s attire changed.
Some wore patched clothing.
Others had dirt and grime under their fingernails.
These were the poor, the laborers.
Those in front looked at them with barely concealed disdain.
When Rhaenyra reached them, some shrank back in shame.
But she treated them with the same warmth, sometimes even offering a word of appreciation.
After everyone had received their share, Rhaenyra ordered a rest period.
The steward naturally complied.
The guards gathered to eat and drink together.
The clerks and stewards returned to their offices.
The laborers huddled in their own circle, savoring the rare moment of respite.
Rhaenyra approached the laborers with Elly at her side.
Criston Cole made to follow, worried that commoners might threaten the princess, but Rhaenyra shook her head and gestured for him to stand down.
The laborers grew uneasy at the princess’s approach.
Rhaenyra smiled reassuringly and motioned for them to relax.
The man at their head offered her a seat.
She took it without hesitation, earning looks of alarm from Cole and Elly behind her.
The laborers themselves were stunned.
The leader of the group spoke with some trepidation.
“Forgive us, Princess.
We are dirty and unwashed.
We would not wish to offend your nose.” “Think nothing of it.” Rhaenyra’s face was warm.
“I came to have a word with you.” She asked about their work.
Some cleaned the dragon dung.
Others hauled the beasts’ food.
Then she asked about their families, where they came from.
Most were villagers from the Crownlands.
A few were from King’s Landing itself.
The leader, for instance, was an orphan from the city.
“Princess,” the man said, “I tried to join the Gold Cloaks, but I did not meet their standards.
So I came here to earn my bread.” His name was Arryk Waters.
He had been the first among the laborers to receive his reward.
Meanwhile, at a nearby table, the steward, the accountant, and the maester Rhaenyra had spoken with earlier were sharing wine.
Rhaenyra had sent generous portions of food and drink to the maester, the great-nephew of Septon Barth.
From there, they could just make out Rhaenyra’s figure among the laborers.
The steward, who came from a minor noble house in the Crownlands, spoke first.
“The princess is truly kind-hearted.” The accountant nodded in agreement.
“She has the grace of her grandfather, the Old King.” The small nobles of the Crownlands generally supported the Iron Throne.
Today, Rhaenyra’s thoughtful gesture had won the loyalty of everyone in the Dragonpit.
The maester said nothing, merely smiling as he drank deeply from his cup.
“The crown’s wine is fine,” he said at last.
“Today, I too am blessed.”