Panic seized Raegon’s chest.
He knew with absolute certainty that his formidable elder sister and stubborn brother stood directly behind him.
He briefly considered falling backward to feign a swoon, but before his thoughts could settle on an escape, three distinct sensations struck him at once.
A warm, familiar drop splashed onto his silver hair.
Raegor had lifted his colossal snout once more, looming directly overhead.
Next came the scrape of stiff leather across his bare shoulder.
Finally, two hands, calloused and cold from long hours on the practice yard, clamped down over his ears.
Despite their firm, biting chill, they carried an undeniable warmth that made him shrink into his shoulders.
They were the hands of a swordswoman.
“Mercy, Visenya!
I was wrong!”
Recognizing when retreat was the only path to survival, Raegon surrendered without hesitation.
“Open your eyes,” Visenya’s cool voice drifted from above.
“I have no intention of eating you.”
“No, but you will double his lessons with the maester,” a gentler voice cut in from the side.
Rhaenys reached out and caught Aegon by the ear, mirroring Visenya’s hold on the youngest.
Raegon looked up at his eldest sister with wide, pleading eyes.
“You would not do that to me…
would you?”
“I expect a proper explanation,” Visenya said, her sharp gaze sweeping from the rejuvenated golden dragon back to Raegon, whose frame looked healthier than it had in moons.
“Peace, sisters, let us talk this through reasonably,” Aegon protested, wincing as Rhaenys twisted his earlobe while shooting frantic signals toward his little brother.
“Let go, Rhaenys, have some dignity.”
“We will settle with Raegon shortly,” Rhaenys said, her tone sweet but unyielding.
“You are our father’s heir.
It is one thing for Visenya and me to run wild, but you threw yourself straight into an inferno.
Have you given any thought to what happens to Dragonstone if you perish in a hole?”
“Enough, Rhaenys,” Visenya murmured.
“No, Visenya,” Rhaenys countered firmly.
“Aegon is our father’s regent.
If he falls, the island falls into chaos.
He is the master of this house now, not merely an older brother.
Such recklessness cannot stand.”
“I was in haste,” Aegon muttered, his posture softening under the scolding.
“It will not happen again.”
“You speak as though you expect another chance?”
“Raegon is my blood,” Aegon insisted, squaring his shoulders.
“What sort of brother stands outside while his kin is in danger?
If it were you—”
“If it were me, I would have thought to douse the flames first,” Rhaenys replied with quiet finality.
“That will do,” Visenya said, cutting short the dispute.
She turned her lilac gaze back toward Raegon, her eyes narrowing as she took in his mismatched pupils.
“Now it is your turn, little brother.
Speak.”
Raegon pulled Aegon’s discarded leather jerkin tighter around his waist to cover himself.
“If I told you that waking from the fever gave me strange arts I cannot explain, would you believe me?”
Visenya and Rhaenys shared a quiet, knowing look, neither offering a word of doubt.
Raegon felt a sudden chill.
Trying to deceive them had been pointless from the start.
The last trace of golden fire guttered out, leaving the cavern floor still and cool.
Without the blinding veil of flame, three massive shapes came into full view near the threshold.
Meraxes lay with her golden eyes half-closed in lingering contentment.
Vhagar, realizing she had been caught, shrank her long neck into her shoulders.
Balerion stared down at the transformed golden elder, taking a cautious step back only when Raegor let out a sharp, territorial hiss.
“Incredible,” Aegon breathed, walking over to the Black Dread.
As the mount’s rider, he could sense the beast’s mood without words.
Through their bond, he felt only soothing warmth and an open yearning for more of the strange flame.
Raegon watched them in silence.
Seeing that neither his brother nor his sisters pressed for details, he understood their restraint.
Every dragonlord guarded their own mysteries.
“Aegon,” Visenya said, turning toward the keep.
“When we return, tell Orys that Raegon wandered into the caves out of mischief, and that Raegor simply shed his old scales after a long slumber.”
“And add that our little brother managed to calm the beast with natural talent,” Aegon chimed in smoothly.
Rhaenys nodded.
“I will speak with Father.”
Raegon looked between them, bewildered by how quickly they closed ranks around him.
“Aegon…”
Aegon held up a hand, stopping the boy mid-sentence.
“Keep your silence, Raegon.
Some truths belong only to you.
Guard them well.
When danger finds you, those secrets will keep you alive.”
Looking into his brother’s clear lilac eyes, Raegon lowered his head.
“No,” Raegon said softly, looking back up.
“I was reckless today.
I brought trouble upon the keep, and both of you risked your lives entering the fire for my sake.”
He lifted his right arm.
“Some secrets must belong to our house.”
As the boy raised his hand, Raegor lifted his long, sinuous neck.
The newly formed membranes along his throat flared outward like the hood of a venomous serpent from the jungles of Sothoryos.
His golden crest stood tall like a battle standard.
When Raegon lowered his palm, the colossal dragon bent its neck, arching its massive head over the boy like a canopy of polished gold.
Visenya’s brow furrowed.
No dragonrider could command such precise movement without a saddle and reins.
Wyrm’s Aura.
Raegon’s golden eye flared with inner light.
A sudden shift rippled through the air.
For a fleeting instant, Aegon and Visenya felt as though the small child before them had vanished, replaced by the crushing presence of an ancient apex predator.
Balerion tucked his chin, flames dancing between his black teeth.
Vhagar let out a sharp, defensive screech, while Meraxes backed several paces toward the light, her throat glowing hot.
“Balerion, stand down!” Aegon shouted, reaching out to steady his mount.
“It is Raegon. The source of this chapter is g.com.
Hold your fire.”
The three dragons blinked, glancing at one another in sudden confusion.
A moment earlier, an alien dominance had threatened their territory, yet in the span of a single heartbeat, the hostility dissolved.
What remained felt like a young hatchling of their own brood, harmless and familiar.
Balerion gave a low, questioning grunt.
Raegor answered with a resonant rumble from deep within his chest, as though confirming all was well.
Satisfied, the Black Dread swallowed his flame, looking down at the pale boy with curious, slit pupils.
“Never reveal this art to another soul,” Visenya commanded, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
“Not to the maester, not to the guards, not even to Father.”
“I understand,” Raegon replied.
He knew well enough what he had just done: he had forcibly shifted the disposition of three bonded dragons from wariness to warmth.
Even in the heights of the Freehold, such an art would have been considered terrifying.
“There is more,” Raegon continued quietly.
“My presence here…
it will slowly alter the island.
The caverns, the air, the stone.
Over time, Dragonstone will become far more suited for dragons to nest, hatch, and thrive.
And the rite that woke Raegor…”
“Blood magic,” Rhaenys whispered, stepping past Aegon to take her brother’s hand.
“Promise me, Raegon.
Never make a pact that demands your life or flesh.”
“I know the price,” Raegon said.
He understood the law of equal exchange.
It had taken his own blood and the fading resonance of his celestial soul to restore Raegor from the edge of the grave.
Future rites would require equivalent fuel, whether through dragonflame or the vitality of sorcerers.
Yet the aura that nourished the island required no sacrifice at all.
His living vessel was the ritual itself.
Aegon and Visenya stood motionless as the weight of his words sank in.
In the days of Old Valyria, the Freehold had sought to expand its borders, only to find that few places in the known world could sustain dragonkind.
The fertile basin of the Mother Rhoyne had been tainted by the water curses of the Rhoynar, rendering it toxic to magical beasts.
Aside from the grim Shadow Lands of the east, only the Fourteen Flames could sustain great clutches, leading the dragonlords to gather all their beasts in one basket until the cataclysm swallowed them whole.
Dragonstone had always been a poor substitute, cold and narrow.
If Raegon could truly transform the island into a fertile breeding ground, House Targaryen would possess the foundation to rise beyond anything their ancestors achieved.
The ancestors had looked down upon their house at last.
Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys exchanged a single, silent look.
The boy had to be guarded at all costs.
He was the cornerstone upon which their line would rebuild its strength.
Yet, before attending to the future of their dynasty, certain household matters required immediate discipline.
What was to be done with a wayward little brother who ran off into a volcano?
Catching the sudden, sharp shift in his siblings’ eyes, Raegon felt a cold sweat break across his neck.
I am done for.
“Wait!
Have mercy!”