When Baelon returned to his room, he spotted Larys’s raven waiting by the window, the familiar letter still tied securely to its right leg.
He walked over with practiced ease and untied the message.
Yet the moment he read its contents, the calmness that had settled over him finally broke, and his heart began to beat with barely contained excitement.
As Baelon had requested, the message was short and direct.
There was only a single line:
Confirmed.
The Cannibal has been prowling around Dragonstone for nearly seven days and has already aroused the vigilance of Vermithor and Silverwing.
Baelon’s expression remained remarkably calm.
Ever since the acting lord had voiced his theory, he had already harbored a vague suspicion of his own.
The Cannibal was indeed one of the most powerful wild dragons alive, but Vermithor and Silverwing were also among House Targaryen’s greatest sources of military strength.
More importantly, they were a bonded pair—a perfect two-against-one combination.
It wasn’t merely the Cannibal that would suffer against the two dragons.
Even Vhagar would have to pay a heavy price if she faced both of them together.
“Ah…
what a pity.
They still haven’t discovered the Cannibal’s exact location.”
Baelon sighed softly.
He then held the letter over the candle flame and watched it burn until nothing remained.
Once the paper had been reduced entirely to ashes, he scattered the remnants out of the window.
“Knock, knock, knock—”
“Prince Baelon, Prince Daemon is here to see you.”
“He says he has come on the king’s orders to teach you his knowledge and experience regarding dragonriding,” Ser Erryk respectfully reported.
Baelon glanced toward the window, judging the hour by the darkness outside, and chose to refuse.
“It’s already too late tonight.
Tell him to teach me tomorrow.”
Ser Erryk relayed the response to Prince Daemon exactly as instructed.
Daemon, however, wasn’t in the slightest hurry.
With both hands resting casually in front of his stomach, he said, “This is a direct order from the king, Ser Erryk.
Do you dare disobey it?”
The Kingsguard had sworn their lives to the king.
Disobeying one of Viserys’s commands would be tantamount to betraying the very honor they took such pride in.
But protecting and caring for the young Prince Baelon was also an order directly issued by the king.
For a moment, Ser Erryk found himself caught between two commands.
“Let him in, Ser Erryk.”
Baelon did not want the knight who had sworn to protect him to be placed in such a difficult position, so he spoke up himself.
“Yes, Your Highness!”
Ser Erryk opened the door, but immediately indicated that Daemon had to surrender his weapons first.
“Why are you being so cautious?
Do you really think I’d hurt my own nephew?” Daemon clearly found the situation amusing.
Ser Erryk remained completely serious.
But my duty is to protect Prince Baelon.”
“Any weapon capable of posing a threat to him must be treated with the utmost caution.”
Daemon couldn’t be bothered to argue.
He handed over Dark Sister, then finally entered Baelon’s room.
The moment he stepped inside, he saw Baelon reading several history books written in High Valyrian.
“Read a little less.”
“I doubt your father wants you to become the next Archmaester Vaegon.”
For once, Daemon actually put on the airs of a concerned uncle and offered his nephew some advice.
“My dear uncle, if I don’t read more, then how am I supposed to know myself and know my enemy when it comes to battle?”
The phrase came from something Baelon had encountered in one of his dreams.
He had discovered that it was almost absurdly appropriate when applied to both warfare and learning.
Daemon knew perfectly well that this boy had a sharp tongue.
Otherwise, even someone as skilled at arguing as Alicent would never have needed to seek his cooperation.
“Your father asked me to teach you some knowledge about dragons.”
“I know you’re tired, and I’m tired too, so let’s make this quick.”
Baelon nodded and raised a hand, signaling that Daemon could begin.
“To tame a dragon, you must first understand its temperament and habits.”
“Take Vermithor, for example.
His temperament is extremely volatile and aggressive, making him a tremendous test of a dragonrider’s courage.”
“If you want to tame him, you absolutely cannot show fear.
And you cannot retreat.”
“And then there’s Silverwing…”
Baelon listened with complete concentration.
He had to admit one thing: although his uncle Daemon was reckless, rebellious, and often infuriatingly willful, as a dragonrider, he was unquestionably worthy of the title.
What a pity…
If his good uncle hadn’t secretly met with Alicent, and hadn’t uttered the treasonous words “Heir for a Day,” perhaps the two of them really could have become close uncle and nephew.
Perhaps.
…
As Daemon’s explanation gradually came to an end, he rose from his seat and prepared to leave.
Baelon did not remain seated.
Out of courtesy, he climbed down from the bed and prepared to see his uncle out.
“No need.
Just remember what I told you and make sure you stay safe when you tame your dragon.”
Daemon waved dismissively.
“I will.”
Baelon nodded in response.
Perhaps some trace of conscience had finally stirred within him.
Just as Daemon’s hand closed around the door handle, he suddenly stopped.
He didn’t open the door.
Instead, he turned his head and looked back at Baelon.
“And tomorrow, the dragonkeepers will send you information about the dragons.
If you can’t make up your mind, wait a little longer.
Or investigate the information several more times.”
“It can only benefit you.”
Baelon was visibly surprised.
He knew a little about Alicent’s secret meeting with Daemon, and he had already suspected that the two might use this opportunity to stop him from taming a dragon—or perhaps arrange some seemingly reasonable “accident.”
But judging from his uncle’s reaction and attitude, was Daemon actually warning him that something might be wrong with the information about the dragons that would arrive tomorrow?
Baelon couldn’t determine what Daemon was thinking.
He couldn’t tell whether his uncle was genuinely warning him out of concern, or whether he was deliberately using this opportunity to plant doubt in his mind…
“My dear uncle, since when have you suddenly become so concerned about me?
This really isn’t like you.”
Baelon maintained a polite smile, but neither his gaze nor his words concealed his suspicion.
“Have I?”
“I think I’ve always been rather concerned about my dear nephew.”
“After all, you’re the eldest son my brother waited ten whole years for.
If you were healthy, that bitch Alicent wouldn’t have so many crooked schemes to begin with.”
Daemon’s meaning was obvious.
The root of everything was Baelon’s poor health.
Baelon looked at him coldly.
“And how much better are you compared with the queen?”
“You called your newborn nephew ‘Heir for a Day.’ My dear uncle, is that what you call concern?”
Baelon had understood exactly what Daemon meant.
And he hadn’t merely remembered it.
He had held onto the grudge all this time.
If kinslaying did not carry such terrible curses, Baelon wouldn’t have minded killing his good uncle with his own hands and handing his dragon, Caraxes, over to a trusted member of the family.
“I apologize.
But I don’t admit that I was wrong.”
“Because I said it, and I said what I said.
How can words simply be taken back?”
That was Daemon Targaryen.
Complicated.
Rebellious.
Infuriating.
Yet fiercely loyal to his family and to his brother, Viserys.
Moreover, his conquest of the Stepstones had not been driven entirely by personal ambition.
If the Triarchy were allowed to advance any farther, Dorne on the other side of the Narrow Sea would eventually pose a grave threat to House Targaryen’s rule.
And Viserys had never liked wars that multiplied pressure and instability.
He preferred negotiation and peace.
That was precisely why the Triarchy and Dorne had dared to scheme together in the shadows.