New chapter is live.
Settle in, take your time, and let’s see what waits in the dark 🖤 ✦ “This is the prophecy of the Song of Ice and Fire.” Viserys explained patiently.
“Before Aegon’s death, the last fire-mages of Valyria bound the Song of Ice and Fire to the dagger.” “To know this is a duty.
It is also a heavy burden.” His voice lowered.
“Heavier than the throne.
Heavier than being king.” As he spoke, he watched Aelor’s every movement.
The brazier painted the tent in bright firelight.
Father and son cast long shadows across the canvas, and each shift of flame warped them into strange shapes.
Aelor blinked, looking lost.
“The Song of Ice and Fire?
I thought that was only a superstition from old books.” He did know the phrase.
When he had explored the dragonbone-hilted dagger, the system had already identified it as the bearer of the Song of Ice and Fire.
The relic it yielded had been called The Forebears’ Warning.
Now, that name seemed to carry far more weight.
“The prophecy is real,” Viserys said gravely.
“I want you to keep it in your heart and always remain wary of unknown darkness and winter.” “I will, Father.” Aelor did not fully understand, but he knew the matter was grave.
Viserys paced around the brazier.
“I once asked Rhaenyra a question.
Would you like to know what it was?” “What question?” His father’s words grew more cryptic by the moment, and Aelor could not tell where they were leading.
“About dragons.
About how she viewed them.” Now that he had come this far, Viserys did not stop.
“Dragons are ancient creatures that followed House Targaryen from Old Valyria.
They are magnificent, and they are flawed.” He studied Aelor.
“What do you think of them?” Aelor shook his head.
“My dragon egg has never hatched.
My sister refuses to carry me on her dragon, and the closest I have ever come to one is Balerion’s skull.” As a Targaryen, Aelor had an egg of his own.
It came from Dreamfyre.
Rhaenyra had chosen it herself from the Dragonpit before he was born.
After all these years, the egg had shown no sign of hatching.
Viserys did not care about that for now.
“It does not matter.
I only want your view.” Aelor looked at his father’s serious face and understood that this mattered.
He remembered Balerion’s vast skull.
Even stripped of scale and flesh, the pressure of that skull had been almost suffocating.
He remembered his own egg, baking in its special furnace, untouched by heat and stubborn as stone.
Then he thought of Rhaenyra.
She had taken to the sky at seven and become a dragonrider.
Whenever she held him close, Aelor could smell the faint trace of sulfur on her.
That was the scent of dragons.
After a moment, he arranged his thoughts.
“Dragons are the mightiest weapons in the known world that men can hope to command.
Aegon the Conqueror had wisdom and courage, but he united six of the Seven Kingdoms from the back of a dragon.” “Dragons are dangerous.
But only by mastering dragons can House Targaryen stand above ordinary men.” His voice was steady.
“Without them, we will fall from the Iron Throne.” That was what he truly believed.
It was also the most objective answer he could give at his age.
Viserys listened closely.
A faint satisfaction touched his face.
Then he asked, “If one day you ride a great dragon and face rebels who show no respect, how should you answer them?” “Burn them.” Aelor said it without hesitation.
Viserys frowned.
“You just said dragons are dangerous.” “They are.
But without them, Targaryen authority cannot deter petty lords and would-be usurpers alike.” Aelor did not sense the danger in the question.
“When necessary, dragonfire can silence the disobedient and force Westeros to speak with one voice.” At his eldest son’s answer, Viserys fell silent.
In one sense, Aelor was not wrong.
House Targaryen had become kings because dragons had made them so.
But the prophecy of the Song of Ice and Fire made Viserys reluctant to trust too much in dragons.
Old Valyria had believed it mastered them.
Greed and desire had filled every empty place until the Doom came for them all.
He remembered the years before he named Rhaenyra heir.
He had asked her the same question.
Rhaenyra’s first answer had not been so different from Aelor’s.
But she saw the bond between dragons and Targaryens more clearly.
She did not believe that riding a dragon meant possessing everything.
In that way, she was much like her father.
She disliked war and held herself to a strict standard.
Aelor’s answer reminded him of someone else.
Daemon Targaryen.
His younger brother.
There had been a time when Viserys considered naming Daemon his heir, setting aside all the disloyal and reckless things his brother had done.
Daemon’s view of dragons was extreme.
To him, a dragon was a sword in his hand.
And a man who holds a matchless sword will eventually long to use it.
Viserys did not know why jealousy stirred in him.
He kept his face calm before Aelor’s confused gaze.
“I understand what you mean.
Do not forget the prophecy of the Song of Ice and Fire.
Go and rest.” Aelor did not press him.
“All right.
Drink less wine, Father.” Viserys smiled gently and watched him leave the pavilion.
In the dim firelight, his face blurred into shadow.
Outside, the noon sun struck Aelor’s face so brightly that he nearly shut his eyes.
A patch of shade rose over him.
“Ser Arryk.” Aelor tilted his head and recognized the man shielding him from the glare.
Arryk had lifted part of his white cloak over the little prince’s head.
“Thank you for speaking for my brother, Prince.” Aelor shook his head.
“Do not thank me.
I forced Ser Erryk to take me from the camp.
He should not bear my blame.” “The Kingsguard obeys the king’s command.
My brother failed in his duty.
It was a grave mistake.” Arryk was quick-witted enough to understand that this prince held a larger place in the king’s heart than most people knew.
His respect was sincere.
“Where is Ser Erryk?” Aelor changed the subject.
“There was a disturbance at the camp entrance.
He went to see what was happening.” “A commotion?
Then I should see it too.” Aelor brightened, then remembered himself.
“My father is still inside.
Keep watch, Ser.” “It is my duty.” Arryk saluted.
Once away from the royal pavilion, Aelor did not go to the commotion at once.
He stopped first at the tables of pastries and roasted meats, chose carefully, and ate until he was comfortably full.
He had been on the road since morning and had drunk only a little water.
Poor motherless child that he was.
“Aelor!” He was waiting near a roasting rack when Rhaenyra’s voice came from behind him.
Aelor turned and nearly jumped.
Rhaenyra was covered in blood.
Dried red-black streaks matted her silver hair as if she had just walked out of battle.
“Rhaenyra, what happened to you?” He forgot the meat entirely and hurried to her on his short legs.
“I went looking for you yesterday and could not find you.” Rhaenyra flicked his forehead.
“You should call me sister, not Rhaenyra.
And you should not run off either.” “Why are we still talking about that?
Where are you hurt?
How bad is it?” Aelor searched her anxiously for wounds.
Rhaenyra lifted his chin, proud as a victorious knight.
“It is not my blood.
I am not hurt.” ✦ ✦ ✦ Want to keep going?
I hope this chapter gave you another reason to stay with the story.
There’s still plenty ahead, and things are only starting to unfold.