Quentyn gripped the massive horns protruding from the dragon’s back.
In that exact instant, he felt the colossal Door within the depths of his mind tremble violently.
It was as if a long-forgotten, ancient ritual had been invoked.
A passionate, rhythmic chanting echoed from all directions within the void.
The intricate carvings on both the black and white halves of the door illuminated one by one.
This time, Quentyn did not even need to push; the heavy doors swung wide open with a deafening crash.
Quentyn’s eyes widened behind his visor.
This was a cosmic scene he had never witnessed before.
A massive, perfect full moon hung suspended in the exact center of the void.
The moment Quentyn’s consciousness crossed the threshold of the doors, the moon shattered.
Dragons poured out from the cracks like liquid light.
A colossal, pale silver dragon roared, diving straight out of the vision and slamming directly into Quentyn’s soul.
Tamed a Valyrian steel-tier dragon.
Reward acquired: ‘Forgotten Knowledge’.
In a fraction of a second, an overwhelming torrent of knowledge surged into Quentyn’s mind.
The system instantly sealed the influx away, metering the flow to minimize the psychic shock to his fragile human consciousness.
Visions flashed rapidly before Quentyn’s eyes.
The boy’s vision plunged into absolute darkness, as if he were submerged in a pool of scalding water, yet he could breathe perfectly.
He drank the boiling liquid, feeling his form expand rapidly until the darkness finally cracked, and the blinding light of the sky forced his eyes shut.
He stretched his limbs naturally.
The familiar stench of sulfur, the salty tang of the sea breeze, and the scorching air washed over him.
The scene shifted violently.
His physical form grew larger and larger.
Slowly, boundless fury and raw power saturated his flesh.
He tore apart a black dragon that had foolishly invaded his territory, and he crushed the throat of a greedy, aging red wyrm.
His hunting grounds stretched all the way from the Shivering Sea in the north to the Summer Sea in the south.
Whether it was the cunning kraken lurking in the depths or the massive leviathan breaching the surface, all were reduced to mere prey.
Time flowed away like water washing over flesh.
He sheltered a small, delicate emerald dragon, soaring and hunting by her side.
Then came the burning rage.
He saw an empty nest and heard the dying wails of the emerald dragon.
He knew exactly which beast was responsible.
He sought vengeance.
Quentyn’s consciousness elevated, watching the scene unfold from above.
He saw a massive dragon, its scales woven with moon-silver and sun-gold, take to the sky.
It plunged directly into the dark, cavernous lair of a pitch-black dragon, driving the vicious beast out and inflicting grievous, tearing wounds upon it.
The vision ended there, consumed by a surge of pale flames.
A new scene materialized.
An indescribable wave of profound sorrow and rage suddenly seized his heart.
He returned to his nest carrying the massive carcass of a leviathan, only to find the mangled remains of the emerald dragon and shattered, empty eggshells.
The emerald dragon’s neck was snapped, her delicate wings burned to a crisp.
The eggs she had been guarding were crushed into paste, having already been sucked dry.
A massive black dragon was tearing into the mother’s flesh, unleashing a guttural, satisfied shriek as it swallowed fire, blood, meat, and bone alike.
The flames shifted form once more.
Quentyn saw the pitch-black dragon flee, trailing blood and fire.
He heard the pale silver behemoth unleash a low, mournful keen.
He watched as time passed, scars slowly accumulating across the silver scales, its wings growing ragged, its horns snapping, until the very end of its life, plummeting into the endless, dark blue abyss.
But then, all of those tragic futures were incinerated by pale silver flames, ensuring they would never come to pass.
Quentyn snapped back to reality, instantly realizing what he had just experienced.
That was the life of Moondancer, and a glimpse into a timeline that had not yet occurred.
The visions that felt like an eternity in his mind had transpired in less than a second in the physical world.
Quentyn blinked, his vision clearing just in time to see the Cannibal spewing a jet of sickly green dragonfire that nearly reduced Daemon to ash.
The boy drew a sharp, deep breath and pressed his body flat against the dragon’s scales.
Before he could even formulate a command, Moondancer let out a deafening roar and lunged violently at the Cannibal.
The pitch-black dragon had entirely lost its will to fight.
As the sickly green flames and thick smoke dissipated, the Cannibal had already taken to the air, fleeing wildly toward the western peaks of Dragonstone.
Pale silver fire tore through the sky, the scorching blast slamming heavily into the black beast.
The Cannibal roared in agony.
The ferocious blast of silver fire instantly shattered the heavy scales along its flank.
It dove steeply toward the sea, leaving behind nothing but boiling waves and a long, dark trail of boiling blood in the clouds.
Quentyn pressed his entire body tightly against the dragon’s back.
The razor-sharp spikes running along the spine had cut deeply into his bare hands.
Bright red blood flowed down the silver spikes, pooling in the crevices between the massive scales like tiny lakes of blood, yet the boy felt absolutely no pain.
The searing heat coursing through his veins began to slowly recede.
Quentyn felt an extraordinary sensation, as if his own arms were extending infinitely outward, unfurling like massive, leathery wings catching the wind.
Sōvēs .
(Fly) That single thought resonated perfectly within Quentyn’s mind.
Moondancer, as if sensing Quentyn’s very intent, spread its massive wings.
The gale generated by the sheer force of the downbeat whipped the white cloaks of the two Kingsguard knights into a frenzy, kicking up a thick cloud of dust.
The moment Moondancer took to the air, the pitch-black dragon broke the surface of the waves in the distance.
It cast a single, terrified glance back toward the sky, spotting the silver beast already airborne.
Having managed to put some distance between them, the Cannibal dared not linger for a second round.
In a blind panic, it plunged deep into the vast, desolate mountain ranges of Dragonstone and vanished.
In that same instant, the rage that had just begun to dissipate surged back like a tidal wave within the dragon’s mind.
Quentyn immediately forced his mind into a state of absolute calm.
In his past life, while browsing forums dissecting the lore of A Song of Ice and Fire, he had read analyses suggesting that dragonriders forged a mystical, telepathic bond with their mounts, capable of sharing sensory input.
This led to a somewhat niche theory: Dragonriders were actually a specialized form of warg or skinchanger, operating on a similar telepathic frequency as Jon Snow and his direwolf, Ghost.
Though there was no definitive textual evidence to prove it.
Now, Quentyn’s personal experience confirmed it.
A profound, mystical tether existed between a dragon and its rider, a bond that could likely be deepened and refined through rigorous training.
However, this was absolutely no time for celebration.
Taming this beast completely shattered his carefully laid plans.
If he had hatched the egg gifted by his mother, that would have been one thing.
But this…
this was an ancient, fully grown wild dragon that he had claimed with his own hands.
Would King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne simply accept a member of House Qoherys commanding such apocalyptic power?
Quentyn did not know the answer.
By now, the Cannibal had completely disappeared from sight, while Moondancer’s furious roars echoed across the entire sky of Dragonstone.
There was no point in pursuing the black beast.
The immediate priority was managing the political fallout of his actions.
Quentyn made his decision instantly.
He released his grip with one hand and firmly patted the dragon’s scales.
Arlī jās, Hūrīlion.
Qrinuntās rūhagon.
Arlī jīs!
Return, Moondancer.
Cease the attack.
We return!
Moondancer let out a reluctant, rumbling roar toward the mountain peaks, but ultimately yielded to Quentyn’s absolute command.
The massive beast obediently banked, folding its wings slightly to descend toward the clearing near the ruined docks.
Just as they were landing, two distinct dragon roars echoed in rapid succession.
Moondancer instantly landed with extreme caution, folding its massive wing membranes to shield Quentyn completely, while unleashing a long, hissing snarl toward the clouds.
A muscular, deep crimson dragon was the first to pierce the cloud cover.
Its musculature was sleek and beautiful, its wing membranes a broad, startling pink.
A crown of gleaming copper-colored horns circled its head.
Covered in sharp spikes and wicked claws, it cut an incredibly imposing, majestic figure.
The moment the red dragon spotted Moondancer, it roared and initiated a steep dive.
Moondancer did not show an ounce of fear.
The silver beast spread its wings wide, keeping Quentyn firmly protected behind its bulk, while pale silver fire began to kindle ominously deep within its maw.
Just before they clashed, the red dragon suddenly snapped its wings shut, twisting violently in mid-air to arrest its momentum.
It extended its massive claws, gripping the rocky face of the mountain bordering the docks.
“Grandmother!” The woman seated upon the red dragon’s back stared in absolute shock.
A woman had just stepped out from beneath the shelter of a massive boulder, throwing her arms wide open, placing her fragile human body directly between the two massive, warring beasts.
A far more docile silver dragon crawled out from the high ground on the eastern side of the docks.
It cast a cautious glance toward its rider before unleashing a loud, warning roar at the two confronting behemoths.
Gael climbed out of her hiding spot, trembling visibly, her fine skirts ruined with mud and ash.
She cast a timid, fearful glance at her mother, then tip-toed carefully to the side, reaching out to help Daemon to his feet.
“Seven fucking Hells…” The curse died on Daemon’s lips the moment it left his mouth.
The situation had turned incredibly volatile.
The silver dragon bearing the thick, sturdy horns ceased its hissing.
It looked at Moondancer, then at the red dragon, before locking its gaze onto Alysanne, appearing entirely uncertain of what to do.
Cold sweat began to bead on Daemon’s palms.
He recognized both of these dragons instantly.
The docile silver dragon was his grandmother’s mount, Silverwing.
And the deep crimson beast clinging to the mountain belonged to his cousin, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.
It was Meleys, the Red Queen.
It was widely reputed to be the swiftest and most cunning dragon alive.
The woman upon the dragon’s back leaned sideways in her saddle, surveying the scene with a mixture of deep suspicion and unease.
She possessed a fierce, breathtaking beauty.
Her raven-black hair was woven into a thick braid, secured by a crown forged of dark Valyrian steel.
Clad in finely tailored, reinforced dragonriding leathers, she cut a far more martial and imposing figure than most men.
“Grandmother, what happened here?
And who in the gods’ names is he?” Moondancer’s overlapping wing membranes parted just enough to reveal Quentyn’s handsome, soot-stained face.
The boy hesitated for a fraction of a second.
According to the tangled branches of their family tree, Rhaenys was technically his niece, yet she was a full six years older than him.
“Rhaenys.
It is me, Quentyn,” he said simply.
Alysanne’s brow furrowed tightly for a long moment before she finally exhaled, her shoulders slumping slightly.
“Rhaenys, calm yourself.
We were suddenly caught in a vicious territorial dispute between the Cannibal and this silver beast.
They were attacking indiscriminately.
If not for Quentyn and Daemon facing the beasts head-on, you likely would not be speaking to us right now.” Gael nodded weakly, adding a small, “Yes, yes.” Daemon shot Rhaenys a look of pure, unadulterated irritation.
Just as he opened his mouth to snap a retort, Alysanne silenced him with a single, sharp look.
Rhaenys sat upon her saddle, her mind racing.
Without needing a verbal command, Meleys the Red Queen slowly crawled down from the rocky face.
Though the red dragon no longer displayed overt hostility, she kept a hyper-vigilant gaze locked onto Moondancer, coiled tight as a spring, ready to launch a lethal counter-strike the moment the silver beast twitched.
Moondancer returned the glare with equal ferocity.
Quentyn could feel every inch of muscle beneath the silver scales drawn tight, ready to launch forward and deliver a fatal bite to the crimson dragon’s throat.
“Forgive me, Grandmother.
I arrived too late.” Rhaenys unhooked her riding chains and vaulted gracefully from the saddle.
She strode to Alysanne’s side, pulling off her heavy leather riding gloves, her head bowed slightly as she spoke.
She had just returned to High Tide and was preparing to break her fast when the distant roars echoing from Dragonstone reached her ears.
Realizing something was horribly wrong, she immediately returned to the Dragonmont.
But she was still too late.
“It matters not.” Alysanne smoothed the stern lines of her face, pulling Rhaenys into a deep, affectionate embrace.
Quentyn carefully weighed the shifting political currents.
Based on his prior assessments, King Jaehaerys would likely not be entirely opposed to a member of a closely tied vassal house possessing dragonblood.
Alysanne had always been notoriously indecisive regarding such matters.
The very fact that his mother had been granted a dragon egg was a clear signal that Jaehaerys had mentally prepared himself for Quentyn, or his descendants, to eventually claim a mount.
Even if Jaehaerys attempted to backtrack, the reality of the board had changed.
The aging Jaehaerys and Alysanne were questionable assets in a prolonged aerial campaign.
Daemon was completely green.
The only true battle-ready dragonriders House Targaryen could currently field were Baelon and Rhaenys.
As the Crown Prince, Baelon could not be easily dispatched for prolonged, distant wars.
Furthermore, as long as Quentyn remained mounted on this ancient beast, it would be exceedingly difficult for Jaehaerys to move against him with open hostility.
If the King foolishly ordered an assault on Harrenhal, the reputation for wisdom he had spent a lifetime cultivating would be burned to ash.
After all, Quentyn could easily claim he tamed the beast to save the royal family’s lives.
Forcing a dragonrider to take the vows of the Kingsguard…
Since the inception of the White Cloaks, there had never been a single precedent of a sole heir to a major lordship being forced to don the white.
To force the only son of Harrenhal into celibacy and servitude would equally shatter Jaehaerys’s carefully constructed image of justice.
The brutal lessons learned from Maegor the Cruel had left Jaehaerys with a near-obsessive fixation on the Crown’s reputation.
He would absolutely not allow anyone to tarnish the radiant glory of the Iron Throne.
He would have no choice but to accept the new reality.
Having now been in close proximity to all three beasts, Quentyn mentally sized them up.
Moondancer was truly massive.
Whether in terms of raw muscle mass or sheer size, it was undeniably the largest dragon present.
Meleys the Red Queen was slightly smaller than Silverwing, yet possessed a far denser, more explosive musculature, while Silverwing was leaner with a broader wingspan.
Moondancer was larger than Silverwing, cutting a far more domineering and terrifying figure.
Concluding his rapid political calculus, Quentyn remained firmly seated in the saddle, showing absolutely no intention of dismounting.
“Grandmother, about that dragon…” Rhaenys slowly released her embrace, hesitating for a long moment before dropping her voice to a tense whisper.
“Quentyn’s surname is not Targaryen, after all…”