Daemon opened his eyes.
A loud roar had woken him from his dreams.
It was Caraxes, who was lying next to him in the grass.
The dragon had risen, tilting his long neck toward the sky.
Daemon blinked against the blinding sun.
Why was he out here again?
Right.
He had slept in the mountains just to get away from his wife.
“Dragon?” Daemon muttered before he could even finish his thought.
As he squinted, a dark silhouette appeared against the sun.
He stood up, suddenly wide awake.
The strange dragon circled above in a chaotic way.
Something seemed wrong with it.
As the beast flew lower, Daemon could clearly see its features.
“Brown?” he asked, confused.
Then he remembered.
His father had told him and Maekar about a brown dragon on Dragonstone.
It had to be Sheepstealer, the wild dragon.
It seemed to fly over the Vale as well.
Daemon stepped out of the flattened grass where Caraxes had made a nest.
He marched toward the field where the wild dragon was landing.
Caraxes followed closely, sniffing the air.
It was strange behavior for his dragon, but Daemon was distracted by something else.
There was a person on the dragon, climbing down rather helplessly.
“Hey!” Daemon shouted.
He walked faster through the tall grass, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword.
The figure finally turned, and Daemon slowed his pace.
It was a woman.
She had silver hair and looked completely shocked to see him.
Daemon stopped, keeping a safe distance.
“Whoever you are, step away from that beast!
You are standing next to a dragon of House Targaryen!” he shouted, claiming the wild Dragon as royal property.
The girl looked confused, glancing back at the massive brown dragon behind her.
Daemon shook his head impatiently and stepped closer.
“State your name!”
“Marra!” she called out.
“Marra Stone!”
A bastard.
Of course.
Which one of his fellow Targaryens had ruined things this time?
It was truly disastrous news.
A dragon, a weapon that should exclusively belong to House Targaryen, was now in the hands of a bastard.
He knew that once a person bonded with a dragon, there was no breaking it.
Only death could sever the bond.
Should he kill the girl?
No.
Perhaps he could control her instead.
Daemon stepped forward.
“Where are you from, Marra?”he asked.
“The mountains.
My family owns sheep.
The Dragon came to us and I don’t know-”
“Are you loyal to the crown, Marra?” Daemon took another step.
Marra looked at him for a moment before nodding.
“Yes, my Prince.”
“Do you know your father?”
She shook her head.
“But I understand.
The hair.
Everyone found it strange,” she said, touching her silver locks.
“Since you have tamed a dragon, it means the blood runs strong within you.
If you pledge your service to…”
Daemon smiled slightly.
“…me, then I can see you rewarded accordingly,” he hinted.
Of course, he would never legitimize her, and he would never propose it to the King.
The damage was already done, but perhaps he could make the best of it.
For a moment, the girl hesitated.
“Will I be punished?” she asked.
“My mother and…”
Daemon cut her off.
“You won’t.
You will be protected and treated well.”
Slowly, Marra lowered herself onto one knee.
The movement was rather clumsy.
“My dragon and I are at your service, my Prince.”She said, her gaze conflicted.
Daemon could see that much.
He nodded, glanced at Sheepstealer, then looked out over the empty mountains.
It was a dangerous game he was playing, but it also filled him with boundless excitement.
For a moment, he wondered what Maekar was doing right now.
Archon Tytos had always dreamed of this position.
He had worked tirelessly and expanded his trade network, until he finally earned the right to join the highest circles of Tyrosh.
Through cold maneuvering and manipulation, he had managed to get the seat only a year prior.
And now what?
How would he use the boyish Prince sitting next to him?
Slowly, the laughter and music he had ignored returned to him.
He looked around.
It had to be the grandest feast in recent years.
Although it had been hastily prepared, Tytos was happy with the arrangements.
Colored lanterns hung from every beam, and the smell of salt and wine was everywhere.
Despite the late hour, most of Tyrosh’s high society had come, wishing to see the Dragon Prince and the other Westerosi visitors.
Tytos glanced outside his mansion.
The Prince had landed on his lawn, his dragon now sleeping.
He would have been offended by such brazen behavior, but the dragon sent shivers down his spine every time he looked towards it.
“So…
tell me, Prince of House Targaryen, what is your dragon called?” he asked, in Valyrian.
The Prince spoke with another accent, but they communicated fine.
Prince Maekar glanced at him for a moment.
“Enough of that, Archon.” he began, while the man beside him, Corlys Velaryon, was already watching them closely.
“I have heard you have formed an alliance with the other cities.
A Triarchy?”
Tytos was taken aback for a second.
This Prince, probably around ten namedays, was already interested in politics.
Fine, he would sweeten it.
“Indeed, war is not a nice thing.
War is hell.
So we cities have decided to band together-”
“Not a nice thing?
Haven’t you won against Volantis?
That must have been fruitful?”
Tytos nodded slowly, squinting his eyes.
“But countless lives were lost.”
Maekar nodded.
Then the Prince leaned towards him.
Maekar was tired.
These actors always caused that.
Especially the ones he saw through.
The man before him had risen through the ranks of the city, built on the blood of countless others, with astonishing speed.
Talking about the horrors of war.
The death of men.
War meant gold for him.
Death only meant expendable slaves to him.
Maekar leaned forward and whispered.
“War isn’t hell.
War is a ladder.
You know that.”
“Don’t pretend you aren’t a climber.”
With that, Maekar turned to Corlys, who had followed the talk attentively, one eyebrow slightly raised.
“Wait—”
Maekar tilted his head once more.
“Why are you here, Prince?” he asked carefully, the mask crumbling.
“To give you an idea.”
“On my way here I met pirates in the Stepstones.
They are infested with them, aren’t they?”
Tytos nodded.
“Indeed, the issue is known.”
“The Stepstones shouldn’t be controlled by lawless scum.
The Triarchy should take charge.
“You would make more money in taxation than you can dream of,” he added.
Tytos widened his eyes, looking at Maekar as though he had seen a ghost.
“And why would that be of any benefit to you?” he asked, skeptical.
“I will help you take them out.
In turn, I will get a share of the pie.” Maekar answered, smiling like an eight year old would.
Tytos leaned back, thinking, glanced at Maekar, then thought a moment longer.
He sighed, before leaning forward again.
“There is indeed such a plan, but we are still gathering our forces.
The sooner, the better, of course.
This has to be discussed with the other cities, but I am sure your dragon could help substantially.”
Another pause.
“How much would we be talking about?”
Maekar smiled.
He had long known of their ambition to take the Stepstones.
It had grown into something close to desperation.
“Twenty percent.”
Tytos shook his head sharply.
“Impossible.
Ten percent is the maximum we could offer, and even th—”
“The Velaryon fleet will pass tax free.”
“My appetite is quite large,” he added with an apologetic smile.
“Ten percent and the Velaryon fleet?” Tytos asked, glancing past Maekar at Corlys.
“I will send the messengers at once,” he said, standing up abruptly.
Some in the hall paused, watching as their Archon left in a hurry.
Maekar gave Corlys a nod, then looked at the cup before him.
It was filled with wine.
Neither Corlys nor anyone else had stopped him.
He swirled it slightly.
“I told you my appetite is large, Tytos.”
No, it is insatiable.
You will learn that soon.” he whispered, taking a sip.
Suddenly the doors opened, and the music halted completely.
All eyes went towards the door, and the woman stepping through it.
Whispers erupted once more.
Maekar too studied the woman.
She was clad in red.
Red hair, red lips, even red lipstick.
“A red priestess.” Corlys said beside him, his voice concerned.
She continued walking, unhindered, towards the main table.
Her steps echoed through the quiet hall.
Two men stepped forward, blocking her way.
It was Criston, already slightly drunk, and Ser Clement, who at least seemed sober.
Across the distance, she met Maekar’s eyes.
A strange feeling coursed through him.
“My Prince.” She said, bowing low, her gaze moving to the dragon outside in the courtyard.
He had already woken.
Morghul slowly raised his head toward the window, looking at the woman just like Maekar did.
“What is it that you wish from me, Red Priestess of R’hllor?”
He could not stand such women.
Witches.
Sorceresses.
It reminded him of his third wife.
Only those of Valyrian blood should meddle in such things.
His mother had always insisted on that…
Wait.
What had his mother insisted, exactly? This chapter is updated first at g.com.
Maekar paused for a long moment.
He had forgotten.
It was one of those memories he had lost somewhere along the way.
It was important, he was sure of it.
Finally, the woman answered.
“My name is Kinvara, High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis.
I wish for the Prince to grant me an audience.
To give the Lord of Light a moment of his time.”
Maekar propped his head on his hand.
“I have no interest in your god, nor your words.”
Ser Clement and Ser Criston stepped forward at once, their hands already reaching for her, when her lips moved.
In that moment Maekar rose from his seat.
The hands slowly lowered.
“Bring her outside.” Maekar ordered, leaving the table and a confused Corlys behind.
Maekar left the estate, greeting his dragon, as Kinvara arrived with Ser Clement and Ser Criston close behind her.
“Leave us.” Maekar muttered.
They hesitated for a moment.
He glanced at them once more before they walked back towards the estate.
They would watch from a distance.
The Red Priestess drew closer, her red gown fluttering in the cold night wind.
It was dark, clouds hiding the moon.
Morghul liked her, Maekar noticed, through their bond.
“Dragons are the epitome of fire, light, and magic.” Kinvara said, her voice quiet, yet loud at the same time.
Maekar looked at her for a long moment.
“Memories.” He repeated the word she had said in the hall.
The priestess smiled, as Morghul loomed behind Maekar, smoke curling from his nostrils.
“They are one of the most wondrous gifts of the Lord—”
“Do not preach to me.” Maekar interrupted her.
“How do you know?”
She nodded slowly.
“The Lord showed me.”
“He showed me eight years ago.
Within the flames I saw death and life alike.
“And I saw the truth as well.”
Kinvara lowered her head slightly.
“Your Grace.”
“Maegor.”
For a moment there was absolute silence.
Then, behind Maekar, his dragon opened its jaw.
A hot breath rolled over Kinvara.
“You could die.
Tell me why you shouldn’t?” Maekar asked.
His voice sounded different than before.
Slightly deeper.
The tone had changed too.
It unsettle him deeply.
“Your missing memories.
I can help restore them, your Grace…”
Just what did this woman truly want from him?
He decided to ask aloud.
“Why?” Maekar asked.
Kinvara tilted her head slightly, a playful smile on her lips.
“You are an anomaly.
One I wish to understand.”
Maekar looked up at the dark sky for a long moment.
He would show her his cards.
“I saw it.”
The wind grew stronger.
“I am sure you you know what I mean.”
“I saw it all.”
He met Kinvara’s eyes.
“The death of dragons.
The red comet tearing across the sky.”
His voice became quieter.
“Her birth.”
“The return of dragons.”
“And…the endless cold that will embrace all.”
For the first time, Kinvara’s composure shattered.
Her eyes widened, and she took a step back.
Maekar stepped closer instead.
“Are you surprised?” he asked.
“Now I ask myself.
Does my appearance destroy all of it?
Am I not a hindrance to your Lord?
To his grand plan?
If so, are you not my enemy?”
“I ask again.
Why should you live?”
Behind him, green fire gathered deep in his dragon’s throat, casting an eerie glow through the night.
Kinvara whispered, raising her head once more.
“You are right.”
“But also wrong.
Your birth has already changed everything.
Your death would not fix it.”
Maekar nodded slowly.
He had thought so as well.
“I do not know what or why,” she continued, “but you will play a part, Maekar Targaryen.
Whether the Lord intended it or not.
I wish to be there to witness it.”
They stood there for a long time.
Wordless.
Both calculating their options.
Then a low laugh escaped Maekar, as he looked into the distance.
“After all…” he whispered, slowly shaking his head.
“I am inevitable.”