“Just what is happening…
Maekar?”
Rhaenys stepped out of the shadows, her figure gradually illuminated by Ser Clement’s torch.
The Kingsguard seemed shocked by her appearance.
Yet her cousin Maekar did not answer, only slowly rising to his feet.
“You bonded with him, did you not?” Rhaenys asked, her eyes a mixture of fascination and confusion.
“I did,” Maekar answered plainly, not bothering to turn around.
“And now he is dead?” Rhaenys asked, stepping closer toward the massive corpse.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t touch him,” Maekar said, finally turning around.
His eyes were slightly red, but it was his expression that shocked Rhaenys the most.
Then she understood.
Losing a dragon right after bonding with it had to be a traumatic experience.
How old was he again?
Five?
Six?
That was not something a boy so young should have to endure.
Yet despite that, she found herself almost fascinated.
The boy had bonded with Balerion.
There was no doubt about it.
After everything Viserys had tried, Maekar had simply walked up to the Black Dread and done the impossible.
What kind of soul was that?
Unbelievable.
“What are you doing here, Rhaenys?” Maekar asked.
Rhaenys scoffed.
“That is the question I wanted to ask you, but it has already been answered.
As for myself, I like to sleep with my dragon.”
Maekar studied her for a moment.
“This will be our secret, right?” he asked with a mixture of childish request and something completely different.
It almost frightened Rhaenys.
Almost.
“Why should I?” she replied, her voice low.
She stepped closer, the torchlight catching the silver strands in her hair and the curiosity in her violet eyes.
The air still carried the scent of Balerion ash and heat.
It clung to Maekar.
Rhaenys let her gaze drift over him slowly.
“You speak High Valyrian to the Black Dread as though he were an old friend,” she murmured.
“You weep for him… and he dies contentedly at your feet.
And now you stand here, only reaching my chest, asking me to keep the greatest secret in King’s Landing.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
She could not quite suppress it.
“There is something in you, Maekar Targaryen.
Something that even Balerion recognized.”
She tilted her head, studying his face as if searching for cracks in a mask.
“Why should I keep your secret?” she asked.
“Perhaps because I want to see what else you are capable of.
I don’t want Jaehaerys to lock you away.”
Behind them, Ser Clement shifted uncomfortably, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword.
He clearly did not trust the princess.
Maekar held her gaze without flinching.
“And if I told you the truth,” he said quietly, “would you still want to know it, cousin?”
Rhaenys laughed, yet she stopped just as quickly.
Maekar’s gaze was frightening.
She looked at the massive, still form of Balerion one last time, then back to Maekar.
“Come.
The dragonkeepers will notice the change soon enough.
We should not be found here.”
She extended her hand toward him.
Maekar looked at her offered hand for a long moment.
Then he took it.
His grip was small, but firm.
They moved together through the shadowed halls of the Dragonpit, Ser Clement trailing a few steps behind like a wary shadow.
The knight’s eyes never left Rhaenys.
“You speak poorly of our grandfather,” Maekar said quietly as they walked.
“Is it because you are the Queen Who Never Was?
Many say the throne should have been yours.”
Rhaenys gave a sharp, bitter laugh.
“Many say a great many things.” She glanced at him sideways.
“Perhaps I am discontent.
Perhaps not.
But what about you, cousin?
You are hardly in a better position.”
She stopped at a narrow junction where pale moonlight fell through high above, turning to face him fully.
A pause, until Maekar finally opened his mouth.
“Fire and Blood shall sit atop the throne.”
He left her with that and continued walking, ascending the stairs without looking back.
Rhaenys stood in the moonlight and watched him go.
She would be thinking about those words for a long time.
Weeks had passed since the Black Dread had drawn his final breath in the depths of the Dragonpit.
The death of Balerion had shaken the entire Red Keep.
A grim omen, many whispered.
King Jaehaerys grew more withdrawn, while Prince Viserys’s disappointment and quiet anger lingered everywhere.
Maekar sat outside, the sun bathing his face.
He leaned against a large, peculiar-looking tree.
“Actually, I hate weirwood trees.
They always give me an ominous feeling,” he said.
Ser Clement stood a few paces away, nodding slowly.
He seemed to agree.
Birds chirped around them.
Maekar watched him for a moment.
So much had happened two weeks ago.
The sadness still lingered within him, but he wouldn’t let himself get controlled by it.
No, especially not because he had seen what would happen. Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping.com.
And he would honor Balerion’s last gift his way.
And he had already started.
With the very man who stood before him.
But that was far from enough; there were three things he had to bolster in the coming years.
Personal power or martial prowess.
Political power and influence in the realm.
Better friends.
More powerful allies.
People he could trust his life to.
And lastly, the one power that distinguished Targaryens from common men.
The one that brought them closer to Gods.
A Dragon.
Just because he had lost Balerion did not mean there wasn’t another dragon worthy of him.
Yes, that was his twisted logic, in a sense.
He would find it and claim it.
Only then could he stand shoulder to shoulder with the others when the time came.
“Yes, truly, Otto.”
A voice came from the far end of the courtyard.
It was Viserys, walking alongside his new friend.
Otto Hightower.
Maekar did not know exactly what role the man would play in the years to come, but he knew he would play one.
And he did not like him.
There was something about Otto that unsettled him.
The air around the man seemed foul somehow.
“Brother,” Viserys greeted as he approached.
Another Kingsguard trailed behind Viserys and Otto.
“Prince,” Otto said, bowing his head with practiced grace.
A slight smile appeared on Maekar’s lips.
“Sir Hightower.
Good to meet you.”
Otto raised his head.
For a brief moment, a strange look flickered across his face.
“Indeed, my prince.”
Then Otto glanced to his left.
“Have you met my daughter, Alicent?” he asked, gesturing for her to come closer.
She had been standing some distance away in the godswood.
Maekar had not even noticed her.
The girl looked to be around ten years old, carrying herself with the same grace and precision as her father.
She wore a yellow gown and curtsied as she approached.
“Prince Maekar, it is an honor to meet you,” she said with a polite smile.
For a moment, Maekar simply stared.
Alicent Hightower.
Another face that was familiar.
Finally, he rose to his feet, took her hand, and pressed a light kiss upon it.
Otto and Viserys exchanged a glance, both surprised and slightly amused.
“Well,” Viserys said, looking around, “have you heard, brother?
The King will host a grand tourney next spring to honor Rhaenyra’s birth and your nameday.”
Indeed, there was that matter as well.
Rhaenyra, his new niece and Viserys’s first daughter.
Her new presence seemed to have healed some of the wounds Viserys had carried since Balerion’s death.
The joy on his brother’s face was difficult to miss.
Maekar gave a small nod.
“A grand tourney, then.”
His gaze drifted briefly toward the sky.
“Will Father attend as well?” he suddenly asked.
“I’m not sure,” Viserys replied with a shrug.
Now that Maekar thought about it, there was still a flight Baelon owed him.
They had not gone yet because of Balerion’s death, and afterward his father had seemingly forgotten about it.
After bidding farewell to Viserys, Otto, and Alicent, he made his way toward where he believed his father would be.
The Small Council.
Back in his own time, he had rarely listened to the opinions of his councilors.
Most had been little more than cutthroats and sycophants, eager to tell him whatever they thought he wished to hear.
He was certain the same was true of Jaehaerys’s council.
And the worst of them all was that septon.
Maekar respected Jaehaerys for many things, but not for how he had handled the Faith.
He should have eradicated them entirely.
Since Maegor had laid the groundwork.
Then he suddenly bumped into someone.
“Oh!
Prince!”
The elderly voice was immediately recognizable.
Maekar looked up and found himself staring at the very man he had been thinking about.
Septon Barth.
A hateful glint entered his eyes.
“Septon Barth,” he said, readjusting his red doublet.
The Hand of the King narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Well…I hear you are quite talented with a sword.
The Warrior has truly blessed you.
You are sturdy for your age.”
Maekar scoffed inwardly.
“Or maybe it is my father’s blood,” he replied.
His gaze drifted past the septon.
The door to the council chamber still stood open, and he could see both Jaehaerys and Baelon within.
“If you’ll excuse me, I wish to speak with my father.”
Septon Barth inclined his head.
“Of course, Prince.”
Yet there was something in the old man’s gaze that Maekar did not like.
“Father.
Grandfather.”
Maekar greeted both men as he stepped into the chamber.
“What brings you here, Maekar?” Jaehaerys asked, looking at his grandson over a stack of documents.
“Actually, I was hoping to finally take my first flight,” Maekar replied, turning his gaze toward his father.
Baelon immediately grew red with embarrassment.
Indeed, he had completely forgotten.
Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow, while a faint smile tugged at the corner of Barth’s mouth behind him.
Baelon cleared his throat.
“Come. This chapter is updated first at novelping.com.
I’ll take you right now.”
He rose from his seat with surprising speed, determined to make up for his mistake.
“I intended to travel to Dragonstone anyway,” he continued.
“I think it is time for you to see our ancestral seat.”
Maekar listened attentively.
“There also seems to be a problem among the fishermen.
They report a wild dragon roaming the island.”
For the briefest moment, Maekar’s eyes lit up.
A wild dragon.
Now that was interesting.
He quickly schooled his expression and nodded eagerly, as any boy his age would.
“I would like that very much, Father.”
Neither Baelon nor Jaehaerys noticed the spark that had appeared in his violet eyes.
And so father and son made their way through the Red Keep.
Ser Clement followed a few paces behind, while the newest addition to the Kingsguard, Ser Steffon Darklyn, walked on their other side.
The knight had only recently entered their service after Ser Harrold Penrose had fallen to his death from one of the castle’s towers.
Or so Maekar had heard.
The details remained vague, though the incident had become the subject of countless whispers among servants and guards alike.
Falling to one’s death inside the Red Keep was an ignoble end for any knight.
The corridors bustled with life as they passed through them.
Servants hurried about their duties and nobles in rich clothes exchanged polite greetings.
Eventually they emerged into the outer courtyard.
Dragon banners fluttered from the wall, the black-and-red colors dancing in the breeze.
The sun shone brightly upon polished armor and red stone.
Stable boys rushed between rows of horses while smiths worked at nearby forges.
Waiting for them stood a household carriage bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen upon its door.
A dozen men of the City Watch stood nearby, mounted upon sturdy horses.
Their cloaks fluttered in the breeze and though they sat proudly in their saddles, Maekar found himself less than impressed.
One man’s sword belt hung loosely from his waist, another appeared more interested in chatting with his companion than watching their surroundings.
The City Watch liked to present an image of discipline.
Too often, it was merely that.
An image.
Under Maegor, things had been different.
No man would have dared appear before the king looking so lax and unprepared.
Back then, a captain who tolerated such sloppiness would have found himself stripped of rank or worse.
Maekar’s lips twitched slightly.
For all of Jaehaerys’s wisdom, the realm had grown comfortable.
His gaze lingered on the riders for a moment longer.
He recognized two of them.
Roland and Lionel.
The moment they noticed the prince’s gaze upon them, they immediately straightened in their saddles.
But enough of that.
Those men belonged to the future.
For now, Maekar intended to enjoy the present.
Turning his attention away from the riders, he looked through the carriage window.
King’s Landing rolled past outside.
As always, the city was crowded, noisy, and filthy.
Thousands upon thousands of people were crammed between crooked streets and stone houses.
Merchants shouted from market stalls, fishermen hauled their catches toward the docks, and beggars kneeled in alleyways hoping for a copper or two.
The smell was just as unpleasant as ever.
It was a stark contrast to the great symbol of Targaryen power that loomed above the city.
The Dragonpit.
They arrived there after a few minutes, exiting the carriage.
Maekar stepped down beside his father.
Two Dragonkeepers clad in red traditional robes were already waiting.
The men stood motionless near the entrance, clad in the ancient robes of their order.
Heavy crimson garments embroidered with black dragons.
As Baelon and Maekar approached, both men bowed deeply.
“Rytsas, Dārilaros Baelon,” the elder Dragonkeeper said.
Greetings, Prince Baelon.
His gaze then shifted toward Maekar.
“Rytsas, Dārilaros Maekar.”
Greetings, Prince Maekar.
They led them inside, where Vhagar was already waiting.
Her massive silhouette was just as grand as Maekar remembered.
Even within the vast Dragonpit, she seemed too large for the structure around her.
Baelon smiled when he saw the look on his son’s face.
“Keep calm,” he cautioned as Vhagar lowered her enormous head.
Slowly, Baelon stretched out a hand and rested it against her snout.
“Now you.”
Maekar smiled as he stepped forward.
The dragon his mother had once ridden.
Of course she knew him.
He reached out his hand, but before he could touch her, Vhagar moved on her own, lowering her head and nudging gently against him in greeting.
Baelon’s eyes widened ever so slightly.
For a brief moment, even the Dragonkeepers seemed surprised.
Maekar simply placed his hand upon the old dragon’s scales.
“Rytsas, Vhagar.”
Hello, Vhagar.
The ancient she-dragon rumbled softly.
A moment later, Baelon climbed into the saddle secured between Vhagar’s shoulders.
“Come.”
Maekar quickly followed, Baelon fastening the iron chains around him as he settled in front of his father.
“Ready?”
Maekar nodded eagerly.
“Then hold on.”
Vhagar spread her immense wings.
The next moment, she launched herself forward.
The ground vanished beneath them.
One powerful beat of her wings carried them into the air, then another, and another.
The Dragonpit rapidly shrank below them as King’s Landing unfolded in all its glory.
The wind rushed against Maekar’s face.
And for the first time in this life, he was flying once more.