"Hiss—Screech!"
Syrax chirped continuously, playfully darting between the towers before finally flying out of King's Landing through the Great Dragon Gate.
Rhaenyra beamed with joy, holding baby Aemond, who giggled gleefully in her arms. The mother and son's laughter echoed throughout the city.
"A mother who loves dragon-riding will naturally bear children who are cut from the same mold," Rhaegar said happily, as if reminiscing about the time he had just tamed Devourer.
Carefree and reckless, flying wildly on dragons.
"Hiss—Screech!"
Devourer circled King's Landing for the third time before diving through the Great Dragon Gate to chase after Syrax.
The two dragons soared into the distance, leaving only the lingering heat and excitement among the people of King's Landing.
This scene was etched in many minds, remaining unforgettable even twenty years later.
---
By the Blackwater River
Rhaegar spread his arms wide, shouting loudly, "Rhaenyra, want to race and see who flies faster?"
"Waaah!"
Baby Baelor's face turned bright red, fully exposed to the strong wind, letting out resistant grumbles.
Flying ahead on Syrax, Rhaenyra turned her head to scold, "Why don't you challenge Syrax and Meleys to a speed contest instead?"
"Hmph," Rhaegar snorted smugly.
Devourer's green eyes gleamed with intensity as its wings flapped powerfully, overtaking Syrax and creating a gust that nearly threw the other dragon off balance.
Poor Syrax, unwilling to give up but clearly intimidated, stubbornly trailed behind Devourer's tail.
Devourer had grown rapidly, now surpassing even Vhagar, the oldest of the dragons.
Syrax, a young female dragon, had just recently crossed into adulthood and was only a third of Devourer's size.
Rhaenyra huffed coldly and gave baby Aemond a playful smack on the rear. The baby, who had been giggling, was stunned into wide-eyed confusion, tears of grievance welling up.
Rhaenyra pinched the child's chubby cheeks and said unreasonably, "You may be young, but you need to understand that debts incurred by the father must be repaid by the son."
Aemond pouted, tears quickly forming, seemingly ready to burst out crying at any moment.
---
Ahead, Above the Riverbank
Rhaegar remained blissfully unaware of this, even loosening the swaddle around Baelor so the baby could fully experience what it meant to have the wind gently caress his face.
After a while, Baelor shook his head vigorously, burying it into his father's chest.
He was no foolish little brother—he had plenty of strength.
"What an amusing little thing," Rhaegar laughed heartily, carefree and oblivious.
Targaryens were not afraid of the cold, and both children had inherited his constitution, undoubtedly possessing strong bodies.
Unbeknownst to them, the two dragons were flying southward along the Blackwater River.
Their destination was Oldtown.
The siblings planned to fly along the Blackwater River to where it met the Mander, then follow the river to Highgarden.
Given the long journey, they needed to rest in Highgarden overnight before continuing to Oldtown the next day.
Looking down, Rhaegar saw the Blackwater River flowing rapidly, its shimmering surface glinting under the sun as it splashed against the rocks.
Suddenly, a pale gray dragon shadow emerged from the clouds.
"Hiss—Screech…"
A melodious call echoed, drawing the attention of both riders and dragons.
Turning his head, Rhaegar saw a pale gray dragon gracefully descending, resembling a ghostly figure against the white clouds.
"Gray Shadow?"
Rhaegar squinted in surprise.
This shy wild dragon had retreated to Dragonstone after the Siege of the Three Queens and had been in hiding for months.
"Rhaegar, it's looking for you," Rhaenyra exclaimed, pressing a slender finger against baby Aemond's mouth.
The little one, teary-eyed, suckled the finger for comfort.
"So there will be five dragons gathered in Oldtown," Rhaegar chuckled.
"Hiss—Screech…"
As they spoke, Gray Shadow emerged fully from the clouds, its bright vertical pupils locked warily onto Rhaegar, cautiously closing the distance.
Should Devourer show the slightest sign of hostility, it was ready to flee immediately.
"Roar!"
Devourer spared it a glance, recognizing the once-submissive wild dragon, and continued flying without aggression.
Seeing this, Gray Shadow boldly drew nearer.
Before long, it was flying alongside Devourer, sticking close despite the intimidating scent of ash radiating from the larger dragon.
It looked like a piece of pale gray parchment stuck to a blackboard.
Adjusting the swaddle on his chest, Rhaegar attempted communication with Gray Shadow. "Good boy, did you come from Harrenhal?"
Ever since the establishment of the dragon nest at God's Eye Lake, Gray Shadow had become a frequent visitor.
"Hiss—Screech…"
To Rhaegar's surprise, Gray Shadow showed no interest in conversation but instead let out a high-pitched call while eyeing the swaddle intently.
More precisely, it was eyeing baby Baelor inside.
Startled, Rhaegar lifted the cover, revealing Baelor with a runny nose.
The wind was too much for the baby to handle.
Baelor sucked his thumb, his fair little face calm as he stared at the pale gray dragon.
Its entire body was covered in pale gray scales, with a faint shimmer on its back and wing membranes under the sunlight, making it well-suited for hiding in clouds.
The dragon's head was not fierce but rather elegant, with pale dragon horns atop its head and a neat crown of spines.
Most striking of all were its amber vertical pupils, shimmering with curiosity, caution, and a hint of shyness.
"Hiss—Screech…"
Gray Shadow fixated on the human infant in the swaddle, sniffing intensely like an addict, its screeches filled with excitement.
Rhaegar's eyes narrowed in confusion.
"Hiss—Screech…"
Gray Shadow suddenly veered away, flying toward Syrax.
Syrax, quick-tempered and easily provoked, bared its fangs, ready to attack.
"Stay calm, Syrax."
At the critical moment, Rhaenyra intervened.
She, too, was curious about what this obedient wild dragon intended to do.
"Hiss—Screech…"
Not being driven away, Gray Shadow flapped its wings happily, circling Syrax playfully.
The two dragons were born around the same time and were similar in size.
Syrax, despite not growing slowly, had thick, broad wings that gave off an air of clumsy strength.
Gray Shadow, on the other hand, was lean and well-proportioned, with pale gray wings large enough to envelop its entire body.
This structure allowed for better balance and easier maneuverability, making it faster and more agile in aerial combat.
Rhaenyra noticed Greywing's curiosity and exposed little Aemond in her arms, letting the dragon take a good look.
Greywing's slit pupils gleamed as it stared intently at the second infant, sniffing continuously.
After a while, it showed a surprisingly human-like expression of confusion.
Unlike the previous human child, this one carried the scent of another dragon.
"Hiss-ga…"
Greywing lost interest and, squeezing past the increasingly annoyed Syrax, flew back behind the Glutton.
That human hatchling smelled delicious too!
Rhaegar watched Greywing's unusually enthusiastic behavior, his expression shifting from confusion to shock, then finally to deep suspicion.
Could this timid dragon have taken a liking to my son?
The thought flashed through his mind, but Rhaegar dismissed it. Instead, he unwrapped the swaddling cloth and held the infant closer to Greywing for a better look.
Little Baelon: sniffle~
His tiny nose twitched, and a half-dried streak of snot dribbled down.
Greywing seized the opportunity, pressing in to take deep, eager sniffs—acting very much like a dragon obsessed.
It had been a busy time for Greywing.
On Dragonstone, it had exchanged experiences with a green she-dragon who had been abandoned after mating, only to be chased off by a raging behemoth returning in search of its mate.
Afterward, Greywing wandered, homeless.
Two days ago, while loitering near Gulltown, it encountered a newly hatched black dragonling.
That young one had been fierce, even roaring at Greywing.
Unwilling to tolerate such disrespect, Greywing made a half-hearted attempt at anger before slinking away from Gulltown.
Recalling a dragon's nest outside the Black Castle, it had stayed there temporarily for two days.
Earlier today, while fishing in the Blackwater River, it caught the scent of a dragonseed and eagerly rushed over to investigate.
And now, the alluring fragrance of these human infants had it sniffing them all over.
"Timid dragon, this isn't proper."
Rhaegar's expression was blank, but he had completely seen through Greywing's little scheme.
It really had taken a liking to his precious son.
Without waiting for Greywing's reaction, Rhaegar pulled the swaddling cloth away, wrapped it securely, and turned his back, blocking the dragon's view.
"Hm?"
Greywing tilted its head, its massive slit pupils flickering with confusion.
Rhaegar patted his dragon's back, urging, "Glutton, move faster."
"Hiss-ga—"
Glutton let out a frustrated growl, shaking off the ever-clinging Greywing in an instant before leaping over the Blackwater River into the Mander River basin.
"Hiss-ga…"
Greywing panicked, letting out a sharp cry as it hurried to catch up.
Rhaegar remained unmoved, even covering little Baelon's ears.
He admitted it—he was biased against this timid dragon.
Greywing was clever, a wild-born dragon with excellent survival instincts and an incredibly gentle temperament.
But!
Its nature was too gentle, making it overly timid and shy.
In his mind, his eldest son's dragon had already been decided.
The dragon egg in the cradle had top priority—bonded dragons were always the best match for their riders.
Growing up together nurtured the strongest connection between human and dragon.
The next best choices were the dragons reared in the dragon pit—Blizzard and Syrax.
Blizzard's egg was rumored to come from Meraxes, a noble silver dragon with golden eyes. Even as a sub-adult, it had already demonstrated terrifying combat potential.
Syrax required no explanation—it had inherited the Smokesea dragon traits from Morgul, meaning its battle prowess was undeniable.
Both were still young or sub-adult dragons, making them suitable for a young Targaryen to tame.
Beyond that, Rhaegar also favored Vermithor, Silverwing, and Seasmoke.
If little Baelon failed to hatch his egg or showed no interest in taming a young dragon, he could follow the common Targaryen path—waiting until his teenage years to claim an unbonded great dragon.
Their father's health was declining, and he was unlikely to live as long as King Jaehaerys.
If little Baelon followed Maegor I's example, he would likely inherit Vermithor once his grandfather passed.
Vermithor was second only to Glutton and Vhagar in size among the great dragons.
Given its age advantage, Vermithor would outlast Vhagar in service.
As the eldest son, Baelon taming Vermithor—second only to Glutton in battle power—would firmly establish his dominance over his siblings.
Silverwing was also a strong choice, nearly as large as Dreamfyre and on the verge of becoming a true great dragon.
In terms of combat strength and intimidation, it was not inferior to the likes of Caraxes.
Seasmoke and Greywing were backup options.
Even among them, Seasmoke took priority over Greywing.
As one of the younger generation of great dragons, Seasmoke had participated in multiple wars, with a temperament neither too aggressive nor too mild—ideal for a novice rider.
Greywing, on the other hand…
Its personality was a problem, making it unsuitable for direct combat.
Unless Baelon grew up and helped Greywing overcome its flaws, only then—being one of the rare wild-born dragons—would it unleash its true strength.
At that point, it would not be weaker than Sunfyre, Seasmoke, or the other dragons of its generation.
"Hiss-ga…"
Greywing let out a sharp cry. Unable to catch up with the accelerating Glutton, it instead clung to Syrax, refusing to leave.
Rhaenyra couldn't stop laughing—she had never seen Rhaegar and Glutton so desperate to escape.
"Hiss-ga…"
Greywing was quite cunning, quickly identifying Rhaenyra as the mother of the human hatchlings.
It twisted and turned, showcasing its sleek, well-balanced physique, almost as if showing off.
Rhaenyra found it amusing. She wanted to reach out and pat its head, but the distance was too far. Chuckling, she said, "Go back for now—wait until my children are a bit older."
Her words, spoken in High Valyrian with an accompanying binding spell, clearly resonated in Greywing's mind.
The dragon froze, seeming to understand the meaning. It finally stopped pestering the bad-tempered Syrax.
After hovering mid-air for a while, it despondently disappeared into the clouds.
"Hiss-ga…"
Even as it departed, it let out a sorrowful wail of rejection.
For the second time!
The first time had been when Rhaegar rode on Glutton.
Back then, he had also been just a human hatchling.
Rhaenyra couldn't help but laugh and patted little Aemond's soft, chubby backside, muttering, "Your brother is more popular than you."
"Waaah—waaah—waaah…"
His little butt had been sneakily attacked again!
Little Aemond's lips quivered, and he burst into loud, wailing sobs.
(End of Chapter)