Spring's breath softened the harsh cliffs of Claw Isle, coaxing pale blossoms from the mossy stones and threading fresh green through the thickets. The air was salty and sharp, stirred by steady breezes off the Narrow Sea that carried news from afar. Vaelon Celtigar walked the narrow paths that wound between the gnarled oaks and basalt crags, his boots leaving faint impressions in the damp earth.
Though the cove's dredging was paused for the rainy season, Vaelon's mind was far from the grinding labor of shaping the land. His thoughts were pulled instead toward the secret that lay cradled within the stone walls of Claw Keep: the fossilized dragon egg wrapped in velvet and guarded by Maester Corwin's watchful gaze.
The egg was silent now, unyielding, yet it sang to him in dreams, a quiet call beneath the crashing waves.
Today, however, something new rippled through the island's usual rhythm. Word had come on swift wings from King's Landing, carried by a rider whose horse bore the dust and sweat of a long journey.
Vaelon waited in the solar, a room lit by pale morning light filtering through stained glass, when the courier arrived. His cloak was soaked, and his face was drawn with urgency.
"Lord Vaelon," the man gasped, bowing deeply. "A letter from the Red Keep, sealed with the dragon's flame."
Vaelon took the scroll with steady hands, breaking the wax with care. The parchment was thick and heavy with importance. His eyes raced across the carefully penned words. The summons was clear: Lord Bartimos Celtigar and his heir were requested at King's Landing to present themselves before King Viserys I Targaryen and his council.
The letter spoke of rising tensions in the realm, of the king's desire to bind his lords closer in uncertain times, and, more significantly, of the approaching 'Dance of the Dragons' — a conflict that threatened to shake Westeros to its core.
Vaelon folded the letter slowly, meeting the eyes of the rider.
"Prepare the best steeds," he ordered. "We leave within the week."
That evening, as twilight crept over Claw Isle, Vaelon sat across from his father in the quiet of the solar. The fire crackled softly between them, shadows flickering against the walls lined with ancient tomes and faded tapestries.
Bartimos' face was worn but resolute. He studied the letter as if it were a map to the kingdom's fate.
"The Dance draws near," Bartimos said, voice low. "Dragons will rise and fall, and lords will have to choose sides. The Targaryen line itself will be tested."
Vaelon nodded. "It is more than the fate of a family. It is the fate of all who call Westeros home. We must be ready."
"And your dragon egg," Bartimos added cautiously. "What of it? Have you spoken to Varys Tolarys since his arrival?"
Vaelon's gaze hardened with resolve. "I have. I intend to protect it, study it. If the old legends are true, it could be the key to restoring our house's honor — and strength."
Bartimos sighed. "Then the path ahead is perilous. Both the court and the unknown."
Vaelon's fingers brushed the edge of the letter, imagining the road to King's Landing: the towering Red Keep, the glittering court, and the shadow of dragons circling above.
The days passed quickly in preparation. Vaelon oversaw the packing of supplies, the training of his guards, and the consultation with Maester Corwin on how best to conceal the egg's existence from prying eyes.
Rumors had already begun to stir. The arrival of the Myrish merchant had not gone unnoticed. Some whispered of ancient magics, others of foolhardy ambition.
Vaelon dismissed the court gossip with a steady smile. His focus was clear: reach the capital, gain favor, and secure the future of House Celtigar.
On the dawn of departure, the sky was a canvas of gold and pink. The ship awaited at the harbor, a sturdy cog with sails trimmed and hull freshly caulked. Vaelon stood on the dock beside his father and Ser Marros, watching as the crew made last preparations.
His mother's words echoed softly in his mind: "The blood of Old Valyria runs through you. Let it be your strength."
With a final nod, the ships slipped away from Claw Isle, cutting through the mist and setting a course for King's Landing — and destiny.