A roar thundered from deep within the stone heart of the Dragonpit, reverberating up the spiraling stairwell that led to the lower dragon caves.
It was no ordinary roar, there was fury in it. A fury that made stone shudder, dust fall from ancient ceilings, and distant dragons cry out in anxious reply.
The young dragon keeper at the entrance, paled instantly. His heart seized in his chest as the ground trembled beneath his boots, a breath of hot air sweeping up the tunnel like the exhale of a giant.
His mouth opened in horror, words slipping out before thought could catch them. "Oh… no," he stammered, taking a staggering step back. "What have I done…"
He had only meant to humor the bold young prince, to give him a thrill, a moment of reckless bravado. Let the little Targaryen stand in front of Dreamfyre for a heartbeat and feel her heat.
He had thought the dragon would ignore him, or roar once and scare him off. Maybe Aegon would retreat with a red face, and that would be the end of it.
But this...
This was not that.
This sound, this roar, had weight. Of a boundary being crossed.
"It was only for a moment," the dragonkeeper murmured to no one, sweat clinging to his brow. "He said he just wanted to see her…"
Now he realized his folly. Not in breaking protocol, but in forgetting who the boy was.
"The king will have my head," he whispered again, the full weight of it pressing on his shoulders. "The prince is… he's…"
He didn't finish the thought. Couldn't. It was too horrible to put into words.
Then, panic seized him.
Without another second's hesitation, he spun around and fled, boots clanging against the ancient stone, footsteps echoing through the vaulted corridors.
His breath came in short, ragged gasps as he ran, his voice bouncing off the high, curving walls.
"The elders!" he shouted. "Someone fetch the elders! The prince, he's inside with Dreamfyre!"
Behind him, the tunnels echoed not only with the fading roar, but with rising cries. The high-pitched screeches of young dragons stirred into fear and fury. A rumble of unease threaded through the foundations of the pit.
Deep in the cavern, Dreamfyre finally stopped.
For five full seconds, she had let loose her fury in a steady, unrelenting torrent of fire. The stone walls glowed orange, the very air still rippling with heat.
Smoke swirled and hissed from blackened rock, and the space before her, once occupied by the boy, was now bathed in ash and shimmering flame.
She took a long breath, nostrils flaring, ready to turn away. To return to the shadows and the silence of her cave, to rest again atop old bones and memory. The boy, presumptuous, foolish, was surely dead.
But then… something made her stop.
Her eyes narrowed. Her pupils shrank.
There, at the center of the scorched path, was a space untouched by fire. A perfect ring where the flames had curved around rather than through.
At the heart of that space stood the boy, hand still raised, his silver-gold hair unburned, his violet eyes alight not with fear, but with command and determination.
The flames, her flames, danced around him like servants. They twisted unnaturally, coiling and shaping, and as Dreamfyre watched, their motion grew purposeful.
They were forming something.
A shape loomed behind the boy, vast and flickering, an enormous dragon's head, sculpted from flame itself, its jaws open wide.
Dreamfyre's heart thundered in her chest. Not from rage… but something older. Something deeper.
She remembered this feeling.
It was blood.
Not just Targaryen blood, true blood. Blood that called to her in the language of fire and storm. The resonance that had stirred at his first command now slammed into her with force, a tidal wave of ancient magic carried not just through words, but through lineage.
And then, the boy's voice came again.
Louder this time. Clearer. Resonating not only through the stone, but through her, down into her marrow, into the very flame that burned in her veins.
"DREAMFYRE… ĀEKSIO."
(Dreamfyre… Serve)
The sound did not echo, it settled, heavy and absolute.
And Dreamfyre felt her limbs tremble.
She resisted once more. For a heartbeat. For pride.
But then… she relented.
A long, slow breath escaped her nostrils. Her claws scraped against the floor as she lowered herself, inch by inch, bowing, not just in recognition, but in submission. Her head touched the warm stone, wings slowly folding inward.
She had fought the call. But the call had won.
The boy before her was no pretender.
He was Targaryen. He was also something older - much Older.
And now… he was her rider.
Aegon stood still for a long moment, staring at the bowed form of the dragon before him. The air was still shimmering with residual heat, the ground scorched around him, yet he felt no fear.
The massive dragon head made of flame, his own conjuration, born of blood and will, dissipated slowly as he released it from his focus.
Trails of fire curled upward and vanished into the thick smoke still lingering in the air.
His skin burned faintly where the heat had licked too close. Reddened, but not blistered. A badge of the moment. He winced as he flexed his fingers, but his resolve never wavered.
He stepped forward.
Each footfall echoed with quiet authority as he approached Dreamfyre's snout, the massive, ancient dragon now utterly still.
He extended a hand, slowly, deliberately, and pressed his palm against the shimmering blue scales of her face. They were warm. Not just with heat, but with something else, something alive.
A pulse. A rhythm.
He ran his hand along her jaw, the scales surprisingly smooth beneath his fingers. There was a moment of stillness, almost sacred.
Then something changed.
The traits of his class , [Heir of Old Valyria], surged once more, not in a loud, overpowering wave as before, but in a deeper, more settled thrum. The magic no longer shouted.
It whispered. It sank in. Like embers pressed into the coals, the resonance deepened.
His vision blurred momentarily. Dreamfyre's eyes half-lidded, and in perfect synchrony, Aegon closed his as well.
For a breath… they were one.
He didn't understand words, not truly, but he felt her. Felt the residual tension in her massive body, the sharp edge of pride dulled now by curiosity… and something gentler.
Acceptance.
He opened his eyes, and Dreamfyre's enormous golden-blue gaze met his again, no longer filled with challenge, but something more intelligent. Something more… connected.
Without speaking, he turned and walked along her side, boots crunching against scorched ash and old rock. She turned her head to watch him as he reached her shoulder and paused. Her wings shifted slightly, raising halfway in a protective reflex.
Then, slowly, she lowered them, spreading one broad wing outward and downward to create a slope.
Aegon blinked. "You understand…" he muttered softly, mostly to himself.
He grabbed hold of the wing joint and scrambled up with an agility and strength born from his traits. He climbed up over the shoulder and swung a leg across, settling himself on the old leather saddle affixed there.
Dust puffed out from the seat as he dropped into it. No one had sat here in decades, maybe longer. The bindings were stiff, but intact.
He checked the harness loops and grips,as he'd been taught by the dragon keepers, and gave them a small tug.
Secure.
He looked down at the long neck of the dragon below him and then toward the far mouth of the cavern. "Dreamfyre…Outside," he commanded.
Dreamfyre then got up slowly, then with regal calm, she turned and began walking.
Each footfall sent little tremors through the ground. The cave grew brighter as she approached the other exit, sunlight piercing in from a massive opening high on the hillside beyond the Dragonpit's main dome.
She walked slowly, but purposefully, each step radiating a kind of restrained power.
Aegon adjusted his grip. His heart thudded in his chest, not from fear, but from anticipation. He was riding a dragon.
His dragon.
Outside, the first light of dawn was breaking over King's Landing, casting a golden hue across the city's rooftops and the sprawling expanse of the Red Keep.
At the wide, jagged mouth of Rhaenys' Hill, the air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of salt from the Narrow Sea mingled with the faint smoke still rising from the Dragonpit below.
A low rumble stirred the air, a deep, vibrating pulse that grew steadily louder.
From the shadows of the cave's wide opening emerged a magnificent sight: Dreamfyre, the great blue-scaled dragon, her massive form stretching nearly the entire length of the hilltop.
Her scales shimmered like polished sapphires, catching the light with every subtle movement. With slow, deliberate grace, she stepped forward, each movement shaking the earth beneath her talons.
Atop her broad back sat the silver-haired boy, Aegon Targaryen.
His violet eyes shone bright with a mixture of awe, determination, and the weight of what he was about to do. His hands rested firmly on the thick, leather reins, his slender fingers tightening their grip with practiced resolve.
Despite the rush of cool air and the looming height, there was no hint of fear in his posture, only focus.
Dreamfyre's great neck curved gracefully as she lowered her massive head to look back at her rider. Her deep, ancient eyes met Aegon's, filled with a strange intelligence that seemed to pierce beyond the physical.
It was a moment of silent understanding, an unspoken pact between dragon and rider, forged through blood and fire.
Aegon inhaled deeply, the cold morning air filling his lungs. He steadied himself against the saddle, feeling the heat radiating from the dragon beneath him.
Then, with a calm and clear voice, he spoke aloud, in the old tongue of their bloodline:
"Fly, Dreamfyre."
The words echoed softly in the still air as the great dragon tensed, her powerful muscles coiling beneath her scales.
With a sudden movement, Dreamfyre stepped forward toward the cliff's edge, the ground dropping away sharply beneath her colossal feet.
Then she launched herself off the edge.
A wall of wind rushed past Aegon's face, buffeting his silver hair and tearing at his clothes. The force was immense, but he held firm, planting his feet into the saddle and clutching the reins tighter than ever.
For a fleeting second, the ground seemed to disappear entirely, replaced by the vast openness of the sky.
With a powerful beat of her wings, Dreamfyre unfurled her great leathery wings, each one spanning wide. The wind surged beneath them, lifting them higher and higher.
The tremor of her flight thrummed through Aegon's body, a rhythmic pulse that matched the racing beat of his heart.
A guttural, triumphant roar burst from Dreamfyre's throat, a sound both terrifying and magnificent, echoing across the city like a thunderclap.
It was a declaration, an ancient, unyielding call to the skies.
Together, dragon and rider soared above the tiled roofs of King's Landing, casting a long, sweeping shadow over the waking city.
The early morning sun kissed the towers of the Red Keep and painted the rooftops in warm gold and crimson.
Below, the city began to stir, shopkeepers lifting wooden shutters, bakers fanning ovens, sailors unloading at the harbor, and children scampering in alleyways.
Then, the cry came.
A thunderous, piercing roar echoed across the sky. Heads snapped upward.
From the muddy streets of Flea Bottom to the marble courtyards near the Grand Sept, all eyes turned skyward. Old men peered up from cracked porches, merchants halting mid-sale to gape in awe. The noise of the city dimmed for a heartbeat as the presence above demanded attention.
"By the Seven…" muttered a baker's apprentice, shielding his flour-dusted eyes with a hand. "It's a dragon!"
"Aye, and a big one too!" called out a butcher, stepping into the street, cleaver still in hand.
Children squealed with delight, pointing skyward with sticky fingers.
"Look, look! A dragon!"
"Is it Silverwing?"
"No, stupid, Silverwing's white! This one's blue!"
"Maybe it's one of the prince's dragons!"
A potter near the city's edge dropped a jug that shattered on the ground, her eyes wide. "Hells… that ain't no hatchling. That's a proper beast!"
In the alleys of Cobbler's Square, a ragged group of beggars stared skyward.
"Haven't seen one that size over the city in years," one croaked.
"Not since King Jaehaerys flew Vermithor to Oldtown, I wager," said another, wiping grime from his brow.
"Looks like the gods are wakin' again," whispered an old woman.
On the city walls, a pair of Goldcloaks froze mid-conversation.
"Didn't know any of the young princes had claimed one yet," one said.
"That ain't Prince Aaemon's Caraxes. This one's different."
"Who's that on its back?"
The other squinted. "Can't see clear, but…Targaryen, for sure."
The people craned their necks, hands shielding eyes from the morning glare. Above, they could just make out the vague silhouette of a rider, the silver-white of Targaryen hair fluttering like a banner in the wind.
"A new dragonlord," someone whispered in reverence.
"Must be Prince Viserys."
"No, too small. That rider's just a boy!"
"A boy? On a dragon that size?", a grizzled fisherman murmured, crossing his heart with trembling fingers.
The awe was palpable, tinged with fear, but also pride. For the common folk of King's Landing, it was a sign, a symbol of strength. Dragons had long been the divine right of House Targaryen. And now, a new rider had taken to the sky.
The whispers spread like wildfire.
"A young prince has claimed a dragon."
"Which one?"
"Don't know. But he rides above the city now."
"Bless the blood of the dragon."
And in the sky above it all, Dreamfyre cut a sweeping arc, wings stretched wide, her cry echoing once more over the city of men, loud and clear, like a herald of ancient power reborn.
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