The royal family did not linger long in Driftmark. After three days, they set sail back to King's Landing. Maekar, however, had beaten them to it, soaring through the skies on Morghul's back.
As he flew, he caught sight of Aemond riding upon mighty Vhagar. The colossal, bronze-green dragon glided with ease, utterly unbothered by her rider's urging. Aemond tried time and again to coax more speed from her, but Vhagar ignored his commands, flying at her own steady pace.
Maekar thought to himself,
'It will take Aemond many years before he can master her.'
With a subtle nudge, Morghul surged forward, easily overtaking Vhagar. Soon enough, Maekar descended into the Dragonpit, while Aemond could only circle above the city—Vhagar was simply too vast to enter its confines.
Maekar slid down from Morghul's back as two dragonkeepers hurried forward to greet him.
"Welcome back, my prince," one said, bowing.
Maekar gave a curt nod and then said.
"Do not approach Morghul in the coming days. He is in a foul mood."
The keepers froze.
Morgul had felt his rider be mortally wounded through the dragon-link. Had the prince not bent his will against Morghul's, Driftmark itself might have burned. Even so, the beast had vented his wrath on the cliffs and boulders of the island, reducing stone to molten slag beneath the fury of his flame, his growls echoing through High Tide like distant thunder.
The keepers exchanged uneasy glances and instinctively stepped back. Morghul had not earned the name 'the Vile' without cause.
Without breaking stride, Maekar turned toward the exit, the keepers falling in beside him in wary silence, as if ready should the dragon suddenly lash out.
"Morghul will need much meat in the days to come,"
Maekar added. "Do not bring it to him—simply loose sheep and pigs into his pit. Let him take his fill."
The elder keeper bowed deeply. "Of course, Prince Maekar."
Maekar soon found himself back within the Red Keep. He retired to his chambers, taking a brief bath and a solitary meal before stepping out onto his balcony. The night air was cool against his skin.
'Tonight's the night.'
He thought, pausing as his gaze drifted toward the dark horizon. '
Rhaenyra and Daemon will sail for Dragonstone. That leaves only Otto... and the Clubfoot. But he will not be a true threat for some time yet.'
He poured himself a goblet—not wine, but juice, for he did not drink—and took a slow sip, resuming his thoughts. '
By now, the Unsullied will have grown accustomed to King's Landing's twisting alleys. They should know the slums well enough. It's time they were put to use.'
A knock broke his train of thought. He set down the goblet and turned his eyes toward the door.
"Enter," he called.
The door creaked open, admitting Grand Maester Mellos, flanked by two nervous acolytes carrying trays of medical supplies. The old man bowed deeply.
"My prince, the queen had sent a raven and bade us attend you. She wished for your wound to be examined."
Maekar gave the maester a silent, measured look, then inclined his head a fraction. Mellos approached and carefully removed the cloth binding Maekar's neck.
The two acolytes flinched the instant they saw the wound. The burn was ghastly—charred black like coal, with angry swelling still clinging to the edges. The sight alone turned their stomachs.
Mellos, though accustomed to the ravages of flesh, found himself unsettled. He tapped the scar tissue gently, studying Maekar all the while.
'Does this boy not feel pain?'
He wondered.
'Such a wound should leave even the strongest man writhing... yet he sits unmoved as if carved from stone.'
At last, Mellos straightened and spoke in his careful, measured tone.
"Good, my prince. The wound shows no signs of corruption and is healing well. In two moons' time, the risk of infection will have passed, and it may be considered healed. But..."
His expression darkened. "It will leave a permanent scar. The flesh is too badly ruined."
Mellos carefully reapplied the green salve, binding the wound in fresh cloth before bowing and taking his leave with the acolytes in tow.
Maekar had barely settled back into his chair when another knock sounded. He sighed inwardly. 'What now?'
He opened his mouth to call for entry, but the door was already shoved open.
Aemond stepped inside, his scowl darkening the chamber.
Maekar's lips parted, ready to admonish the servant for barging in without leave, but he stopped short when he saw who it was.
Aemond slumped into the chair opposite his brother on the balcony and released a heavy sigh.
Maekar regarded him for a moment, already guessing the cause of his foul mood, though he asked anyway.
"And what has the new rider of Vhagar scowling so?"
Aemond grimaced.
"That's exactly why I'm annoyed, brother. Unlike your dragon, mine barely heeds me. I circled above King's Landing for half an hour before she finally descended near the gates. She ignores me when I tell her to climb, to slow, even to dive. The only command she obeys is when I ask her to fly."
"And you came to me for advice?" Maekar asked.
Aemond nodded without hesitation.
"Yes. You have the best bond with your dragon of anyone in the family."
Maekar hummed softly, leaning back in his chair.
"There isn't much advice to give. Morghul is a cradle dragon—he's only ever known my commands. Vhagar, on the other hand, has carried many riders. She's ancient, and with that age comes an inexorable spirit."
He paused, lifting his goblet and sipping. Aemond, watching him closely, poured himself one as well, eager to listen.
"If you want her to heed you," Maekar continued,
"You must make her know you. Fly every day. Ask her for everything that comes to mind—climb, dive, circle, hover. Feed her when you can. With time, as your bond deepens, she will grow more willing to obey."
"One last bit of advice, Aemond," Maekar said, his tone steady.
"A dragon is not a slave, nor a servant. It is your equal. The day your dragon feels lesser in the bond is the day she burns you alive."
Inwardly, Maekar thought, 'My dragon-link has spared me that worry.'
Aemond nodded quickly, eyes alight. He leapt from his chair, no doubt hurrying back to Vhagar. The boy's excitement had not dimmed once since claiming his dragon.
Night soon cloaked the skies above King's Landing. In the shadows below, a hooded figure slipped through the tunnels beneath the Red Keep. Silent and deliberate, his steps carried him toward his destination—his Unsullied.
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will release another chapter if we get to 700 power stones
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