Chapter 77 – Valyrian Steel Sword: Lament!
King's Landing, Rhaenys's Hill, the Dragonpit.
A century later, the black dragon on a red field banner fluttered high once more; the Dragonpit's bronze gates stood open again.
Rhaegar had no intention of keeping dragons here. The pit would be rebuilt into a vast barracks, echoing the Red Keep and expanding the Eagle Guards into a mobile, elite force.
A natural warrior and second in the line of succession to the Iron Throne, Rhaegar's counsel was heeded by King Jaehaerys II Targaryen.
Rhaegar knew too well that clouds were gathering over Westeros. The king's decision to uphold part of King Aegon V Targaryen's edicts had enraged certain lords. They protested, they roared, and Rhaegar feared the worst—another noble revolt.
Westerosi lords, when they threaten to draw steel, usually mean it.
No one wished to see a repeat of the tragedy at Starpike, where King Maekar I Targaryen had been crushed by a stone hurled from the walls. Mobilising for war had become a necessity.
Now Lord Tywin Lannister, Master of Coin, was stirring fresh waves with his reforms, and many lords were restless. Violent suppression was a poor option—yet one that had to be considered. More swords meant more strength.
Rhaegar asked the king for the Dragonpit as a barracks; after brief reflection, King Jaehaerys II readily agreed.
The Dragonpit had long lain derelict, and Rhaegar's guards were all young—keeping them all in the Red Keep felt unwise. The pit's vast open vaults, sitting idle, might as well house an army; the only worry was coin.
Lord Tywin offered help: the foundations were sound, and he could supply some funds for repairs. Rhaegar himself still had coin—booty from the Battle of the Valley Road set aside for wages.
Rhaegar's father, Prince Aerys Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, used his authority to arrange the supply of stone.
With such backing, Rhaegar's Dragonpit renovation would soon yield results.
The Iron Throne needed this fresh force. Prince Rhaegar had already shown martial talent; the Eagle Guards were well-drilled, most drawn from knightly houses.
High on Rhaenys's Hill, the Dragonpit was now only a soot-blackened ruin.
Rhaegar surveyed the desolation—utterly bleak.
Though ruined, one could still sense its former grandeur: dozens of doors, a warren of inner chambers designed to chain and control dragons.
Royal weddings had once been held here; at its height it had held tens of thousands. Many dragons had dwelt within, ruling the surrounding lands from its shadow.
Walking the rubble, Rhaegar reflected: one of King's Landing's three great landmarks, destroyed during the Dance of the Dragons by shepherds and rioters, had become a symbol of Targaryen decline.
Ask who slew the dragons and Rhaegar would name the people of King's Landing—fickle, quick to rage, turned monstrous by hunger, war, and despair. In the Storming of the Dragonpit, the mob had butchered five dragons.
Yet King's Landing remained the foundation. Bread to feed them, he thought—and spears and whips to keep them afraid.
Rhaegar entered the vast ruin first; his soldiers followed their prince.
He gazed up at the colossal dome, caved in by dragonfire and falling stone, open to the sky.
The blackening came from dragonflame and later, during the great plague, from the Dragonpit being used as a crematory.
"Your Grace, the interior is cleared," the commander of the City Watch of King's Landing said respectfully. "We posted notices and warnings for a week; the whores and their clients who traded inside have been driven out."
"Good." Rhaegar studied the derelict halls—so much space. Too long abandoned.
"Tear down the unstable upper stonework. I don't want men crushed in their beds. Hire master masons. My quartermaster is Ser Jeyne Arryn—take any issues to him."
Ser Jeyne Arryn stood at Rhaegar's side and nodded to the City Watch commander.
The commander acknowledged the order.
Rhaegar studied the Watch's leader—a capable fighter, but no great warrior. That the Gold Cloaks kept order in a city of hundreds of thousands was a minor miracle.
"To work," Rhaegar called. He had already hired civilians and assigned the Gold Cloaks to clearing duties; now, for heavier labor, he and the Eagle Guards joined in.
"Mind the ground—some floors have rotted. Watch your heads."
Rhaegar and his men swept rubble, carted debris, and prepared the bronze gates and side doors for repair.
Even a ruin could be mended swiftly. Ser Brynden Tully, Cesar, and Rhaegar divided their men and tackled separate sections.
Ser Corlys watched the prince work alongside his soldiers—earning trust through action. The Targaryens had charm, but Rhaegar wielded it early.
For now the men camped beneath the broken dome; the deeper tunnels were still being cleared.
"Careful!" Near the central chamber a soldier stepped on a rotted plank; it gave way, dropping him toward a cellar.
Rhaegar caught him in time. The man wept in gratitude.
Rhaegar's heart skipped—within the cellar he glimpsed a sliver of black light.
He descended and found several corpses. The gleam came from beneath one; nearby lay rusted swords and a morningstar.
Carefully he uncovered the source until the outline of a blade emerged.
A Valyrian steel sword.
Rhaegar's pulse thundered.
The blade was dark, nearly black. The hilt bore the unmistakable runes of House Royce. Dragonflame may have further darkened it.
Lamentation—the ancestral sword of House Royce. Ser Willem Royce had borne it for the Blacks and died during the Storming of the Dragonpit. Afterward, the blade vanished.
Rhaegar held it with reverence. A Valyrian steel sword—peerless. Perhaps these corpses had slaughtered one another for it.
(Explorer: You scour the ruined Dragonpit—congratulations! You have found a Valyrian steel sword.)
Rhaegar turned the blade. Nothing else of worth remained; the dead wore common clothes.
(Explorer: Your vital flame burns bright—congratulations! You have ignited the sword-rune.)
Bronze runes flared, forming a longsword sigil. Power surged as he raised it.
Smiling faintly, he sheathed the blade and climbed out.
Not Blackfyre, nor Dark Sister—but still a priceless weapon.
Still, the sword of the Bronze Kings should one day be returned. A king deserved Blackfyre. The Targaryens had searched long for it, but only silence answered.
Work continued, but nothing more surfaced. The rioters had been paupers, and later the pit had served as a crematory—little survived.
The Dragonpit Camp slowly took shape as days passed.
Rhaegar lodged in his campaign tent while stone barracks rose around him.
His tent opened directly onto a great Dragonpit tunnel—by his own order.
By lamplight he fed his young dragons there; they grew larger, grumbling against the stone.
Then, from beyond the tunnel door, came urgent footsteps.
"Your Grace—urgent! King Jaehaerys II commands you to the Red Keep at once. Something has happened at Maidenpool."
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