Dragonstone's main keep, the Stone Drum, the Chamber of the Painted Table.
The room was a massive circular hall with four tall windows facing the four cardinal directions.
The salty sea breeze blew in, making the air biting cold.
Before the Painted Table, Rhaegar studied the lines and contours on the map, as if the rivers and mountains of Westeros unfolded beneath his gaze.
Barristan and the others stood beside him; all were much older than the Prince—a retinue of elders.
News from King's Landing said King Jaehaerys II had begun selecting younger companions; perhaps they would bring some youthful vigor to the court.
There was only one chair in the hall; Rhaegar sat on it, the entire table laid out before him.
Two centuries ago, Aegon the Conqueror possessed only one island, three dragons, and a handful of allies, yet he devoured countless kingdoms like a ravenous tiger.
The glory of his ancestors seemed to shine before his eyes.
Rhaegar looked out to sea, watching ships sailing into Dragonstone's harbor in a steady stream.
The island had regained its former bustle, but who could say how many spies were hidden in those fleets?
Since the Red Comet appeared, the Free Cities had sent even more ships.
Watching the colorful sails, Rhaegar thought: They waste no time.
Once dragons rose again, the Dragonmont would regain its value and must be strictly guarded.
"My Lord, have you noticed many strange guests arriving on the island?" Rhaegar asked.
"Indeed," Ser Brynden nodded.
"Your Grace, following your orders, we have set up several outposts near the Dragonmont, strengthened supervision of the castle servants, and placed guards in taverns, mess halls, and docks. Someone is indeed buying scraps of information with gold and silver," the Castellan of Dragonstone reported.
"But we are short-handed. Dragonstone hasn't been cared for like this in a long time," the Castellan said awkwardly.
Rhaegar felt this was natural; the island was small and remote. Since the dragons vanished, its importance had declined—but now with dragons reborn, Dragonstone would prosper again.
Currently, the island remained cold and desolate, unvisited, like an empty palace. When the Castellan saw Rhaegar arrive, he welcomed him warmly.
Rhaegar didn't let him go unrewarded: the Castellan's heir was an excellent warrior, sailor, and swordsman, so Rhaegar inducted him into the Eagle Guard.
"If we lack manpower, have Sessa send my men. They are young and unknown. Ser Brynden's red hair is too conspicuous. We won't disturb the prey—just remember where it comes from." Rhaegar said.
Fortifying every inch of Dragonstone would only make every inch vulnerable.
For now, Rhaegar only surrounded the castle, the mountain, the taverns, and the docks, waiting to see if fish would bite.
"I brought thirty retainers; they will gladly serve you if needed, my Prince." Ser Laris Velaryon switched sides skillfully. Driftmark was close to Dragonstone, and House Velaryon always had its private intelligence channels; Laris arrived by fast boat within days.
Laris judged that continuing to cling to Crown Prince Aerys was useless; better to find another patron. In that era, one could climb to the peak of power with just a slight shift.
"Very well, my Lord. I do need a Sea Snake who can work," Rhaegar said, sizing Laris up. The man was a sycophant, but such people, greedy for fame and fortune, could be useful if tamed.
Laris bowed with a flinch, terrified; House Velaryon's decline was too fast and severe to strut like a great lord anymore.
A fallen phoenix is worth less than a chicken. Gone were the days when the Sea Snake's mansion housed captains, admirals, and fleets that eclipsed the realm. Now their lands were poor; without new navigators bringing gold, they would eventually fade.
Rhaegar wanted to see who would show impatience first.
He also warned his soldiers to be careful, for Lys, Myr, and their ilk were known for hidden daggers and poison.
When Rhaegar went to the Dragonmont, general command was handed to Ser Brynden and Ser Joffrey, with the Castellan and House Velaryon under their jurisdiction.
With everything arranged, Rhaegar set off for the Dragonmont again with a few attendants.
He deployed temporary patrols at the foot of the mountain; the smoking caves at the summit were too harsh for ordinary men to stay long—he only needed to wait for prey to appear.
But dragons had been gone so long that the Dragonkeepers had gradually been disbanded.
Rhaegar mobilized some fresh troops to patrol, but the gaps were too large to truly seal the mountain.
During his days on Dragonstone, he searched almost every cave and crevice on the Dragonmont.
There were no more lucky finds like Balerion's egg; everywhere was empty.
Only broken bones remained before his eyes.
However, the hatchlings loved those hot caves filled with smoke and sulfur; they hunted and fought in every one.
When the dragons tired of playing and wanted to sleep, Rhaegar brought them back to the nest, watching their scales shimmer like living fire.
As Rhaegar, Barristan, and Sessa came down from the Dragonmont, the night was thick, but they heard running footsteps and shouts of pursuers.
At the foot of the mountain, fighting had broken out.
By torchlight, Rhaegar saw two men in black tightly surrounded by Joffrey Arryn's guards—golden curly hair, pale skin, typical Lysene looks.
The thieves couldn't stop the soldiers flooding in to encircle them.
"Drop your weapons, braves of Lys. Trespassing on the Dragonmont is treason." Ser Joffrey Arryn shouted, his men raising crossbows aimed at the two intruders.
Rhaegar and Barristan approached; the circle closed, leaving the Lyseni no escape. One was a burly middle-aged man with large hands and feet; the other was a boy of about ten, with silver-grey hair, big eyes, and a slender frame.
"Your Grace!" Ser Joffrey shouted to Rhaegar. "We caught a few big fish as planned, though a few slipped away."
Fifty men couldn't truly guard the Dragonmont; it was more a game of luck.
"Drop your weapons and surrender!" Joffrey ordered again.
The older man gritted his teeth; a small crossbow appeared in his hand, firing straight at Rhaegar.
He didn't care who Rhaegar was; kill the mastermind, and the others might scatter. Even if the dead man was truly a Targaryen Prince, Lyseni were used to royal blood.
"My Prince, look out—the bolt is poisoned!" Joffrey and Brynden jumped to protect him.
Lyseni and Myrish weren't great warriors or sailors, but they knew hidden steel and venom.
The quarrel flew like wind, impossible to dodge.
Rhaegar snatched a long shield from a soldier; the Eagle God favored him, and every bolt struck the wood. He blocked three deadly shots.
"Fight with me, kill them all, Lysandro!" the old man roared at the youth.
But the blond boy remained unmoved, indifferent, offering no resistance.
The Eagle Guard swarmed; Ser Joffrey hacked off the man's crossbow hand and strung him up. The boy surrendered obediently, merely pressed to the ground.
"What is your name?" Rhaegar asked.
The man said nothing; he had climbed too high, seen too far, and was exhausted—he couldn't escape the Eagle Guard's pursuit.
"Who sent you?" Rhaegar demanded.
The Lyseni remained silent.
Ser Joffrey took a spear and began to prick him; blood seeped out, staining the earth black.
"I am Fast Finger Lysandro," the boy said. "This is Master Gantos. We are among the fastest thieves in Lys. A wealthy merchant hired us to monitor Dragonstone, specifically the Dragonmont, to see if any small dragons had hatched. I came here to try my luck."
Master Gantos glared. "You despicable wretch! Did you forget I bought you out of the circus? Without me, you'd be nothing but a bed slave!"
"You paid three silver coins for me; I've stolen a hundred times that for you. The deal between us is done. You planned to sell me to the Perfume Garden—yes, I heard you mention it. You were already training a new Fast Finger." Lysandro's eyes were cold.
Gantos' face twisted; stealing on the Dragonmont meant death, and he had attempted to murder a Prince.
Rhaegar studied Lysandro—the name sounded familiar from long ago.