"Hiss!"
Syrax let out a warning growl, low and sharp like a hot blade through butter. The golden-yellow dragon flared its nostrils, clearly displeased by the boy who had wandered too close.
"Ah—sorry!" Aemond froze mid-step, his outstretched hand snapping back. His lips twitched into a sheepish grin, but his feet remained planted.
Not all dragons were as distant and disinterested as Dreamfyre. Some were fiery in spirit—aggressive, territorial, unkind.
Rhaenyra stood beside Syrax with an amused smirk on her lips. She gently stroked the dragon's thick neck and spoke a firm command in High Valyrian. "Lykirī—calm."
Syrax blinked its golden eyes and settled, lowering itself into a crouch. Its gaze remained wary, but it obeyed its rider.
"Woah..." Aemond whispered, admiration practically dripping from his voice. His wide violet eyes sparkled with envy.
To command a dragon—no, to befriend one—was nothing short of miraculous.
"Syrax has a temper," Rhaenyra said, casting him a sidelong glance. "Be gentle."
She raised her pale hand, gesturing for him to approach. Perhaps because he had failed to bond with Dreamfyre, she felt a measure of pity for the young boy. Let him have this moment.
Aemond brightened like the sunrise. "Alright! I'm coming!"
He crept forward, reaching cautiously toward the great beast's scaled side. Just as his small fingers hovered above the warm, golden scales, he hesitated and looked up nervously. "What do I do?"
Rhaenyra stepped closer, took his hand, and pressed it gently against Syrax's side. "Like this," she said softly.
The dragon rumbled but did not object.
Aemond trembled with delight, his smile stretching so wide it threatened to split his face. He was touching a dragon. Truly touching it—not imagining it, not reaching through iron bars. The heat of the creature pulsed against his palm.
At that very moment, something stirred deep inside him.
In the recesses of his mind, a faint chime echoed—an unfamiliar sensation, warm and electric. A spark, invisible to anyone else, drifted from Syrax's scales into Aemond's chest.
He felt his body shiver with energy. Something had changed.
He blinked, stunned.
A number floated before his mind's eye like a page in a book:
Essence: 268
He gasped softly. That was more than double what he'd had earlier. A single touch from a dragon had gifted him magical energy—fire essence.
He checked his internal profile, a system only he could see.
Name: Aemond Targaryen
Talent: Dreamer (Gold Tier)
Bloodline: Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord – 23%
Skills: High Valyrian (Proficient), Arithmetic (Skilled)
Magic Cards: None
Pet: Golden-Nosed Rat (Blue Tier)
Status: A well-developed human cub, expected to become a powerful warrior.
His bloodline purity had risen again. Another 5%. That made sense now. Every dragon he made contact with seemed to deepen his connection to his Targaryen roots.
If he could meet more dragons, touch more of them...
"Hiss!"
Syrax gave a low snort and flicked her neck, flinging the boy back a step. Aemond stumbled but caught himself with a bashful laugh.
Rhaenyra smirked again. "That's enough for now."
A sudden shadow darkened the sky above them.
"Roar!"
The deafening bellow rolled across the air as Dreamfyre descended, her wings cutting the wind in wide arcs. The light-blue dragon landed with a thunderous impact, her chest heaving with breath, her eyes shining coldly.
"Back so soon?" Aemond said in surprise, stepping back slightly as her claws dug into the stone courtyard.
Dreamfyre didn't even glance at him. The massive she-dragon raised her head high, exuding an indifference that bordered on disdain. She recognized him, perhaps, but did not acknowledge him.
Still, Aemond smiled faintly and squatted by her side, wrapping his arms around his knees.
"Prince!"
Guards burst forward, faces pale and hands on hilts. Ser Steffon and Ser Lyon exchanged alarmed glances.
"It's alright," Aemond waved them off with a sigh. "She won't harm me."
The bravest of the four, Ser Gonsal, hesitated only a moment before planting himself between the dragon and his comrades.
"If the prince isn't afraid, we shall trust his word."
And so an odd scene unfolded before the massive bronze gates of the Dragonpit. A towering light-blue dragon stood sentinel, unmoving, while a silver-haired boy sat cross-legged before her. On the opposite side of the courtyard, Rhaenyra stood silently beside Syrax, watching without comment.
From head to tail, Dreamfyre was nearly fifty meters long. Syrax, still growing, was barely a third of that size.
Aemond tilted his head. "Still nothing."
Dreamfyre exhaled through her nostrils, snorting softly, eyes blinking slowly as though bored.
"She refuses a rider," Aemond murmured, though without bitterness. "That's fine."
He had picked Dreamfyre only because she was close and familiar. There were other dragons. Better dragons.
Still, it hurt a little.
Suddenly, Dreamfyre lowered her head, nudging him roughly with her snout. Aemond fell back on his rear. "Oof!"
She sniffed him curiously, nostrils twitching. Something had caught her attention.
Then, as if deciding she'd had enough of the interaction, she turned and strode back into the Dragonpit, her tail sweeping low. She disappeared through the darkened entrance, and the old dragon keepers waiting inside stirred to action.
"Hmph. Heartless," Aemond mumbled, brushing dust off his tunic.
Even so, he felt lighter. He could sense something within her—a recognition, perhaps. Not acceptance, but acknowledgment.
Rhaenyra approached, her tone pragmatic. "Dreamfyre's flight will cause panic in the city. I'll escort Syrax back and then return to the Keep."
"I'll follow Dreamfyre," Aemond said, already moving toward the stone tunnel.
"You'll be scolded," Rhaenyra warned.
"I know," he called over his shoulder. "Might as well enjoy it first."
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes with amusement. Daemon's blood ran strong in this one. She wondered if even her father realized it.
Aemond entered the tunnel, following Dreamfyre through the dim, winding path into the heart of the Dragonpit.
"Prince, be careful!" one of the dragon keepers called out, sweating as he directed others to secure the great beast.
They formed a semicircle, dragging heavy shackles into place around Dreamfyre's limbs. The old dragon growled in protest but did not lash out.
Aemond wandered around the cavern.
The space was vast, carved deep into the hill, the air tinged with sulfur and smoke. Faint beams of light filtered through cracks in the stone above. Wind whistled through the fissures, carrying heat and the faint scent of ash.
The ground beneath his boots was treacherous—uneven stone, steaming puddles, and sticky patches of black dragon waste.
Charred skeletons were strewn along the wall—likely cattle or goats offered as feed. The air was dense and hot.
Dreamfyre's yellow eyes flicked toward Aemond and then to a pile of foul-smelling black sludge.
"Hmm?"
Aemond's nose wrinkled. But something tugged at him.
From his satchel, a golden-nosed rat poked out, squeaking softly, its nose twitching wildly.
The dragon's gaze flicked again—almost guiding.
Aemond stepped forward, squinting. He hesitated, then stepped into the pile of dragon waste.
Crunch.
Three gleaming shapes emerged, steaming faintly.
Dragon eggs.
Blue. Green. Purple.
His breath caught. They were warm to the touch, almost pulsing with heat. Dragonfire preserved them beneath the waste—a crude yet effective incubation bed.
Aemond's eyes gleamed.
"No one saw," he whispered. "That means... it's a gift."
He summoned the golden-nosed rat from his pack. "Open wide, friend."
With a few gestures, one by one, the dragon eggs vanished—swallowed by magic, tucked safely into the rat's tiny mouth like a conjuring trick.
"Squeak!" the poor creature let out a distressed cry, curling into a ball as it retreated into the satchel.
Aemond wiped sweat from his brow, beaming.
Not stolen. Not found.
A farewell gift.
He followed the dragon keepers out of the chamber, humming softly, hands behind his back and secrets warm against his spine.
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