**Evening.**
The Devourer circled above Dragonstone, gliding in loops over the island.
Seated on the dragon's back, Rhaegar looked down and noticed several warships anchored along Dragonstone's coastline.
**"Rhaenyra's royal fleet?"**
It had been a long time since he last visited Dragonstone, but he vaguely remembered Rhaenyra mentioning the formation of a small fleet.
**"Devourer, land."**
Without overthinking, Rhaegar gave the command.
Dragonstone was situated at the Gullet, collecting hefty tolls from passing ships each year.
Moreover, the island housed a sizable town, bringing in considerable tax revenue.
If Rhaenyra used these funds to establish a royal fleet, King's Landing would be significantly more secure.
The Devourer slowly descended, landing before the gates of Dragonstone.
As soon as its claws touched the ground, the black stone gates swung open, and dozens of guards filed out.
Leading them was a man with jet-black hair and a stern face.
Rhaegar glanced at his breastplate and spotted the crowned stag sigil.
**"A Baratheon?"**
Still seated in the saddle, Rhaegar looked down and questioned.
**"Jon Baratheon, of the Dragonstone branch of House Baratheon."**
Jon knelt on one knee, his voice firm. **"Greetings, Your Highness."**
**"I see. Is Rhaenyra still on the island?"**
Realization dawned on Rhaegar, and he ceased his questioning.
Great houses often had cadet branches.
The Arryns of Gulltown and the Royces of Gates of the Moon were common examples of such offshoots.
**"The princess is still here. I have already sent word."**
Jon replied.
**"No need. I'll go find her myself."**
Rhaegar dismounted, climbing down the soft ladder, and strode toward the black stone gate.
**"Wait, Prince."**
Jon extended a hand to block him, advising, **"The princess has not granted you permission to enter. Please wait a moment."**
Rhaegar froze, his expression puzzled.
Pointing to his own face, he chuckled. **"Take a good look at who I am. Do I really need permission to enter Dragonstone?"**
Jon remained firm, his expression unyielding. **"No one enters Dragonstone without the princess's approval."**
Hearing this, Rhaegar's amusement faded. His tone turned displeased. **"I must have misheard. Say that again."**
His hand rested on his sword hilt, ready to draw and behead Jon at a moment's notice.
Noticing the movement, Jon took a deep breath. **"Prince, no one may enter—"**
**"Jon, silence!"**
Before he could finish, Rhaenyra's sharp reprimand rang out.
Jon turned his head toward the winding stone steps behind the black stone gate.
Descending swiftly with a group of guards, Rhaenyra hurried toward them.
**"Princess!"**
Jon greeted her respectfully.
Rhaenyra waved him aside and stepped in front of Rhaegar, apologizing, **"He's my newly appointed Lord Admiral—too rigid in his ways."**
**"Wow, Lord Admiral? Quite the grand title."**
Rhaegar exaggerated his reaction before complaining, **"Since when do I need permission to set foot on Dragonstone?"**
**"Don't be mad. He doesn't know any better."**
Rhaenyra's voice was full of apology as she placed her small hand over his, which still gripped the sword hilt.
The dragon-claw pommel glinted dangerously, inches away from drawing blood.
She had heard the Devourer's roar earlier and had stepped out of the castle.
By the time she descended the stone steps, she was met with the sight of a tense standoff.
**"If anyone in King's Landing dared treat you like this, I'd feed them to a dragon."**
Rhaegar locked eyes with Rhaenyra and brushed her hand away.
Rhaenyra fell silent, then waved everyone else aside.
After a moment, she suggested, **"A new dragon has just hatched on Dragonmont. Want to see it?"**
**"Let's go. I still need to head to Tarth later."**
Rhaegar replied, sighing.
"Alright, the young dragon is in the castle. It's beautiful."
Rhaenyra smiled and pulled him inside.
…
Inside the castle, in the great hall.
Three dragon eggs, each a different color, were placed in containers on the table.
"Look, these were all laid by Syrax. I'm picking one for Laenor's child."
Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled as she gently touched each of the three dragon eggs.
"Any two will do."
Rhaegar responded absentmindedly, his attention fully on the small creature in his hands.
A hatchling no bigger than a house cat.
Rhaegar cradled the tiny dragon in both hands, carefully examining it.
Its eyes were golden with vertical pupils, its scales a shimmering silver, and its body slender with no horns yet.
"Hisss…"
The hatchling stretched its neck and let out a sharp cry, flapping its wings wildly as it wriggled in his arms.
It didn't seem the least bit afraid of people.
Noticing his expression, Rhaenyra chuckled. "Do you like this little dragon?"
"Of course. Every dragon is a treasure of House Targaryen."
Rhaegar said, "Judging by its scale color, it should resemble Meraxes when fully grown."
"When it's a bit bigger, you should take it to the Dragonpit."
Rhaenyra reached out to touch the hatchling's head, but it screeched and made her pull back.
"Careful, it's got quite the temper," Rhaegar said anxiously.
Rhaenyra pouted in frustration. "Let's give it a name."
Rhaegar nodded and began thinking seriously.
Everyone knew he wasn't particularly good at naming dragons.
Even Devourer's name had been given by the people of Dragonstone.
Seeing him hesitate, Rhaenyra suggested, "How about Meraxes?"
House Targaryen often named their dragons after deities from the ancient Valyrian faith—
Balerion, Meraxes, Vhagar…
As well as Caraxes and Syrax.
"I don't like reusing names."
Rhaegar rejected the idea outright and muttered, "Its scales are bright silver… let's call it Blizzard."
A silver-scaled dragon, like a storm of wind and snow.
"Blizzard… what a boring name."
Rhaenyra sighed in exasperation.
"Alright, focus on your dragon eggs."
Still holding the hatchling, now named Blizzard, Rhaegar turned his gaze to the three eggs.
From left to right, their colors were green, bronze, and red with black speckles.
"I'm planning to gift these two away."
Rhaenyra pointed to the green and red-black eggs.
Rhaegar asked curiously, "You've already decided?"
"Yes."
Rhaenyra picked up the bronze egg and said softly, "These are Syrax's offspring. I want to keep one for myself—to place in my child's cradle."
Rhaegar was momentarily stunned, looking at her profile.
At that moment, she radiated a deep maternal warmth.
"A good choice. I believe it will hatch into a new 'Bronze Fury.'"
Rhaegar smiled and placed the hatchling Blizzard on top of the bronze egg.
Bronze was not quite the same as green—
It leaned more toward gold.
Vermithor was called the "Bronze Fury," and its scales had originally been pale gold.
As the years passed, its scales deepened into a dark golden hue, making it a mighty and formidable dragon.
With the eggs chosen, the dragonkeepers took Blizzard and the remaining bronze egg away.
As evening approached, the siblings left the castle, heading for Driftmark.
At dusk, mist drifted across the sky, glowing like scattered maple leaves under the setting sun.
Walking down the stone steps, the sea breeze brushed against their faces, carrying a damp, salty scent.
"Screeech!"
A sharp cry echoed overhead, and a dragon's silhouette flickered through the mist.
Rhaegar looked up just in time to catch a glimpse.
He stared into the clouds, but the dragon was gone.
He didn't dwell on it and continued down the steps.
Whoosh—
A gust of wind blew from behind, making his hair whip wildly.
Turning around, he saw a pale gray dragon standing behind him, wings spread wide as it observed him.
"Gray Ghost!?"
(End of Chapter)