Chapter 99: Long Crossbows Shoot Dragons Over the Gods Eye
Rhaegar rode the Silver Emperor, circling above the Gods Eye, with the other two dragons following closely behind.
The waters of the Gods Eye were emerald green and warm, black swans gliding across its surface, making Rhaegar feel clear-minded. Riding dragons through the sky or sailing across the vast lake felt far superior to breathing the stench of that cesspit, King's Landing. It was a pity such a beautiful place did not lie within the Crownlands.
In terms of distance, Harrenhal was likely the closest and wealthiest great fortress to King's Landing. Throughout history, its lords—now House Whent—often held significant influence in the capital, sometimes even surpassing the middling authority of their liege lords of House Tully.
As Rhaegar waved the black banner bearing the red three-headed dragon, the scorpion crossbows mounted on the boats scattered across the Gods Eye slowly tilted upward in unison, the mechanisms rumbling as they were set.
Above Harrenhal, crowds had gathered to watch from afar. This simulated exercise—scorpion crossbows firing upon dragons—was a spectacle rarely seen. Lord Walter Whent did not intend to miss such a once-in-a-lifetime event, and so onlookers gathered in great numbers along the battlements and shores.
It was no small matter for an ordinary house to assemble so many ships and scorpion crossbows. Such weapons were valuable and costly. Yet House Whent, sitting atop Harrenhal's vast wealth and lands, could arrange everything Rhaegar required in short order.
The war in the Stepstones was fraught with danger. The Lyseni were adept at naval warfare and employed large numbers of mercenaries. With only three young dragons at his command, Rhaegar needed to familiarize himself with this style of battlefield. The Lyseni were not known for valor; they favored poison, crossbows, bolts, and treachery.
In aerial combat, the greatest danger was always the Dragonrider, followed by the dragon itself. Dragons possessed tough hides, but if a rider fell, burned, or was struck by a bolt, they would perish instantly.
King's Landing teemed with whisperers, and secrets leaked too easily. Conducting anti–scorpion training over the Gods Eye was far more discreet.
The dark mouths of the scorpion crossbows erupted, loosing waves of vicious bolts into the sky.
Rhaegar had studied the many causes of dragon deaths. They were varied, but scorpion crossbows stood foremost among them—especially when dragons flew too low, exposing their bellies, necks, or wings.
Many dragons in Dorne had perished to giant scorpion crossbows. It was said that one had been struck directly in the eye—an almost impossible shot, yet persistence had made it so. This was likely tied to inferior dragonriding methods; without Binding Spells or dragonhorns, control was crude, wild, and dangerously imprecise.
Dragons were massive targets. The Rhoynar had once used water magic against them, and the Dornish had relied on scorpions. In war, dragons were flying fortresses—but fortresses could still be breached. Low-altitude flight always invited scorpion bolts and grappling hooks.
Standing at the bow of a ship, Ser Barristan Selmy watched intently. He knew Targaryen dragons were bred for war, enduring storms of arrows and spears, yet Prince Rhaegar's training regimen was undeniably extreme. The madness of House Targaryen flowed strong in him. Nearby, Ser Oswell Whent also observed the sky, eyes fixed on the Dragon Prince and his three mounts.
"Ser, there is no need for alarm," Ser Corlys Velaryon said calmly. "Prince Rhaegar is favored by fortune itself and unmatched in battle. He has fought in several engagements without suffering a single wound, even slaying three knights alone at Maidenpool. Besides, every bolt has had its head removed."
Corlys then added, "The Prince is flying low, but the fishermen of the Gods Eye have been mobilized. Their nets are spread wide—should any dragon or rider fall, they will not sink."
"Good partners, it's up to you," Rhaegar said softly. The Silver Emperor spread its wings wide—nearly thirty feet across—radiating awe.
From his vantage point, Rhaegar saw the incoming storm. Scorpion bolts were far longer than ordinary arrows. Their tips were replaced with weighted straw, pebbles, or feather-filled pouches, yet their force remained formidable. A direct hit would still cause pain.
The first volley was sparse and slow. Rhaegar and the Silver Emperor dodged with ease.
"Dragonflame!"
The Silver Emperor swooped and wheeled through the sky, folding and unfurling its wings as it breathed silver fire, melting the bolts midair.
Bound by mind and blood, dragon and rider moved as one. The Silver Emperor's awareness far exceeded that of ordinary young dragons. It sensed danger instinctively, without panic or frenzy.
Rhaegar had absorbed the blessing of the Eagle God, the spark of the Fountain of Youth, and the runes he wielded were shared with his dragons. Their combat prowess surpassed that of ordinary young dragons by a wide margin.
The Silver Emperor danced across the heavens. Every bolt of the first round missed. Balerion and Vhagar followed suit—less fluid, but still effective.
From Rhaegar's research, a dragon's defense, speed, and attack were not mutually exclusive. Based on the legendary Black Dread Balerion, dragons spent their first fifty years too small, and their final fifty too slow. Only the century between represented true balance.
As dragons aged, their scales thickened and hardened. Their fire grew hotter. Young dragons could scorch straw; at their peak, dragons like Balerion or Vhagar could melt steel and stone. Yet age eventually robbed them of speed.
Rhaegar intended to exploit youth—agility, flexibility, and instinct—while compensating for thin scales.
Physical weapons—claws, teeth, tails—were secondary. A dragon's true strength lay in aerial dominance and flame.
Rhaegar dipped lower, the banner snapping. The second and third volleys followed—dense, relentless, like iron rain.
The young dragons dodged again and again.
Then Rhaegar gave the order.
Goldenheart longbows—four hundred yards in range—fired as one. The sky vanished beneath a storm of arrows.
Dodging became impossible.
A bolt streaked toward the Silver Emperor's belly. Bronze light flared—runes forming a shield. The Shield Rune activated, designed to protect vital areas.
"Dragonflame!"
Silver fire consumed the bolt.
Faster. Higher. That was Rhaegar's demand.
The dragons whirled, breathing silver, black, and purple flame, their movements instinctive and deadly.
The scorpions thundered without pause.
Gradually, the dragons adapted—dodging where possible, climbing when needed, shielding vital points when unavoidable. Injuries were acceptable so long as they were not fatal. Recovery was swift, aided by the Fountain of Youth.
At last, the crews below faltered, exhausted.
Rhaegar decided to end the exercise for the day.
Lighting Marajo's message flame, Rhaegar frowned. The exiled Triarch candidate of Lys still has allies in Lys and Myr. The Stepstones will not be easy. Beware poison and scorpions.
They think my dragons are ordinary, Rhaegar thought. That will be their undoing.
Bound by blood and fire, man and dragon circled above the Gods Eye—ready..
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