281 AC.
Prince's Domain, East Coast.
"Whew, here it comes."
Daeron let out a long breath and placed his hand on the rope ladder hanging from the dragon saddle.
The sea breeze whistled against the thousand-foot cliff.
Today, he was going to mount the dragon's back and leap from here.
"Screee—!"
Caraxes's molten gold vertical pupils swiveled as its massive body crouched on the ground, waiting for its rider to mount.
It was the first day of the fourth month.
Nearly a year had passed since the young dragons hatched.
It was the eldest of the three dragons and had grown the most rapidly.
Behind him, Barristan and the others held their breath, their hearts nearly leaping into their throats.
The red dragon was incredibly fierce, with a staggering length of ten meters and a wingspan of seventeen meters across its broad, leathery wings—large enough to overshadow a small house.
The Prince was about to conquer it!
"Caraxes, trust me."
Daeron's gaze was resolute as he touched his forehead to the red dragon's scales, as if to soothe the beast or perhaps reassure himself, before cleanly mounting its back.
Boom—
The moment its rider was settled, a silver-haired figure reflected in Caraxes's eyes; its massive body rose with a boom, tail swaying as it crawled to the edge of the cliff.
For his first formal dragon ride, a full set of dragon saddles had been installed in advance.
Dragon saddles were one of the products of the Dragonlord families.
They weren't hard to make, but the craftsmanship was exquisite; with the extinction of dragons, the art had nearly been lost.
The leather saddle on Caraxes's back was a relic left behind by ancestors.
The one who discovered it was, of course, Count Owen.
Count Owen: "I saw it sitting in the treasury and nobody wanted it, so I took it."
Enough talk.
Mounting the dragon's back for the first time, Daeron was met with the sky and the sea; the salty sea breeze whipped unrestrainedly, stinging his cheeks like needles.
Working with both hands, he clicked the chain around his waist shut.
There were no elders to guide him, no teachers to instruct him.
For the first dragon ride, he had to be fully prepared.
A spark of excitement burst from Daeron's eyes as he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Fly!!"
Spoken in High Valyrian.
Caraxes could no longer contain itself; its small hind legs kicked off powerfully, spreading its wide, leathery wings as it plummeted down the thousand-foot sea cliff.
"Prince!!—"
Barristan and the others were shocked, reflexively running forward.
In the next moment.
"Screee—!"
Caraxes soared into the air, its serpent-like body resembling a bolt of blood-red lightning as it let out a high-pitched roar and plunged into the thick clouds.
"Hahaha!"
Daeron laughed heartily, gripping the saddle with one hand, his silver-gold hair fluttering in the wind, leaving the people on the cliff with only the sight of a silver-haired figure in black riding a dragon.
Exhilarating! It was simply too exhilarating!
Just like in his dreams, this was the wonderful feeling of soaring on dragonback.
"Dragonfire! Caraxes!"
Daeron shouted loudly.
Caraxes responded, its body soaring above the clouds before suddenly diving down and opening its maw to unleash a blast of red Dragonfire.
Boom—
Man and dragon plunged into the Dragonfire, re-emerging through the thick smoke.
"It—it worked."
Alliser, wearing a golden cloak, watched the receding figures of the man and dragon; his usual sternness was gone, replaced only by stunned shock.
Davos swallowed hard and said blankly, "It seems so."
A ten-meter-long dragon had the capacity to carry a rider, and the Prince on its back was now roaming Blackwater Bay.
How could it be otherwise?
"Haha, wonderful!"
The usually inconspicuous Count Owen jumped three feet in the air, his round face flushed with excitement, appearing even happier than if he had just had a son.
The Prince successfully rode a dragon! The Prince successfully rode a dragon!
A Targaryen Prince riding a dragon—who could possibly be his match?
Barristan was the first to recover, saying solemnly, "Remember to keep today's events a secret; do not let word of this reach the King's ears for now."
The others snapped out of their daze, nodding one after another to promise they would keep the secret.
Over the past six months, the King had become desperate to tame a dragon, resorting to any means and tricks possible.
If Prince Daeron had ridden a dragon first, there was no telling what thoughts the King might have.
Blackwater Bay.
Caraxes wove through the sea of clouds, leaving churning mist in its wake to reveal patches of azure sky.
Daeron was thrilled as he looked down at the sea from the dragon's back.
The passing ships were as tiny as grains, moving forward with a swaying motion like a winnowing basket being shaken.
"Dragonstone?"
Suddenly, a rocky island came into view.
Before he knew it, Daeron had already flown over Dragonstone on dragonback.
Dragonriders are truly noble!
A journey that would take a day and a night by boat took only about an hour on a dragon.
"Screee—!"
Caraxes continued to soar, quickly passing over Dragonstone, then Driftmark and Sharp Point, until it entered The Gullet.
It seemed tireless, as if possessed of inexhaustible strength.
Daeron, blinded by the wind, lay flat against the dragon saddle, trying his best to adapt to the sensation of flight.
From the moment they leapt off the cliff, a close bond had formed between man and dragon.
He could faintly sense Caraxes's heart.
It particularly loved breathing fire.
Only by breathing fire incessantly could it vent its otherwise uncontainable and terrifying power.
Daeron: "Dragonfire!!"
Then let it be released.
Caraxes let out a sharp screech, its serpent-like body diving down as it breathed Dragonfire while weaving through The Gullet.
The Gullet is the strait connecting the Narrow Sea and Blackwater Bay.
The terrain was complex, with reef islands lining both sides, surging waves, and rocks covered in moss from the sea breeze where flocks of seabirds nested.
It was a strait landscape rarely seen in his past life.
Caraxes seemed to enjoy flying over the sea, weaving between the reef islands and startling flocks of gulls.
Daeron closed his eyes and spread his arms, gradually acclimating to the sea breeze.
"Screee—!"
Suddenly, a screech jolted him awake as a shadow loomed overhead.
Daeron opened his eyes to see two massive rocks standing side by side, blocking their path.
Between the two massive rocks was a narrow gap only about three meters wide.
Caraxes's molten gold vertical pupils gleamed, and its flying speed increased rather than decreased; its serpent-like body skimmed the sea's surface, charging straight for the narrow gap.
Daeron was startled; it was already too late to order a turn.
Sensing Caraxes's determination, a sentence came to mind.
Men choose dragons, and dragons also choose their masters.
How many Targaryens carried the blood of the dragon but never gained a dragon's recognition?
And how many riders mounted a dragon but could never unleash its true potential?
"I'll follow your lead!"
The corners of Daeron's mouth curled up wildly; gauging the width and height of the narrow gap, he leaned his body to the left.
"Obey, Caraxes!"
As the High Valyrian command was issued, Caraxes responded as if through a telepathic link; its serpent-like body tilted left, its broad wings extending vertically, one up and one down.
Whoosh!
For a split second, Daeron wanted to close his eyes, but his will forced his eyelids to stay open.
The red dragon successfully passed through the narrow gap, spiraling in mid-air before soaring upward again.
Daeron looked in all directions and keenly noticed scratches on the hard scales of Caraxes's chest, while large chunks of stone had fallen from the massive rocks behind them.
At the critical moment, Caraxes had chosen to protect its master, scraping its chest against the rock to ensure a safe space for the rider on its back.
At that moment, the bond between man and dragon grew even tighter.
Daeron gently stroked the dragon's back. "Good dragon, let's go home."
"Screee—!"
Caraxes turned nimbly, its serpent-like body rising at an almost ninety-degree angle as it reversed direction to head back.
As it passed the two massive rocks again, it approached them once more.
But this time, it turned upward, charging straight into the clouds and easily avoiding them.
It had been completely intentional before.
Daeron, having realized this, gripped the saddle to adjust their direction, heading straight for King's Landing.
If it weren't a wild and untamable dragon, he wouldn't even want it.