Bonus at 150 stones
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The Dragonmont, Dragonstone.
The dormant volcano of Dragonstone was always murmuring. It wasn't a loud roar, but a deep, low-frequency hum vibrating from the depths of the earth.
The crater emitted sulfurous smoke year-round, staining the sky a dusty yellow, and the air forever tasted of heat and ash.
Inside the natural caverns of the volcano, the rock walls were toasted hot by geothermal energy.
This was the home of the dragons, the place where House Targaryen had hatched and raised their beasts for centuries.
Silverwing was restless today.
The silver matriarch, nearly sixty meters in length, shifted uneasily in her nest, her massive wings unfurling and snapping back to fan the oppressive heat.
Beneath her lay several dragon eggs. She lowered her head, puffing out small jets of flame to warm them evenly.
She was a gentle dragon. Among all the riderless dragons on the island, Silverwing was unique, the only one who never proactively attacked humans.
Even when Dragonkeepers strayed too close, she offered only a warning growl rather than the lethal strikes of her kin.
Perhaps it was her age; she was nearly a century old and had seen countless humans come and go. Or perhaps it was simply her nature.
Dragons, like men, have personalities.
But today, Silverwing sensed something different.
Sound drifted from the entrance. It wasn't the heavy tread of the Keepers or the natural sliding of volcanic rock. It was... singing.
It was soft, nearly drowned by the subterranean rumbling, but Silverwing recognized the melody.
An ancient melody.
The melody of Valyria.
She raised her silver neck, which rose and fell like a moonlit mountain range. Her amber pupils contracted, focusing on the small figure at the entrance.
A woman. Wearing a simple white linen dress, her silver hair flowing, her purple eyes wide.
One hand clutched her slightly protruding belly while the other steadied herself against the wall.
She was singing in High Valyrian.
Many, many years ago, when Silverwing was just a hatchling, a silver-haired girl had sung to her just like this.
That was her first rider, Good Queen Alysanne.
The song drifted through the cavern:
(Drakari pykiros... Tīkummo jemiros.... Yn lantyz bartossa.... Saelot vāedis... Hen ñuhā elēnī:.... Perzyssy vestretis..... Se gēlȳn irūdaks..... Ānogrose... Hae mērot gierūli:..... Se hāros bartossi... Prūmȳsa sōvīli..... Gevī dāerī)
The woman's voice trembled. Facing such a colossal creature, looking into those inhuman amber eyes, fear was a primal instinct.
But she did not stop. She sang louder, letting her voice override the roar of the volcano and the pounding of her own heart.
Her hand never left her womb. There, a small life was growing.
This was her leverage, her future, and the source of all her courage.
Silverwing watched her: no roar, no fire, just observation.
She could smell the scent: the scent of blood. This woman had dragon blood; though diluted, it was there.
And the song... something in the song acted like sunlight on ice. Silverwing felt a strange affinity, as if the trembling woman before her wasn't a stranger, but a blood relative.
In the shadows behind her, Jacaerys Velaryon held his breath.
His single eye watched Sara, the woman carrying his child, as she stepped toward the dragon. His palms were slick with sweat.
This hadn't been part of his original plan. Prince Daemon and his mother, Rhaenyra, had agreed to abandon the Iron Throne and turn toward the East.
When Daemon announced the news, Jacaerys had nearly erupted in rage.
Abandon it? Just like that?
His eye! His dragon! His dignity! Everything had been stolen by Aemond Targaryen, and now they were simply walking away?
But he had restrained himself. He feared Daemon would see through his thirst for revenge.
He had lowered his head, clenched his fists until his nails drew blood, and used the pain to suppress his fury.
"I agree," he recalled saying.
"For family. For peace."
Daemon had patted his shoulder.
"You'll be compensated, Jace. In the East, you'll have your own lands, your own army. Forget Westeros. Forget the Iron Throne. There is a wider world out there."
Forget?
Jacaerys had offered a perfect, submissive smile in that moment, but his heart was a furnace.
Forget Aemond Targaryen? Forget the bastard who took his eye? Forget the shame of the broken betrothal? Forget his dragon, Vermax, lost in King's Landing?
Impossible.
So when the council ended, when Daemon and Corlys went to High Tide to plan for the war against the Triarchy, and when Mysaria followed to handle intelligence, Jacaerys knew his chance had come.
He went to his mother and asked for a guard, citing the island's empty defenses. Rhaenyra, seeing only her brooding son's need for security, had granted him permission to choose his own men.
Jacaerys acted immediately. These "Dragonseeds", Targaryen bastards, swore fealty to him.
Who among them would refuse?
Targaryen blood ran in their veins, but had brought them nothing but poverty and surveillance.
Now, a "real" Targaryen, even one with brown hair, promised to change everything.
But it wasn't enough. For revenge, he needed dragons.
And so, Sara, carrying his child and singing the forgotten dragon-taming songs of House Targaryen, walked toward Silverwing.
Jacaerys had struggled with the decision to teach her the song; it was a core secret of the bloodline.
But Sara was his, and so was her child. And if he succeeded, what would the old rules matter? Those were the rules of the old Targaryens.
He was building the New Targaryens.
Inside the nest, Sara was three steps away.
At this distance, the dragon could snap her up with a single lunge.
But Silverwing didn't move. She merely lowered her head, bringing her massive snout close to the tiny human.
Sara continued to sing. Her voice stopped trembling, becoming firm and filled with a strange tenderness.
She thought of her child, of Jacaerys's promises, and of her future.
She, a bastard, a plaything of the Black Walls of Volantis, would be a Dragonrider. Her child would be a Targaryen.
As the final lyric fell, Silverwing let out a low rumble.
It wasn't a roar of anger, but a gentle purr. She lowered her head until her brow nearly touched the floor.
Sara froze. The singing stopped. She watched the colossus bow before her.
It worked?
She reached out a trembling hand and touched the dragon's snout. The skin was rough and hot, like sun-baked rock. Silverwing didn't pull away; she nudged Sara's hand back.
"Gods..." Sara murmured. She looked back at Jacaerys.
The young Prince's face was a mask of suppressed excitement; he nodded his approval.
Sara gave the dragon's bridge a final stroke, then ran back to Jacaerys. Silverwing raised her head, confused.
Why not mount? Why is there no command to fly? But the gentle Silverwing did not grow angry. She turned back to her eggs.
"I did it!" Sara threw herself into Jacaerys's arms.
"Jacaerys, she accepted me!"
"Careful with the child," he whispered, a rare touch of softness in his voice.
"I'm sorry, I'm just so excited," Sara whispered, pulling back.
"Today's events," Jacaerys said, his gaze turning stone-cold, "cannot be told to anyone. Do you understand?"
Sara nodded fervently. "I know. It's our secret."
Jacaerys smiled. He looked at Silverwing and then into the deeper recesses of the volcano where other riderless dragons dwelled.
If every dragon had a rider... and if those riders were loyal only to him...
"Sara," Jacaerys said, looking back at her.
"What do you think of your two brothers?"
"My brothers?" she asked curiously.
"Them," Jacaerys smiled. "I will have them try to tame dragons next."
Sara's eyes widened. "The dragon-song..."
"I won't teach them the song," Jacaerys shook his head.
"Let them try on their own. With blood, with courage, and by any means necessary."
He looked coldly at Sara. "I trust you, Sara. Don't let me down."
Sara realized his meaning.
"Don't worry, Jacaerys. My child is in my womb. I will tell no one the song."
Jacaerys studied her, searching for a lie. Finally, he nodded, his face twisting with resentment.
"They think giving up the throne will bring peace? They are wrong."
He clenched his fist.
"I will take every dragon on this island. I won't leave a single one for the Greens. When we have a foothold in the East, and we've conquered the Triarchy, and we have enough riders and soldiers..."
He didn't finish, but Sara understood. She leaned into him, her hand on her belly.
"Then, we will return. And I will take back everything that belongs to me."
Jacaerys looked down at her. This woman, originally just a tool for his rage and twisted desires, was now his most loyal ally and the mother of his child.
Fate truly was ironic.
-----
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