270 AC. Dragonstone, Dragonmont.
Shortly after the tournament, Rhaegar brought the hatchlings back to Dragonstone—their favorite place.
They detested the crowded noise and gloomy depths of the Red Keep; the old Dragonpit was a poor choice.
The Dragonmont still rumbled, with pale gray steam rolling out of its crater.
The intense heat, the stench of sulfur, the salty sea breeze—everything dragons loved was here.
Rhaegar, dressed in a silver wide-sleeved robe, stood outside the Silver Emperor's cave, watching three dragon silhouettes circling in the distant sky.
Silver Emperor! Balerion! Belaerys!
Rhaegar Targaryen's dragons, the last dragons in the world.
They chased each other, rising and falling in turn.
The hatchlings gathered like a ball of fire, then scattered like spreading stars.
They excitedly breathed fire—purple, silver, black—illuminating the sky; even ships near Dragonstone could see the flashing fireworks.
Rhaegar vaguely sensed their positions, high and far away.
He felt their danger and their emotions; every Dragonrider could vaguely sense their dragon, but Rhaegar's perception was sharper and clearer.
Rhaegar and the dragons were bound by the Chain of Blood and Fire; they had bathed in flames together, partners and comrades-in-arms.
In his sight, the three creatures became tiny black dots, then dove as one toward the sea surface; Belaerys even snatched a large fish from the waves.
Rhaegar longed to cheer aloud: A dragon soars into the sky, traveling ninety thousand miles in a day.
The trio returned to Dragonmont; Belaerys spat the fish toward her master, followed by a jet of gold-rimmed purple fire that roasted it to charred perfection, filling the air with fragrance. This was perhaps the world's most expensive grilled fish: Dragonflame Fish, priceless.
Belaerys was about to swallow it but hesitated, turning to offer it to her master instead.
"Eat it, good girl Belaerys." Rhaegar stroked the purple dragon's head; she nuzzled his sleeve with her snout.
He intuitively felt the purple dragon might be female.
However, a dragon's gender was hard to determine; some maesters believed dragon gender was fluid, while others insisted they were male or female—distinguishable only when laying eggs. Dragons that laid eggs were certainly female; those that never did were considered male.
The Purple Dragon lowered her head contentedly, ready to feast, only to find the Silver Emperor had already bitten off a large chunk. Balerion, not to be outdone, nearly fought the Purple Dragon for the rest. Moments later, the fish was divided among them.
The hatchlings preferred beef and mutton; fish would do when necessary.
In extreme cases, they would even devour their own kind.
This was Rhaegar's third year with the dragons; all three had grown rapidly.
Even the smaller Belaerys now had a head larger than a horse's skull—already terrifying, not to mention the largest and fiercest, the Silver Emperor.
Now, the three lived separate lives in their own caves, though not far apart. The Silver Emperor still occupied the Cannibal's cave, long marked by his scent.
"Ready, partner?" Rhaegar patted the Silver Emperor; a hint of proud defiance flashed in the dragon's golden eyes, but he lowered his head slightly before Rhaegar.
The Silver Emperor shook his neck, and silver fire ignited in the sky, as if cheering him on.
However, when Rhaegar tried to mount, the Silver Emperor refused.
"Bad takeoff spot? Want to change one?" Rhaegar read the dragon's picky temper.
The Silver Emperor led Rhaegar forward, all the way to the rim of the crater.
Waves of heat and the smell of sulfur hit them in the face.
"Your Highness, you can't go any further!" Barristan and Sessa shouted; lava still churned inside, certain death for anyone.
"As you wish!" Rhaegar leaped onto the Silver Emperor's neck. For the first time in a century, man and dragon would dance together.
The Silver Emperor roared, as if asking:
"Ready, partner?"
Rhaegar ran his hand over the silver scales, then patted them. Time to go.
The Silver Emperor let out a joyous shriek and took Rhaegar diving into the depths of the volcano.
Barristan and Sessa turned pale; the dragon was mad, and the Prince was mad.
Losing the heir to the Iron Throne and his companion would be a pain like a knife cut to them.
Rhaegar wrapped his arms tightly around the Silver Emperor's neck, feeling the searing heat, seeing the boiling red lava river below—a sea of fire.
Even if the blood of fire offered some resistance, falling into that lava flow would almost certainly mean death.
The Silver Emperor chirped happily; he loved the heat, the lava, and the smoke, and he wanted his partner to like them too.
The Silver Emperor breathed a jet of silver fire at the lava.
Rhaegar saw the dancing beads of lava, a red that would be unforgettable forever.
If he fell now, he would be reduced to just another joke.
But Rhaegar was a proud Targaryen; he hugged the Silver Emperor's neck, perfectly in sync with his partner's rhythm.
The Silver Emperor joyfully circled a few times over the lava, then spread his wings, roared, and flew out of the volcano.
Rhaegar felt he had escaped death once again; his heart pounded wildly.
Visions from centuries ago flashed through his mind. Go forward, Silver Dragon Prince—you are the true dragon, the burning flame!
"I am a true dragon; I will conquer all!" Rhaegar shouted loudly, his cry drawing roars from the dragons below.
The two dragons waiting at the crater chased after them; the three sang together, their song shaking the vast wilderness.
Barristan and Sessa slumped down—thank the Gods, the Prince was alive.
But then they saw Rhaegar had no saddle or chains, holding the dragon's neck only with his arms, and fear gripped their hearts again.
The Silver Emperor shot into the sky. "I am the King of the World!" Rhaegar shouted in ecstasy.
With the beating of dragon wings, the Dance of Dragons began.
Together, the Silver Emperor and Rhaegar rushed out of Dragonstone, soaring into the vast sky.
Rhaegar watched as the ships shrank into tiny black dots and then disappeared.
Weightlessness and thin air hit simultaneously, but the Dragonlord blood granted them immunity—without it, riding a dragon for long periods would be impossible.
The dragon's shadow tore through the clouds; they were nothing but a thin veil.
Rhaegar's eyes were wide open. He could no longer hear the roar of the sea, only the whistling of the wind and the roar of the dragon.
The wind raged, and the sky merged with the rolling clouds. Dragonstone's jagged coastline blurred and vanished.
"Dracarys!" "Sove!" (Fly!) Rhaegar shouted in High Valyrian, the gift of his ancestors.
"I can fly—I am a true Targaryen!" he roared.
Brilliant flames bloomed in the sky, surpassing any mortal fireworks.
Purple! Black-red! Silver! Dragonfire burst forth in every color.
Rhaegar felt unbearable heat, and the air seemed to become unreal, but the blood of fire gave him the strength to endure.
He laughed aloud. He loved the feeling of riding a dragon; he had conquered the sea, the land, and the sky.
Once aloft, everything in the world became small and insignificant. Only on a dragon's back could one appreciate the vastness of the firmament.
Together they skimmed over white clouds and blue sky, gazing at the boundless ocean, the wind howling; Rhaegar could only hug his partner's neck tighter.
Riding a dragon was a supreme pleasure, but also extremely dangerous.
The Silver Emperor's silver scales shone in the sunlight like the most dazzling river of silver; the pale gold on his wings added a touch of vibrant life.
He was the most majestic creature in the world, and he loved to destroy everything that stood in his way.
The other two dragons roared in protest—favoritism was absolutely intolerable.
They longed to race with the rider, but a cold look from the Silver Emperor silenced them.
Soaring above the firmament on a dragon was wilder and deadlier than galloping on the fiercest warhorse.
They dove from heights to the sea surface, then soared again, flipping like magnets constantly reversing poles.
Rhaegar felt the thick spray soak his clothes and paste his hair.
The hatchlings cheered; the thrill of diving from mountain peak to valley left Rhaegar both excited and terrified.
Finally, the dragons, brimming with excitement, turned and flew back to Dragonmont.
The Silver Emperor and I will shock the world again!
The dragon carried him low over the harbor, deliberately flying steadily so that every sailor on the Dragonstone docks could stare unblinkingly and marvel.
What use is invisible wealth? The Silver Emperor was a show-off by nature.
"That's Prince Rhaegar's dragon!"
"The Dragonrider has returned!"
"The Prince is riding a dragon!" the sailors cheered.
Silver wings carried him through the ethereal smoke back to Dragonmont; the young dragons lowered their heads to greet Rhaegar.
The three youths were breathless with joy.
Ignoring his soaked hair and clothes, Rhaegar looked at the Silver Emperor, his heart wanting only to sing.
"I used to be proud of being a Targaryen. From this day forth, House Targaryen will be proud of us."
He gazed into the dragon's golden eyes—eyes as large as glittering gold ingots.
Rhaegar stroked the dragon's forehead, scales, and gaze.
The Dragonrider had returned!