Whenever the giant dragons tore through the sky, the fishermen and merchant sailors of Dragonstone would scream in awe.
For the first time in a century, they witnessed the spectacle of the Dance of Dragons.
Dragonstone welcomed the dragons and the Dragonrider; it lacked the stench and crowded masses of King's Landing. On this island, Rhaegar saw only desolation, depth, and the smoking volcano.
Rhaegar flew over Dragonstone on the Silver Emperor, with the other two dragons following closely behind.
He wore a black brocade robe embroidered with two symmetrical three-headed red dragons, magnificent and breathtaking. A cloak of black, red, and silver fluttered in the wind, the red and silver dragon patterns shining like living fire—an elegant Prince and a fierce Dragonrider.
"Pity I lost Blackfyre," Rhaegar thought. He now understood why Lord Tywin was so obsessed with Brightroar: the pain of possessing and then losing a peerless Valyrian steel sword—a symbol of status, war, and legend.
Both Dark Sister and Blackfyre were gone; House Targaryen didn't have a single ancestral sword left. The Shadow Axe (his loot) was only suitable for the battlefield; wearing it at court seemed out of place.
Rhaegar's dragons had grown massive—they were beloved, powerful beasts. Balerion and Belaerys had wingspans of twenty-four to twenty-five feet, while the Silver Emperor surpassed even them.
The Silver Emperor's scales shone like liquid silver, while his eyes, horns, and dorsal spines glittered with golden light.
With wings spread wide and shining, he looked as if he were forged from flowing silver fire.
The Black Dragon Balerion was covered in obsidian-like scales, with eyes, horns, and dorsal spines of molten red. The Purple Dragon's eyes and scales were purple; her claws, crest, and belly scales shone like polished copper.
The Silver Emperor led Balerion and the Purple Dragon in wanton play, climbing to great heights one moment and skimming the sea surface the next.
Water splashed, startled fish leaped from the waves, and stunned sailors cheered as if applauding. Rhaegar felt waves of cool sea mist hit his face—man and dragon spinning and tumbling in a wild dance.
The Silver Emperor circled, casting a silver shadow under the blazing sun. Every flap of his wings was like thunder in a clear sky.
He opened his great maw and breathed a stream of blazing silver fire—thick, lasting, burning until the very last ember vanished.
Dragons could adapt to almost any climate, except extreme cold.
When King Jaehaerys the Conciliator and Queen Alysanne went North, their dragons refused to cross the Wall, roaring at the biting cold winds beyond.
Rhaegar guided the proud Silver Emperor to land at the foot of the Dragonmont.
Construction was underway: a small camp and many watchtowers were being built at the mountain's base.
Black and red banners flew over the camp, emblazoned with a silver dragon pattern, symbolizing both the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen and Rhaegar's personal Silver Demon Dragon.
With the return of the magic dragons, the fortress of Dragonstone became precious once more.
"Your Highness!" Ser Laris Velaryon hurried forward; the soldiers watched the silver-haired Prince with awe, his youth contrasting sharply with his heroic deeds.
Seeing their tender faces, Rhaegar ordered Laris again to recruit more troops, levying soldiers from Dragonstone, Driftmark, and Claw Isle—the ancient early base of the Targaryen dynasty.
His ranks were growing; first Vale lords, then Crownlands and Island lords. Now he had 1,200 men under his command.
"Get ready; we are returning to King's Landing," Rhaegar said to Laris.
"At once, Your Highness!" Laris accepted happily.
"I leave you one hundred guards. You must maintain order on Dragonstone and the Dragonmont, and keep a strict watch on idlers. Your son performed excellently at the Dragonpit camp; we will arrange a suitable position for him," he told the Castellan of Dragonstone.
"I will dedicate the rest of my life to you and House Targaryen," the Castellan replied, trembling with excitement.
For years, he had lived obscurely among grotesque Valyrian statues and smoking peaks, unasked for. Kings and nobles rarely remembered him; only fishmongers and dockworkers occasionally gave him meager payments. Now fate had reversed: the dragons had returned, and his value rose again—only Prince Rhaegar had discovered his worth in the crowd.
Rhaegar had searched the Dragonmont many times but found nothing. The eggs were either eaten by dragons (the Cannibal?), hatched, or lost to war. The vaults beneath King's Landing might hold the last dragon eggs of House Targaryen.
"Ser Laris, how many ships can your House provide?" Rhaegar asked.
"The Pride of Driftmark and three sister ships; perhaps a few more if needed," Ser Laris replied awkwardly. Times had changed; House Velaryon could no longer mobilize a hundred ships at will.
Rhaegar thought, The mighty fall so fast. Since the Old Sea Snake and Oakenfist, every generation had declined; only damned Harrenhal was an exception (in rising/changing hands). The decline of the nobility was equally swift.
"Your Highness, will there be a naval battle?" Laris asked.
Rhaegar didn't answer directly, only ordering the camp to be struck.
"The winds are rising in Lys; the fires of war may reignite in the Stepstones. Protect yourself and your dragons well, my faithful friend from afar." Rhaegar crushed the note; flames ignited at his fingertips, turning it to ash.
In Volantis, his friend Malaho of the Tiger Party had been elected Magistrate (Triarch)—another young and promising First Citizen.
However, Rhaegar knew Malaho had reached his limit; he had no room for greater maneuvers.
Volantis was paralyzed by three factions governing separately, smug and bickering forever; Malaho was just one minority among them. This game had lasted for centuries—what could he change? Thus, he decided to seek an alliance with an outlier like Rhaegar.
The Stepstones—storm-battered, birdless rocks—were the ceaseless grinding grounds of blood and fire, a pirate's paradise, and the powder keg connecting two continents.
"These islands are dull and boring, yet hard to let go," Rhaegar mused. "The environment is harsh, but the strategic position is vital. Past dynasties tried to occupy them but failed; this region cannot be held in the end."
According to Malaho, the war in the Stepstones would soon intensify; he was returning to King's Landing precisely to address this.
Once everything was ready, the fleet set sail. Rhaegar rode his dragon ahead, with the troop transports following closely.
The black dragon banners fluttered in the wind, with the Silver Dragon Prince leading the way.
Rhaegar circled King's Landing three times on the Silver Emperor before descending into the Red Keep.
For the first time in a century, a giant dragon landed in the Red Keep.
The three dragons landed one by one, kicking up clouds of dust.
The people hailed their master—Prince Rhaegar.