On Dragonstone.
Sunlight poured straight into Dragonstone's ruined hall.
Rhaenyra sat at the head seat, her face dark with fury.
Standing before her were Daemon, Corlys, Mysaria, and several of Dragonstone's sworn lords.
Not a single one of them looked pleased.
"Say it again." Rhaenyra's voice was ice-cold. "What happened to Saera?"
Mysaria swallowed nervously before answering with caution. "Your Grace, before dawn this morning, the sentries discovered…"
"Saera mounted Silverwing, took Vermithor with her, and left."
"Left?" Queen Rhaenyra snapped in fury.
"What do you mean, left?"
"She… she flew away."
"She flew east."
"East? Toward Tyrosh?"
"Most likely."
The hall fell deathly silent.
Then Rhaenyra shot to her feet and slammed her palm against the table.
A deafening bang echoed through the chamber, knocking over the candlesticks.
"These bastards!" the queen roared. "These ungrateful mongrels!"
"I gave her status! I gave her position! And this is how she repays me?!"
Daemon stood nearby, his expression grim.
He had planned to strike the Hightower army and assassinate Daeron.
That plan required Saera and Silverwing.
Now Saera had fled before the operation had even begun.
"Why did she run?" Daemon asked. "Did she have a reason?"
Mysaria shook her head. "We don't know.
The sentries said she left before dawn. No one saw her depart. No one spoke with her."
"It was as if… she decided on it suddenly."
"Suddenly?" Daemon sneered.
"Do you believe that?"
Mysaria had no answer.
Corlys remained silent.
He recalled the moment Saera had knelt and sworn loyalty to the queen.
He had seen the fanatic devotion in that woman's eyes with perfect clarity.
Would a woman like that flee for no reason?
"Investigate immediately," Rhaenyra said through clenched teeth. "Send word to Lucerys at once. Find out why she ran and what she intends to do."
"That lowborn wretch…"
The queen restrained her rage and left the sentence unfinished, but everyone understood what she meant.
Mysaria nodded. "I'll see to it immediately."
The hall fell silent once more.
Rhaenyra sat back down in her chair, closed her eyes, and drew a deep breath.
Her head had started hurting again—that sharp, needle-like pain.
Bastards truly could not be trusted after all…
"Daemon," Rhaenyra suddenly said.
"Hm?"
"Do you think… we made a mistake?"
Daemon looked at her without speaking.
Rhaenyra opened her eyes and stared at her husband.
"Did we give them too much?"
"But deep down, they're still bastards born from the mud."
"No matter how much you feed them, they'll never become loyal."
Daemon was silent for a moment before replying, "Maybe. But there's no point saying that now. We need to find a solution."
He had never supported letting bastards claim dragons in the first place. By the time Jacaerys allowed it, he had only learned about it afterward, and he had been furious then as well. But Jacaerys was already dead…
Even later, when they tried to win those bastards over, it had only been because of the pressure Aemond was putting on the Blacks.
...
The Disputed Lands.
Deep within the forest, the evening sunlight filtered through gaps in the leaves.
This land now belonged to Volantis.
Towering trees stretched skyward. Vines coiled everywhere. Wild beasts roamed the woods, and few people ever ventured this deep.
But recently, the forest had become lively.
Not because anyone had settled there, but because a dragon lived deep within the woods.
Seasmoke.
A silver-gray dragon that had once belonged to Laenor Velaryon.
Ever since Laenor's "death," Seasmoke had become a riderless dragon.
The Battle of Dragonstone had disturbed Seasmoke, and afterward, he fled.
Seasmoke wanted to find his former master, Laenor.
Though many years had passed since they last met, the bond in their blood still told him Laenor was alive…
After wandering across the eastern continent for years, Seasmoke eventually settled in this forest within the Disputed Lands.
Once word spread, the people of Volantis were ecstatic.
A riderless dragon!
If they could tame it, Volantis would have a dragon of its own!
So the nobles within the Black Walls came one after another into the forest, each trying to tame Seasmoke.
And one after another, they died.
The first was a nobleman in his thirties. Riding on horseback with more than a dozen retainers, he swaggered confidently into the forest.
Standing before Seasmoke, he attempted to recite ancient Valyrian words, hoping to force the dragon into submission.
Seasmoke yawned.
Then a single burst of dragonfire reduced the man to charred ash.
His retainers scattered in terror. Half of them died.
The second was an older nobleman in his fifties, supposedly descended from Old Valyria.
He was smarter.
He brought gifts—several live cattle—to offer Seasmoke.
Seasmoke ate the cattle.
Then he ate them.
The third. The fourth. The fifth…
More than twenty people died in total.
Even the nobles of Volantis's Black Walls began to fear him.
They stopped sending people to die and instead dispatched patrols to seal off the forest.
The patrols didn't dare approach the dragon. They only circled the outer edges of the forest, preventing others from entering.
But the blockade was useless.
The forest was far too large to seal off completely.
Villagers from nearby settlements, along with passing travelers, often sneaked inside anyway. From a distance, they would steal a glimpse of the legendary dragon.
Today, several more people arrived at the edge of the forest.
The one leading them wore a black cloak that concealed his face.
Behind him followed two Black spies, both agents under Mysaria.
"My lord," one of the spies whispered, "it's inside."
"Not much farther ahead."
The cloaked figure nodded and continued forward.
They passed through the woods, crossed a stream, and climbed over a slope.
Finally, they saw Seasmoke.
The silver-gray dragon lay sprawled across an open clearing, its enormous body like a small mountain.
Its eyes were half-closed, seemingly dozing.
Sunlight glimmered across its scales, casting silver radiance that was breathtakingly beautiful.
"My lord, look," the spy said, pointing into the distance.
The cloaked man followed his finger and spotted several sneaky figures nearby.
They were villagers who had slipped in to see the dragon. Hidden behind bushes, they stretched their necks forward while whispering among themselves: "Look, look! He moved!"
"Quiet! If he notices us, we're dead!"
"I heard the people of Volantis lost more than twenty men trying to tame it."
"Serves them right! Those Valyrian nobles think they're dragonlords or something?"
"Do they think riding a dragon is that easy?"
"Man, I wish I could ride a dragon…"
"Keep dreaming!"
The cloaked man listened quietly without saying a word.
Only after the villagers cautiously left did he slowly step forward.
"My lord!" the spy cried out in alarm. "It's dangerous!"
The cloaked figure ignored him and continued onward.
Seasmoke sensed something and opened his eyes.
Those massive dragon eyes, like twin golden lanterns, locked onto the approaching cloaked figure.
He let out a low growl filled with warning.
Come any closer, and I'll burn you alive.
The cloaked man stopped and slowly pulled back his hood.
Sunlight fell across his face.
A handsome face.
Silver hair.
Blue eyes.
Laenor Velaryon.
He looked at Seasmoke, his eyes filled with complicated emotions.
Seasmoke looked back at him.
Confusion flickered within those dragon eyes.
Then the confusion turned into joy.
He recognized him.
That was his rider.
Seasmoke released a thunderous roar—not of anger, but excitement.
The dragon rose to his feet, spread his massive wings, and charged toward Laenor.
The spies' legs nearly gave out beneath them. They thought the man was about to be eaten alive.
But Seasmoke did not eat him.
The dragon rushed before Laenor, lowered his enormous head, and rubbed against his body while letting out affectionate whines.
The sound was almost coquettish.
Laenor raised a hand and stroked the dragon's scales. They felt cold and metallic beneath his fingers.
"Seasmoke," he said softly. "I'm sorry."
Seasmoke twisted excitedly, his tail sweeping down an entire stretch of trees.
Laenor wrapped his arms around the dragon's head and closed his eyes as tears silently streamed down his face.
He thought of his mother, Rhaenys.
That proud mother.
That woman who had struggled her entire life.
He had received a letter from his father, Corlys. The letter had been short, but every word stabbed into his heart like a knife:
"Your mother is dead. Aemond killed her."
"Come home… my son…"
"We need you…"
A year earlier, he had also received a letter from his former wife, Rhaenyra Targaryen.
That letter had been much longer.
It said that Jacaerys was dead. Joffrey was dead. Lucerys had been disfigured.
It said the Blacks needed him.
It said Rhaenyra needed him.
Jacaerys. Joffrey. Lucerys.
His three sons in name.
But they had called him father for so many years.
Hearing of their deaths had not left him untouched.
He had been saddened.
Just… not devastated.
But his mother, Rhaenys, was different.
She was the one who had given birth to him and raised him.
The one who taught him to walk, taught him to speak, taught him to ride, taught him to shoot a bow.
The mother who cried every time he was hurt.
Now she was dead.
Killed by Aemond Targaryen.
That sixteen-year-old bastard.
That kinslayer.
That monster whose hands were stained with the blood of his own family.
Laenor slowly opened his eyes, and the sorrow within them had already turned into fury.
He released Seasmoke and swung himself onto the dragon's back.
Seasmoke spread his wings excitedly, ready to take flight at any moment.
Looking down at the two spies, Laenor spoke in a deep voice.
"Go back and tell Lord Corlys and Queen Rhaenyra…"
The spies froze.
"From this day onward…" Laenor shook his head and murmured to himself in grief, "my name is Adam."
The next moment, Seasmoke unleashed a thunderous roar. With a powerful beat of his wings, he soared into the sky.
Birds throughout the forest burst into flight, while beasts scattered in panic.
The two spies stood there dumbstruck, watching the silver-gray dragon climb higher and higher until it vanished into the clouds.
Laenor rode Seasmoke above the clouds.
The wind howled past his ears as sunlight bathed his body in warmth.
It had been so long since he had felt the sensation of riding a dragon.
Ever since faking his death, he had spent his days in Pentos, wasting away with his lovers…
Now, Adam finally understood what responsibility he was meant to bear…
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