The journey to Dragonstone took the better part of a week.
Aurion spent almost all of it getting hit.
Apparently, boarding a ship hadn't changed Ser Gregor's opinion that idle hands were wasted hands.
"If you can stand," the old knight had said on the first morning, handing him a blunted practice sword, "you can train."
Aurion had quickly learned that standing on a ship was considerably harder than standing on land.
The deck rolled beneath his feet with every jostle, forcing him to constantly adjust his footing. The first few spars had ended exactly how anyone with functioning eyes would've predicted.
On his back.
Repeatedly.
"Again."
Aurion pushed himself upright and after a moment to catch his breath, they went again.
He overcommitted an overhead swing.
Ser Gregor stepped aside.
Aurion nearly introduced himself to the ocean. He barely had enough time to catch himself against the railing, getting a splash of saltwater for his troubles.
"...You were going to let me fall."
"I knew you wouldn't."
Gregor simply motioned for him to reset, ignoring string of colorful insults escaping Aurion's mouth.
So they did.
Every morning. Every afternoon. Sometimes in the evening if there was still enough light.
The bruises multiplied. His shoulders ached. His palms were raw despite the gloves.
Somewhere around the fourth day, Aurion finally stopped fighting the motion of the ship and started moving with it instead. It wasn't graceful, but it kept him on his feet a little longer.
Not that it helped much. Ser Gregor still beat him black and blue. He just had to work slightly harder for it.
It was enough to earn a single approving grunt. Coming from the cranky old man, that was practically a standing ovation.
The sailors watched whenever they had a spare moment, pretending they weren't. Aurion caught more than one of them quietly wagering on how long he'd last before ending up flat on the deck.
His personal best reached five minutes. Something to be proud of for sure.
Every swing. Every step. Every correction. Helped keep his mind busy and away from the upcoming fiery war crimes courtesy of the Targaryens.
Better to think about where Gregor's practice sword was than where they were sailing.
-
On the fifth morning, Aurion woke before everyone else.
Not because he wanted to.
Some sailor had apparently declared war on a barrel before sunrise.
Sleep lost the battle. Aurion threw his old, barely patched cloak over his shoulders and climbed onto the ship's quiet deck, welcoming the cool morning air before Ser Gregor inevitably remembered he existed. A break from the morning training was definitely something he was manifesting into the universe.
The sea was calm. The only signs of life were the merchant cog cutting steadily through the water and the constant complaints of seabirds who seemed personally offended by the concept of morning. The moon still lingered overhead, refusing to clock out even as the eastern horizon began to brighten.
Then the water split apart.
Not with a splash.
Which, in hindsight, was somehow worse.
The ocean simply... rose.
Like it had collectively remembered it had somewhere else to be.
Aurion frowned.
"...That's not normal."
Something beneath the surface displaced enough water to make the ship bob gently, and whatever it was definitely wasn't a whale.
Mostly because whales, to Aurion's knowledge, didn't come with the overwhelming feeling that one poor life decision had just surfaced.
A long gray neck broke through the sea, followed by a head the size of a small sedan. Water streamed from weathered scales as the creature continued to rise, revealing shoulders broader than the ship's beam and folded wings that looked large enough to cast half the deck in shadow.
Aurion stared.
For one absurd moment, Aurion wondered if the cog had somehow shrunk.
The dragon opened its jaws. Rows of ivory teeth, each as long as a man's forearm, closed effortlessly around a school of flopping fish.
One loud, flinch inducing crunch.
Gone.
"...Fuck."
Grey Ghost.
Even knowing the name... Even expecting dragons to exist...
Nothing had prepared him for the scale of one. Words were well and good but standing in front of a dragon really put their size into scale.
The dragon drifted alongside the ship with terrifying ease; its immense body barely disturbing the sea despite weighing what had to be a shit ton. Pale eyes, almost silver in the morning light, swept lazily over the vessel.
Then stopped. On him.
Crap.
Aurion remained perfectly still. His brain, meanwhile, was doing jumping jacks.
Don't run.
Don't scream.
Definitely don't make eye contact.
...
Too late.
"...Morning," he said weakly with a small, humorous laugh.
Grey Ghost blinked.
Aurion swallowed. "...Right. Great start."
The dragon's head lowered slightly. Even thirty yards away, it loomed over the deck, casting part of the ship into shadow. Aurion suddenly became very aware that one curious nudge from that snout would likely send him into the sea. And most likely an untimely death.
"...You're..." He looked the dragon up and down. "...Much bigger than the books implied."
Grey Ghost's nostrils flared. A warm gust rolled across the deck, carrying the smell of salt and fresh fish.
Aurion grimaced. "...And significantly fishier."
The dragon tilted its head.
"I mean that respectfully, of course."
Another blink.
Aurion glanced toward Dragonstone, still little more than a dark shape on the horizon.
Then back at the dragon.
"...You know..."
"I've heard you're the smart one."
Grey Ghost regarded him with the same patient stare one might give a particularly odd-looking seabird.
"The one that keeps to himself."
A beat.
"Avoids people."
Another beat.
"Honestly?"
Aurion nodded once.
"Respect."
Grey Ghost blinked slowly.
"Trust me, big guy, people are exhausting."
He jerked a thumb toward the distant island.
"See that? That's where hundreds of nobles with oversized egos and remarkably undersized common sense are gathering for a tournament."
The dragon remained perfectly still.
"...See? Even you don't want anything to do with that."
Grey Ghost looked back at him one final time.
Aurion gave a small shrug.
"I tried suggesting Essos."
A faint rumble escaped the dragon's chest—not loud, but deep enough that Aurion felt it through the deck beneath his boots.
He smiled despite himself.
"I'm choosing to believe that means you agree."
With a slow, deliberate motion, Grey Ghost unfurled his wings. For one of Dragonstone's "smaller" wild dragons, he was still absolutely massive. Aurion had officially decided that whoever came up with dragon size classifications had an unhealthy relationship with the word small..
Its spread wider than the ship was long, catching the morning light. A lifetime of scars and occupational hazards littered its muscular body.
One powerful downstroke.
The water exploded beneath him.
The cog rocked violently as a blast of wind swept across the deck as the panicked screams of sailors and passengers alike could be heard. Aurion had to clutch the railing and some dangling rope to keep himself upright.
Another beat.
The dragon climbed effortlessly into the morning sky, circling once above the bay before gliding toward the distant cliffs of Dragonstone.
Within moments, he was little more than a gray silhouette against the sunrise.
Aurion let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
-
They found an inn tucked beneath the outer walls of Dragonstone just before midday.
It wasn't much.
A squat, two-story building of black volcanic stone with a weathered wooden sign that swayed lazily in the sea breeze. The common room smelled of stew, smoke, damp wool, and salt.
It was clean.
More importantly, it was cheap.
Ser Gregor approved.
Aurion suspected those two qualities were directly related.
Their room consisted of two narrow beds, a single window overlooking the harbor, and furniture that looked old enough to remember Aegon's Conquest.
Aurion dropped his pack beside one of the beds with a tired groan.
"I think my entire body hurts."
Gregor was already unbuckling his sword belt.
"Good."
Aurion looked over.
"...Good?"
"It means you're learning."
"I was hoping it meant I was dying."
"You'd know."
"...Comforting."
The old knight set his sword against the wall before sitting heavily on the edge of his bed.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The room settled into a comfortable silence, broken only by the muffled sounds drifting up from the common room below.
Aurion stretched his aching shoulders. Every bruise from the voyage made itself known.
Worth it. Probably.
Gregor finally broke the silence. "Keep your head down."
Aurion slowly looked over. "...Physically or socially?"
"Both."
"Right. Very clear. No room for confusion there."
Gregor ignored him, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his knees. "This is not some roadside tourney filled with drunken hedge knights and landed sons desperate to impress their fathers."
Aurion raised a brow.
"So fewer drunken hedge knights?"
"More dangerous ones."
"Ah. Quality over quantity."
Ser Gregor's gaze sharpened.
"Lords from across the realm will be here. Knights seeking favor. Men who will remember a face if it gives them reason."
Aurion shifted against the bedpost.
"And my face has offended people before."
"Your mouth more often."
"That feels unrelated."
"It is not."
Gregor nodded toward the narrow window, where the black towers of Dragonstone loomed above the harbor.
"Do not draw attention. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not challenge men above your station."
Aurion began counting on his fingers. "No talking. No fighting. No memorable facial expressions. Got it."
Ser Gregor's unamused stare was all Aurion got in response.
-
Outside the inn, the story had already begun walking.
It started on the docks.
"I swear it," one sailor said while rolling a barrel toward the warehouse. "Grey Ghost came right alongside us."
His companion snorted.
"Aye?"
"Aye."
"And?"
"There was one fool who stood at the rail."
"The poor bastard freeze?"
"Nah."
The sailor scratched his beard.
"He... talked to it."
Laughter erupted.
"You've been at the ale already."
"I'm serious!"
-
By the time the tale reached the fishmongers, it had grown.
"They say the lad never flinched."
"He stood his ground?"
"So I heard."
"Either brave or stupid."
"Usually the same thing."
-
Hours later a pair of stableboys were whispering while currying horses.
"My brother says the dragon stared him down."
"For how long?"
"Long enough everyone thought he was dead."
"What happened?"
"He just... kept talking."
"Talking about what?"
The first boy shrugged.
"No one knows."
That answer somehow made the story better.
-
In the taverns a serving girl repeated what she'd overheard.
"The dragon lowered its head."
One of the cooks frowned.
"Lowered it?"
"So they say."
"Didn't attack?"
"No."
"Hm."
-
By afternoon, two guardsmen crossed paths in the outer yard.
"You hear about Grey Ghost?"
"The merchant cog?"
"So it was Grey Ghost."
"Apparently."
"I heard it approached one passenger."
"So did I."
The older guard frowned.
"Grey Ghost avoids people."
"Usually."
"And this time?"
The younger man hesitated.
"...This time it lingered."
Neither of them liked the sound of that.
-
An old groom repeated the tale while cleaning tack.
"The dragon circled the ship before landing beside it."
"It landed?"
"So they say."
"And the boy?"
"He never moved."
"Seven save him."
"They say he wasn't afraid."
The groom laughed.
"I've never met a man who wasn't afraid of a dragon."
-
By supper, the harbor taverns had improved the story considerably.
"I heard the lad bowed."
"Nah."
"He did."
"My cousin was there."
"Your cousin's blind."
"He heard it."
"So what happened?"
"They stared at one another."
"Then?"
"The dragon dipped its head."
Silence.
"...You're lying."
"I wish I was."
-
Somewhere between the third or fourth reiteration another detail appeared.
"They say Grey Ghost answered him."
"Answered?"
"Rumbled."
"Well dragons do that."
"Not like this."
"What do you mean?"
The storyteller lowered his voice.
"They say it was like the beast understood him."
-
By the time the rumor reached the castle servants, certainty had replaced uncertainty.
"A young hedge knight spoke High Valyrian to Grey Ghost."
"He spoke Valyrian?"
"So I heard."
"And the dragon obeyed."
"...Obeyed?"
"Aye."
-
An hour later, one guard repeated it to another atop the walls.
"The lad called the dragon."
"Called it?"
"That's the story."
"And Grey Ghost came."
"Hm."
The second guard looked toward the smoking peak of Dragonmont.
-
By nightfall, no two versions matched.
Some swore Grey Ghost had circled the ship three times.
Others insisted the dragon had landed on the deck itself.
One version claimed the boy had touched its snout.
Another insisted he'd sung to it.
One particularly drunk sailor maintained the dragon had smiled.
Nobody questioned why the details kept changing.
Only one part remained exactly the same in every telling.
Grey Ghost had approached a common young man...
...and chosen not to kill him.
That alone was enough to keep the story alive.
Enough to draw unwanted eyes.
-
Dragonkeepers listened whenever the words Grey Ghost and ship appeared in the same sentence.
One castle guard repeated it over supper.
"I heard the wild one came when the lad called."
A dragonkeeper looked up from his meal.
"Called?"
"So they say."
"I heard the dragon landed."
"It did."
"On the ship?"
"No. The deck."
"And the boy?"
The guard shrugged.
"They say he wasn't afraid."
The dragonkeeper frowned.
"No man stands before Grey Ghost without fear."
"Perhaps."
"...Or perhaps he hid it well."
The conversation should have ended there.
Instead, another dragonkeeper quietly excused himself.
-
Near the stables, another version was taking shape.
"They say the lad spoke High Valyrian."
"He was a hedge knight."
"So?"
"They don't usually speak High Valyrian."
"...Maybe he's not just a hedge knight."
-
That version reached the castle steward.
The steward dismissed it.
The dragon part was interesting.
The bastard part was nonsense.
Still...
He mentioned it while reviewing arrivals for the tournament.
"A curious rumor from the harbor."
The castellan barely looked up.
"We've enough curious rumors."
"This one concerns Grey Ghost."
That earned his attention.
-
Not long after, the tale found its way to the Dragonkeepers.
This time, nobody laughed.
Grey Ghost was not the Cannibal.
Nor Vermithor.
Nor Silverwing.
Grey Ghost avoided men.
Always had.
One of the older keepers quietly set down his cup.
"Who saw it?"
"Sailors."
"Sailors embellish."
"They do."
"But not all of them."
"...No."
-
By the time darkness settled over Dragonstone, half the island had heard some version of the tale.
Most dismissed it.
Some embellished it.
A few quietly wondered.
Only a handful asked the right question.
Not—
Did it happen?
But—
Why would Grey Ghost do that?
And that was the dangerous part.
Rumors did not become dangerous because they were true. They became dangerous because important people started asking questions.
Far above the harbor, Dragonstone's black towers overlooked the island in silent watch.
Inside one of them, a dragonkeeper requested an audience.
Not because he believed every sailor's tale.
Because he'd spent twenty years watching dragons.
And one thing troubled him more than any exaggerated rumor.
Grey Ghost was shy.
Grey Ghost avoided people.
If even half of what he'd heard was true...
...then something unusual happened out on the water.