The sea wind carried Dragonstone's signature scent of sulfur, ruffling Logar's silver hair.
After several days at sea, the World Devourers' ships finally glided into Dragonstone's harbor with their cargo of prisoners.
Before the hull even touched the dock, Logar rose and gripped the rail, eyes locked on the sky beyond.
They said Dragonstone was the best place outside King's Landing to spot living dragons. The whole voyage he had kept his head tilted back, hoping for even a glimpse.
But after craning his neck until it ached, all he saw were the island's black stone peaks against a clear blue sky. No dragons.
Ah well… nothing worth rushing, he thought, rubbing his stiff neck. By the time he looked down again, the ships had already docked.
The black rock pier was worn smooth by centuries of waves. In the distance, Dragonstone's main keep loomed atop the cliffs, its dragon-shaped towers gleaming coldly in the sunlight.
Logar turned to his men. "Bring the prisoners ashore. Form ranks, no noise."
Under Alyn's direction, the mercenaries marched the four or five hundred captives down the gangplanks in neat lines. The prisoners — clothes ragged, faces still blistered from fire — hung their heads in defeat, roped together in a long column that stretched across the dock.
"Welcome, Captain Logar of the World Devourers."
A calm, friendly voice came from behind him.
Logar turned to see a plump, good-natured middle-aged knight approaching quickly, the Dragonstone badge pinned to his chest — Ser Robert Quince, a man Queen Rhaenyra trusted deeply.
Quince smiled warmly and extended his hand. "Her Grace knew you would arrive today and sent me to greet you."
"Ser Robert, you honor us," Logar replied, clasping the offered hand. He gestured to the long line of prisoners behind him. "These are the captives from the battle. I bring them to the queen for judgment."
Quince's eyes swept over the defeated column and filled with open approval.
"The Sea Burner's reputation is well earned. Lord Corlys told us how your company of eight hundred men crushed nearly two thousand Dornish and Triarchy troops, burning more than thirty ships. Truly astonishing."
"Fortune favored us," Logar answered modestly.
Ang!
A deep, rumbling cry suddenly rolled down from the sky, like wind howling through a mountain pass.
Logar's head snapped up, a strange instinct pulling at him.
Two dark shapes dove through the clouds. The downdraft from their wings kicked up pebbles and whipped the sea wind into a frenzy.
Sunlight pierced the gaps in their wings, flashing across scales. Dragons.
The one on the left had dark-green scales and a modest wingspan. On its back rode a handsome young prince in black armor, features sharp and proud — Jacaerys Velaryon, Queen Rhaenyra's eldest son.
Beside him flew a smaller, pale-green dragon with pearl-colored horns, neck, and wing membranes — Moondancer.
Its rider was a girl in a flowing gown, silver hair tied back, eyes bright and fierce — Baela Targaryen, Jacaerys's betrothed.
The two dragons circled once above the harbor before landing gracefully on open ground nearby. Their talons struck stone with a heavy thud that shivered the ground. Hot breath rolled outward, flapping cloaks and tunics.
This was Logar's first time seeing true dragons up close. He stared, transfixed.
He could make out every scale, feel the heat of their breath, and meet the amber vertical slits of their eyes — regal, ancient, and utterly commanding.
Still… these two were smaller than he had imagined.
The dark-green one must be Vermax, and the smaller pale-green is Moondancer, he thought. Bronze Fury Vermithor and Vhagar are supposed to be far larger. I wonder what they look like in the flesh.
While he was lost in thought, Jacaerys and Baela dismounted and walked over together.
Ser Robert Quince bowed to the prince and princess. Logar followed suit, stepping forward with a respectful nod.
"Captain Logar of the World Devourers, at your service, Prince Jacaerys, Princess Baela."
Jacaerys stopped and studied him openly, surprise clear in his eyes.
He had expected the famous Sea Burner to be a weathered, middle-aged pirate. Instead he faced a young man roughly his own age — strikingly handsome, with calm violet eyes and none of the usual coarseness of a sellsword.
"No need for formalities, Captain Logar," Jacaerys said warmly, genuine admiration in his voice. "Grandfather told us how your company defeated a much larger force and burned the enemy fleet to save the Narrow Sea's gateway. My mother and I will not forget this service."
Beside him, Baela looked at Logar and felt her cheeks flush.
She had met him before, but seeing him again — now bearing the weight of a legendary victory and radiating the hard, iron aura of a battlefield commander — made her heart flutter wildly.
To hide her sudden nervousness she clenched her fists and tried to sound impatient, cutting in. "Enough talk. The queen is waiting in the council chamber. Don't keep Mother waiting. Let's go."
Her voice carried a faint, hurried note. She turned and walked ahead quickly, refusing to meet Logar's eyes.
Even she didn't understand why she had insisted on coming along under the excuse of accompanying Jacaerys. I must be losing my mind.
Jacaerys didn't notice her strange behavior. He clapped Logar on the shoulder. "Come. My mother and the council are waiting."
With that he and Ser Robert Quince led the way. Logar followed, heading toward the heart of Dragonstone's black-stone keep.
They passed through black-rock corridors and climbed wide stone steps until they reached the council chamber.
Heavy black doors swung open. A solemn, majestic presence washed over them.
Inside, black stone pillars supported a soaring vaulted ceiling. Red-and-black Targaryen banners hung on the walls. Torches blazed in wall sconces, bathing the hall in warm golden light.
At the far end, on a raised dais, sat Queen Rhaenyra on the throne.
She wore a black-and-red gown, a delicate ruby necklace at her throat. Age had added faint lines at the corners of her eyes and forehead, but they only added mature grace to her beauty.
Her violet eyes, however, carried the weariness and iron authority of a queen who had seen too much — the "Realm's Delight," the woman the smallfolk of King's Landing would later curse without mercy.
Flanking the throne stood the core lords of the Blacks.
Sea Snake Corlys Velaryon stood to the right, eyes warm with encouragement and pride as he looked at Logar.
Grand Maester Gerardys stood to the left, watching with open curiosity. Nearby were Ser Alfred Broome and the other senior Black councillors, all studying the newcomer.
Logar stepped into the hall for the first time, feeling the weight of every gaze. Tension rose in his chest.
He quickly steadied himself, removed his helmet, and bowed deeply toward the queen on the throne.
"Your Grace, Logar, Captain of the World Devourers, brings prisoners from the combined Dornish and Triarchy forces to present before you!"