Queen Rhaenyra's gaze settled on Logar, and she paused.
She had already heard from Corlys that the young captain was unusually young, yet she still hadn't expected him to look even younger than that — almost the same age as her son Jacaerys.
But unlike Jacaerys, Logar possessed the striking Valyrian features in full: silver hair, violet eyes, sharp, aristocratic lines. Standing there in the hall, he looked like a prince who had stepped straight out of a royal court.
"Step closer and lift your head," the queen said, her voice gentle yet impossible to disobey.
Logar obeyed, raising his eyes to meet hers.
Rhaenyra studied his face for a long moment, a flicker of nostalgia crossing her features. For an instant she saw a younger Daemon Targaryen standing before her — the same tall, powerful frame, the same fierce charisma, even the same cool, steady gaze.
If she had been a few years younger, she might have felt her heart stir.
She spoke softly, with genuine admiration. "I never imagined the man who reclaimed the Stepstones for me would be so young and so handsome. Corlys did not exaggerate. You truly are a rare talent."
"Your Grace is too kind," Logar replied, bowing low, voice sincere. "To serve you is my honor. I have brought the prisoners from the battle for Your Grace to judge as you see fit."
Rhaenyra's eyes brightened further, the heavy weariness on her brow easing a little.
She nodded, clearly pleased. "You have done very well. The Greens grow bolder by the day. We needed a victory like this to lift our spirits. Logar, you have my gratitude."
Logar did not yet know that, while he sailed to Dragonstone, the queen had followed Jacaerys's advice and begun summoning every person with Targaryen blood to try claiming dragons.
The first to answer the call had been Lord Gormon Massey of Stone Dance. He attempted to tame Bronze Fury Vermithor and was burned to ash by dragonflame.
Next, the Lord Commander of the Queensguard, Ser Steffon Darklyn, volunteered to claim Sea Smoke — Laenor's dragon — and met the same fiery end.
The new Lord Commander was now Ser Lorent Marbrand of the West.
The deaths of two high lords in quick succession had terrified many nobles who carried Targaryen blood. No one else dared try.
With no choice left, the queen had ordered all bastards of Targaryen descent to Dragonstone. Logar's timely arrival gave her the perfect chance to raise morale and steady her court.
She paused, sweeping her gaze across the lords below, and spoke clearly. "Let it be known: tomorrow we will hold a public ceremony in the castle square to receive the prisoners and grant titles. Every soldier and smallfolk on Dragonstone will witness that the Blacks are far from defeated!"
"Yes, Your Grace!" the councillors answered as one.
Logar stood in the center of the hall, feeling the weight of every approving gaze. Joy surged through him.
He knew this public ceremony was the moment he would truly secure his place among the Blacks — and bring him one step closer to claiming a dragon.
News that Queen Rhaenyra would hold a grand ceremony to accept the prisoners and name Logar Lord of the Stepstones spread across Dragonstone like wildfire.
Soldiers and smallfolk alike turned their heads in envy toward the young man who had risen so far so fast. Even if the Stepstones were a poor and lawless place, becoming a true lord with land, soldiers, and authority was a dream most commoners could never touch.
The island had not seen such excitement in years. Crowds poured into the square before the keep, jostling for the best view.
Among them stood Hugh Hammer, Ulf the White, and the other bastards who had sailed from King's Landing to try their luck with the dragons. They had only just arrived and were temporarily housed in the fishing village, waiting for the queen's summons.
That day the square was packed shoulder to shoulder. Red-and-black Targaryen banners snapped in the wind. Torchlight flickered across every face.
Smallfolk stood on tiptoe, whispering excitedly about the Sea Burner's deeds. The gathered bastards craned their necks, watching the ceremony with a mixture of awe and jealousy.
"Hey, Hugh, did you hear?" Ulf nudged the burly man beside him, voice full of wonder as he clutched his wineskin. "They say the Sea Burner burned thirty enemy ships at the Stepstones and killed or captured over two thousand men. What a monster!"
Hugh Hammer kept his face stony, eyes fixed on the far end of the square where the ceremony would begin. "Who knows if it's true? He's so young. Even if it happened, it was probably just luck!"
He paused, clenching his fists. "When we claim our dragons, we'll do the same — or better."
Seeing Hugh's obvious resentment, Ulf wiped wine from his lips and grinned. "You haven't heard the best part. Word is the Sea Burner is a Targaryen bastard, just like us.
I wonder if he'll have the balls to try taming a dragon once he's made a lord."
Hugh was about to reply when the sound of marching boots echoed from the far end of the square. The crowd instantly fell silent, every head turning toward the great black gates of the keep.
Queen Rhaenyra emerged in a flowing black-and-red gown, her crown gleaming in the sunlight. She walked with regal grace, flanked by Corlys, Grand Maester Gerardys, and the other senior lords, then ascended the raised platform in the center of the square.
Ser Lorent Marbrand, Lord Commander of the Queensguard, followed close behind in his gleaming white armor, expression stern.
At the same moment, Logar appeared at the far end of the square, clad in polished armor that caught the light and made his silver hair shine even brighter.
He personally escorted the bound prisoners — Sharako Lohar at their head — marching forward with steady, measured steps.
The clink of armor mixed with the shuffle of captive feet, both solemn and menacing.
"Wow! The Sea Burner is so young… and so handsome! He looks like a real prince!"
The moment Logar stepped into view, a high-pitched squeal rose from the crowd near Hugh and Ulf.
It came from a silver-haired bastard girl named Nettles — a whore from a sweet-house in King's Landing. Her eyes were wide with open adoration, drawing stares from everyone around her.
Hugh shot her a scornful glance, but his own eyes kept drifting back to Logar.In that instant, Hugh Hammer, Ulf, and every other bastard in the crowd stretched their necks, staring at the tall, commanding figure with a turbulent mix of envy and resentment.
They were all bastards too. So why did Logar get to stand in shining armor, receiving titles and cheers, while they were crammed in the crowd, about to risk their lives on the slim chance of claiming a dragon?
"Sea Burner! Sea Burner!" The smallfolk, caught up in the excitement, began chanting. The roar grew louder until the entire square trembled.
In this age, watching a common-born man rise from nothing to become a landed lord was the rarest and most thrilling sight imaginable.
Every commoner in the crowd stared at the young man bathed in glory and secretly wished they could trade places with him.
Hugh Hammer stood among the cheering masses, watching Logar's proud, armored form. His nails dug deep into his palms, but he didn't loosen his fists.
In his heart he swore: If I can claim Vermithor on Dragonstone, I'll outshine this so-called Sea Burner and everyone else!
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