What changed after going from a common sellsword captain to Lord of the Stepstones?
For Logar, not much.
The queen summoned him to the keep from time to time to ask about the situation on the islands, but most days he still lived among his rough men. No servants to draw his bath or help him dress — just the same band of hardened cutthroats.
Still, things weren't entirely the same. Corlys now trusted him completely and treated him as an equal, occasionally asking for his thoughts on future plans.
Jacaerys, Ser Robert Quince, and the other lords also went out of their way to befriend him, showering him with generous gifts — something Logar could never have imagined before.
Power truly changed everything. One day he remarked to Alyn, "A real man cannot live without achievements and a name. Don't you agree?"
Alyn looked surprised, then nodded. "You are the avatar of the gods, my lord. Of course you will never lack for either."
Logar shook his head. He was no god's avatar. Every step of his rise had been earned through blood and risk.
He didn't explain, simply asking, "I heard you're one of Lord Corlys's bastards?"
"How did you know?" Alyn's eyes widened. He had never told anyone.
Logar smiled. "We're both bastards. Our situations aren't so different. I rose from nothing — I believe you can too.
Lord Corlys has trueborn heirs, but the future is uncertain. One day you might even inherit the family."
Alyn scratched his head, taking the words as kind encouragement.
How could a clumsy man like him ever rule House Velaryon? Besides, he had an older brother, Addam.
Life on Dragonstone moved slowly once the fighting stopped. The queen called Logar in several times to discuss the Stepstones, but she never pressed him to return to his new lands.
One day, after Jacaerys mentioned that Logar carried Targaryen blood and wished to try claiming a dragon, the queen grew curious.
"Which branch of our family do you descend from?"
Logar answered with a touch of embarrassment. "My mother died when I was very young. I never knew my father, and now I can barely remember what she looked like."
The queen paused. Her violet eyes softened as she studied his handsome Valyrian features.
"You come from Essos and look like this… you are most likely a descendant of my great-aunt Saera."
Saera Targaryen — the ninth child of Jaehaerys and Alysanne — had been the most beautiful and the most rebellious of them all. She refused to be bound by family rules, played cruel pranks, then fled to Essos and became a famous courtesan, eventually running her own pleasure house.
Though Saera's reputation was scandalous, Logar understood the queen was trying to draw him closer. He nodded along. "Perhaps that really is the case."
Of course, after more than a century of Targaryen expansion, countless branches of the bloodline existed in Essos. No one could truly trace every tangled thread of kinship.
The queen offered a few more encouraging words, then looked tired and dismissed him.
After leaving the keep, Logar changed into plain clothes, left his men behind, and wandered alone toward the fishing village near Dragonstone.
He had heard that wild dragons often came to the rocky shore to hunt fish. Many of the lowborn bastards who had answered the queen's call were lingering in the village, hoping for a chance encounter.
Jacaerys had offered to let him try claiming Bronze Fury Vermithor, but Logar was in no hurry.
He wanted to observe wild dragons first, learn their habits, before approaching one of the great old beasts.
He had been on Dragonstone for days and had only seen Vermax and Moondancer on the day he arrived. No other dragons had shown themselves.
People said dragons preferred hot, dry places and were fiercely territorial. They rarely appeared near human settlements except when hunting.
He spent half the day walking the shore without success. Finally his gaze fell on an old man repairing a battered fishing boat on the sand.
The man's hair and beard were pure white, his face etched with deep lines from decades of wind and salt. His hands were thick with calluses, fingernails permanently stained with dirt.
"Old father, have you ever seen wild dragons hunting fish here?" Logar asked, stepping closer.
The old man looked up, eyes sharp, and answered in a voice far too loud for his age.
"Of course I have! There's a little one called Grey Ghost that keeps stealing my fish! If it weren't so small and not worth riding, I'd have claimed it as my mount long ago!"
Logar studied the old man more carefully.
He realized the man must also carry Targaryen blood — a bastard, though age had turned his once-silver hair white.
"So you're confident you could tame a dragon?" Logar asked with a smile.
The old man's tongue loosened at once. He puffed out his chest. "Naturally! They call me Silver Denys. Everyone knows I carry the blood of King Maegor the Cruel! Taming a dragon would be nothing to me!"
He slapped the side of his boat for emphasis. The plank rang with a loud thunk, startling a few seabirds into flight.
"If I weren't so old, I'd have claimed Bronze Fury Vermithor already and ridden it straight to King's Landing to drag that usurper Aegon II off the throne! How else could I allow his lot to run wild in the city?!"
The man who called himself Silver Denys grew more worked up, spittle flying.
His sons, who had been working nearby, finally hurried over and grabbed his arms, afraid he would say something even more dangerous.
One of them recognized Logar as the famous Sea Burner and turned to him with an apologetic smile.
"Sorry, my lord. My father is old and his mind wanders sometimes. Please don't take him seriously."
Logar waved it off with a smile. The Targaryen bloodline had spread far and wide in just over a century. How many bastards like this old man existed across Westeros and Essos?
"No harm done," he said. "I was only asking about wild dragons. Have you heard where they're often seen?"
The son answered honestly. "Wild dragons keep to their own territories, mostly around the volcanic peaks of Dragonmont.
There's one called Sheepstealer that often steals sheep from the village. You could try the slopes of Dragonmont.
But dragons are dangerous. Don't get too close unless you're absolutely sure.
Especially one called the Cannibal — it lives in the cliffs of the mountain. It's the fiercest and most savage of them all. If you see it, run."
"Thank you." Logar smiled, slipped a few silver stags into the man's hand, and walked away.
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