The air inside the Dragonpit was warmer than the city outside, trapped by the stone dome and heated by the beasts in it. It was dry and always had a distinct smell of smoke and sulphur.
Rhaegar stood near the main entrance to the lower vaults. He had been coming here frequently as of late, always at this hour, whenever his schedule allowed.
He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at the large dome that loomed above him, waiting for someone to find him.
And it did not take very long as a set of footsteps echoed against the stone. A Dragonkeeper emerged from one of the side tunnels. He stopped when he saw the prince, his expression softening in recognition.
Rhaegar turned to see the Dragonkeeper approaching. He knew him by name. Valarr.
He was an older man, his face weathered and wrinkled with age, clad in the gleaming black armour of his order. He stopped beside Rhaegar, giving a polite bow.
"Kessī tubī olvie jēdī kesīr iksā, ñuhys dārilaros," Valarr said in High Valyrian. You are here often these days, my prince.
"Mērī bībar majaqan, Valarr," Rhaegar replied, matching the tongue. Just marvelling at the architecture, Valarr.
Valarr smiled, the expression crinkling the corners of his eyes. He knew the prince well enough by now. Rhaegar's visits had become a predictable occurrence in the keeper's weeks.
"Kisikaron urnegon kesīr iksā, pendan," he said. I suspect you are here to see the feeding again.
Rhaegar chuckled. "Iksan." I am.
Valarr gestured with a gloved hand toward the deep tunnels. "Sīr īlot jagon. Kisalbar sīr verdita issa." Let us go then. They must have the feed ready by now.
Rhaegar fell into step beside the keeper. They walked past the upper caverns where the younger dragons stayed, descending the wide, sloping ramp that led to the true depths of Rhaenys's hill.
"Bōse jēde kesīr māzigon kostūptan daor. Skorkydoso uēpa vala issa?" Rhaegar asked after a moment. I have been unable to come here for some time. How is the old man?
"Olvie hēnkirī hae kesīr istā luo jēdo, ñuhys dārilaros," Valarr replied dutifully. Much the same as the last time you were here, my prince.
"Drējī?" Rhaegar asked, with a sliver of genuine curiosity. "Daorun toli vāedan? Mirre arliñar daor?" Is that so? Nothing else of note? No changes whatsoever?
"Daorun, ñuhys dārilaros," Valarr said, shaking his head. "Ēdrus. Jūnilas. Ipradas." None, my prince. He sleeps. He wakes. He eats.
The keeper paused, glancing down the dark corridor.
"Konir mērī sȳrrie issa. Mēre jēdro gō, parklon reniles daor. Sīkudi tubī ēdriles, haeriles daor. Sīr, jūnilas. Ipradas. Konōso sȳz issa." That is an improvement, at least. A year or so ago, he would not touch the meat. He would sleep for weeks without moving. Now, he wakes. He eats. It is much better than it was.
"Hmm," Rhaegar hummed.
They reached the entrance of a large cavern. It was a massive hollow. Its ceiling lost in the gloom above. A group of four Dragonkeepers stood by a few heavy wooden carts, each piled high with the carcasses of sheep and cattle.
Upon seeing the prince, they stopped their work for the briefest of moments, bowing low.
Rhaegar nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Naejot." Carry on.
The keepers turned back to their task, gripping the handles of the carts and dragging them forward into the darkness. Rhaegar and Valarr followed them and stopped by the tunnel's mouth, a distance they considered would be safe enough.
They watched as the keepers overturned the carts, dumping the raw meat onto the stone floor with a wet thud. Then they retreated, their movements quick and practiced, pulling the carts back to the safety and stood beside Rhaegar and Valarr.
Then, they waited.
For a long time, there was only the sound of their own breathing and the faint crackle of a torch.
Until the ground vibrated.
A deep grinding noise followed, akin to stone rubbing against stone deep beneath the ground.
The entire cavern began to reverberate as a series of heavy, rhythmic thuds began to echo from the back.
A shadow detached itself from the darkness.
Balerion did not move like a creature of flesh and blood. He moved like a mountain. His silhouette was immense, blotting out the far wall of the cavern. He moved slowly, lethargically, but the sheer scale of him was enough to stop the breath in your throat.
He did not step into the light; perhaps he had forgotten what light was.
Only his maw was truly visible, a jagged archway of teeth and bone covered in scales of pitch black that could swallow a carriage whole.
He lowered his massive head toward the pile of carcasses. He took a sniff, the sound like a sudden intake of air through a tunnel. Then he exhaled.
A hot breath washed over them even at that distance, mirroring a gust of wind from a furnace.
Rhaegar didn't flinch. He watched, unblinking.
The maw opened. A dull glow built in the back of the dragon's throat, and then in an instant, the air in the cavern felt like hot steam as black fire, with veins of red, shot through and poured over the dead animals. It wasn't the explosive blast of a war dragon; it was a controlled dousing, cooking the meat in seconds.
And the Black Dread began to gorge.
To the Dragonkeepers, this was a routine chore. Nothing much out of the ordinary.
But for Rhaegar, it was a spectacle that defied all expectations.
It wasn't the dragon eating that held him captive. It was the simple, perplexing fact that the dragon was eating at all.
He should be dead, Rhaegar thought, the frustration gnawing at him.
By every account he remembered, by every ounce of memory he could muster, Balerion died in 94 AC. The dragon simply went to sleep and never woke up again.
It was currently the 95th year after Aegon's conquest.
Balerion should have been nothing but a skeleton in the soil for a year now. Yet here he was, roasting sheep and dragging his belly across the stone.
Rhaegar understood the Butterfly Effect. He accepted that his actions had consequences. He knew why the Triarchy had formed early; his trade empire had forced their hand. He knew why Aemon was alive; he had sent Ryon to save him. Every single other deviation that had occurred, he had an explanation. Cause and effect. Logical outcomes of his interference.
But this?
He had done nothing to Balerion. He had barely been near the beast, save for that one terrifying encounter three years ago when he was a child. He hadn't fed him, hadn't healed him, hadn't used magic on him.
So why was he still breathing?
It bothered him. It was a change in the timeline that had no clear origin. He couldn't find the thread. He couldn't deduce the reason. And Rhaegar hated things he couldn't deduce. It felt like a variable he hadn't accounted for, a piece on the board moving by itself.
Balerion finished his meal quickly. It took only a few bites to consume a cart's worth of livestock.
With a low rumble that vibrated in Rhaegar's chest, the dragon turned. The grinding sound returned as he dragged himself back into the deeper darkness, vanishing as if he had never been there.
The Dragonkeepers began to move, preparing to clean the site.
Rhaegar stayed for a few moments longer, staring into the void where the beast had gone.
"Henujagon īlot bēvilza, ñuhys dārilaros," Valarr beckoned in a low tone. "Kesīr olvie bōsa umbagon sylvie daor issa." We should leave, my prince. It is not wise to stay here very long.
Rhaegar nodded slowly. He took one final glance at the darkness, searching for an answer that wasn't there, before turning away.
"Īlot jagon." Let's go
They walked back through the winding corridors, emerging into the late afternoon sun that bathed the entrance of the Dragonpit in gold.
Rhaegar blinked against the sunlight. Standing near the main gates, holding the reins of two horses, was a familiar figure.
Rhaegar turned to the keeper. "Valarr, arlī aōho jēdro syt kirimvose." Valarr, thank you for your time again.
"Biarvose, ñuhys dārilaros," Valarr bowed. Any time, my prince.
The keeper retreated inside, and Rhaegar walked down the steps.
"Uncle," Rhaegar greeted.
Aemon Targaryen smiled, though he looked tired. "Rhaegar. I was surprised when the keepers told me you were here."
"Just getting some fresh air out of the Keep," Rhaegar said.
Aemon raised an eyebrow, glancing at the massive, grim dome behind them. "Fresh air? In the Dragonpit?"
Rhaegar chuckled. "You know what I mean."
Aemon shook his head, amused. He tossed Rhaegar the reins of one of the horses. "Come. Ride with me."
Rhaegar mounted up, and they set off towards the Red Keep. A detail of four guards trailed them at a respectful distance, giving them space.
Ryon, who was usually a shadow to Rhaegar, was missing. Embroiled in one of the myriad assignments Rhaegar had dumped on his head.
"I thought you would be at Dragonstone for another week," Rhaegar said as they trotted through the city streets. "What brings you back so early?"
"The survey went smoother than expected," Aemon said. "The new settlers were cooperative. The Castellan will take it from there. I have made sure to explain to him the expansion plans. He will have to handle the rest for now."
His expression tightened slightly.
"Other things have come up. Matters of more importance."
"Such as?" Rhaegar asked.
"The Triarchy."
Rhaegar kept his face neutral, looking straight ahead.
Aemon glanced at him. "Which I presume you already know a lot about."
Rhaegar turned in his saddle, giving his uncle a confused look. "Why do you say that?"
Aemon gave him a side-eye, then chuckled softly.
"Come now, nephew. You are perhaps the first person in the Keep to know of these things after the King. My father tells you things before he even informs the Small Council sometimes. It is but a reasonable deduction."
Rhaegar didn't reply.
Aemon smirked. "Why? Was I wrong? Were you not aware of the affairs of the Three Cities?"
Rhaegar only huffed, a sound that was neither confirmation nor denial.
"So you were," Aemon chuckled, taking the silence as victory. He seemed relieved to have apparently caught his nephew out of the loop for once.
His smile faded as the Red Keep loomed ahead of them, his expression turning sombre.
"I am afraid dark times are ahead, nephew," Aemon said, his voice dropping. "Our little trade venture seems to have irked more than a few in the East. They have not taken to it kindly. And I think they will make it known to us soon."
Rhaegar watched Aemon from the corner of his eye. His uncle looked weary, a man who viewed the war that would come as a heavy burden.
"I'm sure we will be fine, Uncle," Rhaegar replied calmly.
Aemon gave a rueful smile. "One can only hope so, nephew. One can only hope."
Aemon spurred his horse forward as they reached the castle gates, his thoughts on the peace he hoped to keep.
He had missed the most subtle emphasis Rhaegar had placed on the we.