Chapter 71 – The Year of the Red Comet
Deep inside the Glutton's cave, there was now a naked man and three small dragons.
The scene was rather comical; Rhaegar had emerged as a completely bald, nude man, looking a bit like his great-grandfather King Aegon V Targaryen, remembered by history as Aegon the Unlikely.
Rhaegar was surrounded by dragons, and the dragons had been born because of him.
Title: The Unburnt, Father of Dragons.
(Charisma – Friend of Dragons: you once survived the fires with dragons; all dragons will sense your goodwill and be less hostile.)
Rhaegar thought the ability extremely powerful—practically succubus-level—and it should prove decisive in dragon-rider duels. Unfortunately, most dragon eggs were held by his own family, so the skill felt a bit pointless.
"This purple one shall be called Baelarys, in honor of the great Dragonlords of Valyria."
The purple hatchling seemed to understand, hopping several times on Rhaegar's left shoulder.
The Baelarys family had left Rhaegar a sizeable fortune and plenty of treasures; he was their rightful heir after all. Naming the purple dragon thus would carry on Baelarys glory.
"Should the black one be called Lucky or Balerion?" Rhaegar felt Lucky was not domineering enough—Balerion sounded better.
This egg had survived a scrape with death, escaping the Glutton's jaws—tremendous luck.
Lucky Balerion it was.
Back in its day, the Glutton had devoured many dragons and eggs; judging by the market value of eggs and hatchlings, the beast had probably swallowed mountains of gold.
Speaking of which, no one knew where that old wild dragon had finally died—cunning and savage. After the Dance of the Dragons, it had long ravaged the eastern slopes, yet no skeleton had ever been found.
Of course, Blood-of-My-Blood, the mightiest Silver Demon Dragon, was already growing restless, leaping and frisking above Rhaegar's head. It was the liveliest of the hatchlings and bound to Rhaegar by pact.
"All right, little fellow, you're excitable enough. You're like an emperor—unique and overbearing—so you shall be called Silver Emperor."
Rhaegar cupped the silver hatchling in his hands; its wing membranes were pale gold, its eyes golden, and its horns seemed gilded as well.
Emperor—Imperātor—outranked a mere king, a title not yet known on either continent. Yet the Silver Dragon would grow into an emperor, sweeping away Khals, Archons, Princes, Magistrates, Sea Kings, and every other style.
Born noble, Silver Emperor's voice and frame were already a size larger than its two companions. It loved perching on Rhaegar's head, brooking no offense from its kin, and from time to time tried to provoke the other two.
In bygone days the family's Silver Dragon had been Mylarys, but that name was ill-omened—later shot down in Dorne by a scorpion bolt. Besides, Mylarys had been docile, utterly unlike this domineering, proud, combative Silver Dragon with golden horns and eyes.
All three hatchlings now had names and leapt about joyfully.
Though their roars were small today, in time they would swell into mighty rivers.
The dragon race's thunder would soon stun the world once more.
(Identity – Blood of Fire, High-Tier: you have awakened dragons and may restore the Dragonlords' glory.)
(Achievement – Dragon Pact: your silver partner has hatched; you will share glory and loyalty, honor and dreams, blood and courage.)
(Achievement – Blood and Fire Chain: you roused three dragons with blood and fire; a bond of blood and flame links you. Some friendships are ink on parchment, others are forged in blood and fire.)
Rhaegar lifted a finger; flames danced, shifting freely between black, blue, and gold—his inner fire now stronger and fiercer.
Watching the kitten-sized dragons, Rhaegar decided to give them extra nourishment.
He produced flames, yet the hatchlings showed no fear; instead they reveled in the warmth like stroked cats.
Still, dragons felt lighter than cats or dogs—bones hard yet hollow, plus great wings—but these three, strengthened by the Heart of Fire dragon nest, felt heavy, noticeably larger than ordinary hatchlings.
Rhaegar felt blessed: three dragons to attend him—or perhaps he must attend to three dragons.
His inner fire now held the Fountain of Youth, the eagle god's blessing, and the Bronze Shield; the hatchlings drank the flames greedily.
Silver Emperor in particular seemed the greediest, its silver scales glittering.
Rhaegar stroked each of the three in turn, boosting their vitality and safety.
In the future he might ride only Silver Emperor, yet a blood-and-fire bond linked all four; a swarm tactic of ganging up on foes could emerge.
Balerion and Baelarys followed Silver Emperor like loyal little brothers.
Rhaegar now had three hatchlings, but great deeds spring from hardship.
Rise and fall, extinction and continuation—through the ages, restoration is the hardest path.
Small dragons will grow into great ones, and the process is the most grueling. Once dragons return, both continents will surely take notice.
Rhaegar increasingly saw the wisdom of his family's choice: House Targaryen had fled Essos for the remote Dragonstone, distancing themselves from eastern strife to develop quietly and stockpile Dragonlord resources.
Valyria of old had been a militaristic hegemon; even riding roughshod over all, its people had seethed like a powder keg.
After Valyria's fall came the Century of Blood; the Targaryen Dragonlords lay low on their isle, inconspicuous yet safe from the keg. Later, with three dragons, they swept across Westeros and kept the Dragonlord light alive.
In Lys and Tyrosh, some Dragonlords survived, but soon they and their dragons were slain; Lys, Tyrosh, and dragons became blood enemies.
One Dragonlord had proclaimed himself Emperor of Valyria and vanished into the ruins with thirty thousand men.
The biggest show had been Valyria's eldest daughter Volantis, leaping and bounding to revive the empire like a pig on the wind, finally crushed by a coalition of powers.
Rhaegar sensed all three dragons would be friendly to him, for the dragon pact already bound Silver Emperor; the other two would follow him and their silver brother.
After some petting the hatchlings finally settled down to play in a corner.
The cave now seemed livable; the Heart of Fire dragon nest kept absorbing flames and smoke, so the air should soon improve.
Before he reached the entrance, Rhaegar heard Ser Barristan Selmy and Cesar approaching along the passage. After the Dragon Nest's feast, the cave air had become breathable again.
"I'm fine. Fetch me a full set of clothes—hooded—and leave them in the corridor; you needn't enter yet. Also prepare a complete set of living quarters; I'll be staying in this cave tonight," Rhaegar called from within.
Hearing the prince was safe, the two felt much relieved.
Ser Barristan guarded the entrance while Cesar went to arrange quarters. Still, the place was tall and reeked of brimstone—hardly ideal princely lodging.
After changing, Rhaegar hid the hatchlings inside his ring; the sated Dragon Nest could still supply them warmth.
"Your Grace—your hair? Your eyebrows?" Ser Barristan exclaimed.
"No matter." Rhaegar shook his head.
"What is that?" Cesar suddenly cried.
They stood on the high slope and looked up.
The comet's tail slashed across the dawn like a wound upon the crimson sky.
The Red Comet had appeared.
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