281 AC.
The Prince's Lands, East Coast.
"Whew. It's time."
Daeron let out a long breath, gripping the rope ladder hanging from the dragon saddle.
The sea breeze howled around him, blowing over the thousand-foot cliffs.
Today, he would mount the dragon and leap from this very edge.
Screee—!
Caraxes's molten-gold pupils swiveled as his massive body crouched low, waiting for his rider.
It was the first day of the fourth moon. Nearly a year had passed since the hatchlings were born.
Caraxes was the eldest of the three, and he had grown the fastest.
Behind Daeron, Barristan Selmy and the others held their breath, their hearts in their throats.
The red dragon was ferocious. His body was a staggering thirty-odd feet long, with a wingspan of over fifty feet. He was large enough to shadow a small house.
And the Prince intended to conquer him!
"Caraxes, trust me."
Daeron's gaze was steely. He pressed his forehead against the red dragon's scales, soothing the beast and steadying himself. Then, he climbed onto the dragon's back with practiced ease.
Boom.
The moment the rider settled into the saddle, a flash of recognition sparked in Caraxes's eyes. His massive body rose with a thunderous shift of weight, his tail swaying as he crawled to the very edge of the cliff.
For his first official flight, Daeron had installed a full saddle beforehand.
Dragon saddles were relics of the Dragonlords. Though not difficult to manufacture, the craftsmanship was exquisite and had been nearly lost with the extinction of the dragons.
This particular leather saddle on Caraxes's back was an heirloom left by their ancestors.
The man who found it was, of course, Count Owen.
"I saw it gathering dust in the royal vaults, no one wanted it, so I took it," Count Owen had said.
Enough talk.
Daeron sat atop the dragon for the first time, facing the open sky and the vast sea. The salty wind whipped recklessly against him, stinging his cheeks like needles.
With practiced movements, click, he fastened the chains at his waist.
No elders to guide him, no teachers to instruct him.
For his first flight, he had to be perfectly prepared.
A gleam of excitement burst in Daeron's eyes, and he shouted at the top of his lungs: "Sōvēs!" (Fly!)
The command was spoken in High Valyrian.
Caraxes, unable to hold back any longer, pushed off with his powerful hind legs, spread his immense leathery wings, and plummeted from the thousand-foot cliff.
"Prince!!—"
Barristan and the others gasped in horror, involuntarily rushing forward.
The next instant.
Screee—!
Caraxes soared upward. His serpent-like body became a bolt of crimson lightning, letting out a piercing roar as he pierced through the thick clouds.
"Hahaha!"
Daeron laughed wildly, gripping the saddle with one hand, his silver-gold hair dancing in the wind. To the people on the cliff, he left only the silhouette of a dragonrider in black, crowned in silver.
Exhilarating! It was absolutely exhilarating!
Just like in his dreams, this was the magnificent taste of dragon flight.
"Dracarys! Caraxes!"
Daeron shouted.
Caraxes responded instantly. He climbed above the clouds, then dove sharply, opening his maw to unleash a torrent of red dragonfire.
Whoosh—
Dragon and rider plunged through the flames, bursting through the smoke to reappear unscathed.
"He—he did it."
Alliser Thorne, usually grim in his gold cloak, stared in stunned silence as the dragon and rider disappeared into the distance. His stern demeanor vanished, replaced by sheer awe.
Davos swallowed hard, muttering in a daze, "So it seems."
A thirty-foot dragon capable of carrying a rider... The Prince was riding a dragon over Blackwater Bay.
How could it be anything else?
"Haha! Wonderful!"
Count Owen, usually a background figure, jumped three feet in the air, his round face flushed with joy. He looked happier than if he'd just had a son.
The Prince rides a dragon! The Prince rides a dragon!
With a Targaryen Prince commanding a dragon, who could stand against him?
Barristan was the first to recover his composure. He spoke solemnly, "We must keep today's events a secret. Do not let word reach the King for now."
The others snapped out of their daze, nodding in agreement to keep their lips sealed.
For the past six months, the King had gone to desperate lengths to tame a dragon. If he knew Prince Daeron had succeeded first, there was no telling what madness might take hold of him.
---
Blackwater Bay.
Caraxes wove through the sea of clouds. Wherever he passed, the mist churned, revealing patches of azure sky.
Daeron was thrilled, looking down at the ocean from the dragon's back.
The ships below were tiny specks, inching forward like bugs on a leaf.
"Dragonstone?"
Suddenly, a rocky island came into view.
Without realizing it, Daeron had flown all the way to Dragonstone.
Dragonriders were truly superior beings!
A journey that took a day and a night by ship took only an hour or so on dragonback.
Screee—!
Caraxes continued to soar, swiftly passing Dragonstone, then Driftmark, and Sharp Point, until they broke into the Gullet.
He seemed tireless, his body overflowing with boundless energy.
The wind made it hard for Daeron to keep his eyes open. He lay flat against the saddle, trying to adapt to the sensation of flight.
Since leaping from the cliff, a deep bond had formed between rider and dragon.
He could vaguely sense Caraxes's emotions.
The dragon loved to breathe fire.
Only by constantly spewing flames could he vent the terrifying power that surged within him.
Daeron commanded, "Dracarys!!"
Then let him release it.
Caraxes let out a sharp screech, diving down with his serpentine body, spewing dragonfire as he wove through the Gullet.
The Gullet was the strait connecting the Narrow Sea and Blackwater Bay.
The terrain was complex, filled with rocky islets. The waves were turbulent, and the rocks, battered by sea winds, were covered in moss and teeming with nesting seabirds.
It was a seascape rarely seen in his past life.
Caraxes seemed to enjoy flying over the water, weaving between the rocky outcrops and startling flocks of gulls.
Daeron closed his eyes, spread his arms, and gradually grew accustomed to the rush of the wind.
Screee—!
Suddenly, a screech snapped him awake as a shadow loomed overhead.
Daeron opened his eyes to see two massive sea stacks standing side by side, blocking their path.
Between the two giant rocks, there was a narrow gap, barely ten feet wide.
Caraxes's molten-gold eyes flashed with intensity. Instead of slowing down, he accelerated, skimming the water's surface and aiming straight for the gap.
Daeron was startled. It was too late to turn.
Seeing Caraxes's determination, a phrase echoed in his mind.
A man chooses a dragon, but a dragon also chooses his rider.
How many Targaryens had dragon blood but never won a dragon's acceptance?
And how many riders mounted a dragon but never unlocked its true potential?
"I will not dull your edge!"
Daeron grinned maniacally. He gauged the dimensions of the gap and leaned his body sharply to the left.
"Obey me, Caraxes!"
The command in High Valyrian rang out. As if sharing one mind, Caraxes tilted his serpentine body to the left, his vast wings stretching vertically—one pointing to the sky, the other to the sea.
Whoosh!
In that split second, Daeron wanted to close his eyes, but sheer will forced them open.
The red dragon shot through the narrow gap, spiraling in the air before ascending once more.
Daeron, observant as ever, noticed scratches on the hard scales of Caraxes's chest, while large chunks of stone crumbled from the rock face behind them.
At the critical moment, Caraxes had chosen to protect his rider, grazing his own chest against the rock to ensure there was enough clearance for Daeron on his back.
In that moment, the bond between man and dragon solidified.
Daeron patted the dragon's neck. "Good boy. Let's go home."
Screee—!
Caraxes turned agilely, his body banking at a near ninety-degree angle as he reversed course.
As they passed the two sea stacks again, he approached them closely once more.
But this time, he pulled up sharply, soaring straight into the clouds, dodging them with ease.
The first pass had been entirely intentional.
Daeron realized this now. He gripped the saddle, adjusting their course straight for King's Landing.
If the dragon wasn't wild and defiant, he wouldn't want it anyway.
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