A light, melodic dragon cry floated across the twilight sky. Far out over the distant sea, a small dark speck appeared, slowly growing larger as it drew nearer.
By the time the speck passed directly over the city, the people below could clearly see it was a magnificent platinum-and-gold dragon.
The dragon flew with breathtaking speed. In moments it had streaked across King's Landing and was arrowing straight toward the towering red fortress that crowned the highest hill.
"That was Prince Gaemon's Bahamut, wasn't it? He looks even bigger than before."
"Has to be. The royal family only has one dragon with silver-gold scales."
"I heard the prince is recruiting again for his lands. I'm thinking of going. They say anyone who settles there gets a hundred acres of farmland—that's real wealth."
"I'll stay in King's Landing a while longer. I barely escaped one lord's estate. I'm not rushing back to break my back for some blood-sucking noble. Back in my village, most of what we grew went straight into the lord's granary. A whole year's hard work and we still went to bed hungry more often than not."
"Prince Gaemon isn't like the others. He's a dragonrider. Our tiny harvests mean nothing to him. My cousin who already went sent word back—the prince really did give them the land he promised. They're planting their fields right now. According to the contract, no taxes for three full years. My family's already packing. We're sailing with the next ship."
The shadow of the dragon passing overhead had become an everyday sight. Smallfolk gathered in clusters along the streets, quietly discussing the dragon's growth and Gaemon's latest immigration terms.
As the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, King's Landing had one special law: anyone who survived a full year inside its walls became a free man, no matter where he came from or what he had been before.
Thanks to that rule, the city had drawn desperate souls from every corner of the continent—men and women crushed by noble oppression who had risked everything to flee their lords' domains and hide within the capital.
New arrivals often lived in the sewers, alleyways, or shadowed corners beneath the walls, scrambling each day for any scrap of work. They took the hardest, dirtiest jobs for the smallest pay and sometimes lined up at the septs for free bread just to survive.
Yet if you asked any of them whether they wanted to return to their old villages and their old lives, the answer was always a fierce, unwavering no.
In King's Landing, even with nothing, they still had a spark of hope. Back home, there was only darkness—endless, crushing darkness.
For that fragile hope, thousands risked death fleeing their lords, dodging patrols, and surviving starvation on the road. Fewer than one in ten actually reached the city. The rest died along the way or were dragged back in chains.
That was why, even though Gaemon's offers were generous, most of the people who actually signed up were already city-dwellers. The true fugitives simply didn't believe any noble—prince or not—would truly give them land. They assumed it was a trap to lure them back into serfdom.
Gaemon, flying high above on Bahamut, heard none of the whispers below. He guided his dragon straight toward the Red Keep.
With a powerful beat of wings that kicked up a swirl of dust, Bahamut landed gracefully in the training yard. Gaemon sat atop the saddle in his black dragon-riding leathers, two large bundles hanging from either side.
"A few men over here—help me with this!"
The moment they touched down, Gaemon called out to the guards in the yard.
Hearing the prince's voice, several men hurried over at once.
"Right here. I'm lowering it now—catch it carefully."
Under Gaemon's direction, the guards helped lift down a long wooden crate from Bahamut's side. The box was over two meters long and nearly a meter wide, resembling a coffin. As they took its weight, the sharp smell of seawater and fresh fish rose from it.
Once the crate was safely on the ground, Gaemon lifted a heavy burlap sack from the other side of the saddle and slung it over his shoulder.
He slid down the rope ladder, gave Bahamut an affectionate pat, and sent the dragon off to rest. Before leaving earlier he had already ordered the dragon fed. These days the observation platform of the Red Keep served as Bahamut's personal lair; the young dragon much preferred the high vantage point over the Dragonpit down in the city.
"Take this crate to the kitchens. Tell Head Cook Jess there's a large yellowfin tuna inside. Have him prepare it the way I taught him—we'll eat it with the family tonight. Whatever's left, you men can divide among yourselves. This kind of fish doesn't keep long."
With that, Gaemon adjusted the sack on his shoulder and headed into the castle. After a long day of hard work, he was covered in sweat and wanted nothing more than a hot bath.
Head Cook Jess worked quickly. By dinnertime the yellowfin tuna Gaemon had brought back was beautifully prepared and laid out on the table—vibrant red sashimi slices alongside golden-seared steaks.
Gaemon nodded in satisfaction at the sight.
"Wow! Tuna again tonight! Did you bring this back, Gaemon?" Saera exclaimed the moment she entered the dining hall.
"Who else would it be? You little glutton have been pestering me for days. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have spent half the day hunting this thing in the sea."
"Hehe! Thank you, Gaemon! You're the best!"
Saera didn't argue—she simply beamed and praised him sweetly.
As the siblings bantered, the rest of the family began filing into the dining hall.
"Well now, looks like we're getting a proper feast tonight," Baelon boomed as he entered. "I haven't had tuna in ages. I'm eating my fill tonight!"
"Then maybe you should thank your little brother," Gaemon replied dryly. "I spent half the day searching the sea to catch this one for you lot."