read my new story : American Fast & Furious NSFW
The sea breeze moving through the Gullet died down for a heartbeat, and even the sound of the waves lapping against the hull seemed to grow faint.
Daemon's hand, gripping the hilt of Blackfyre, slowly lowered. The tip of the blade traced a shallow groove across the deck. From the darkness beneath the drying racks of salt fish, a shadow finally began to inch forward, compelled by the low, rumbling growl of the Cannibal and the cold, fixated gaze of Dreamfyre.
The first thing to emerge was a head covered in scales of pale grey-white, shimmering with a hazy luster like morning mist that had yet to scatter. Two round, golden eyes darted about timidly, and the tip of its snout was still dusted with crumbs of dried fish.
When the head fully revealed itself, a sharp intake of breath rippled across the deck.
"A dragon... it's a dragon!" A sailor from House Redwyne trembled, his hand shaking so hard the harpoon he held nearly slipped. He stumbled back two steps, almost knocking over a water cask behind him.
Rupert Crabb abruptly drew the longsword at his waist, stepping in to shield Daemon's flank, his eyes sharp as a hawk's.
Mys Rivers and Tybolt Crakehall had already raised their warhammer and battle-axe high, but the sight of the creature froze them in place; they dared not strike.
Meanwhile, Jarman Vikary, Harlan Hunter, and Oliver Redwyne slowly lowered their bows, the arrows nocked but undrawn.
Gael, having just emerged from the cabin, let out a startled cry. The sea breeze caught the hem of her pale violet dress as she instinctively grabbed the arm of her dear "nephew," Little Daemon. Her fingertips were ice cold. "Little Daemon, is that... is that a wild dragon?"
Vaegon Targaryen followed behind his sister. His face, usually set in a sour, scholarly expression, showed a rare look of bewilderment. He stared at the small dragon's scales, his adam's apple bobbing as he spoke with scarcely concealed confusion. "Grey Ghost? How in the Seven Hells did it fly here from Dragonstone?"
The name skipped across the silence like a stone over a calm sea. Daemon's pupils constricted slightly. He knew of Grey Ghost, naturally—one of the three wild dragons of Dragonstone recorded in the histories. The youngest, the most solitary, the one who spent the Dance of the Dragons hiding away, only to be torn apart and devoured by Sunfyre in the end. But he had never imagined that here, in the ninety-eighth year after the Conquest, in the middle of the Gullet, he would find this "recluse of a dragon" aboard his own ship.
Grey Ghost seemed terrified by the commotion. Its golden eyes were filled with fear, yet it seemed drawn by something irresistible, inching toward Daemon step by tiny step.
The three-headed dragon brand on Daemon's right shoulder suddenly grew hot. A familiar resonance surged through his blood. He could clearly feel the timidity and longing in Grey Ghost's heart—a desire to be close to something that called to it, a reliance on the blood of Old Valyria.
"Hold. No one move," Daemon spoke slowly, his voice calm but carrying an unquestionable authority. "Sheathe your steel."
As he spoke, he slowly slid Blackfyre back into its scabbard. The soft click of the blade meeting the sheath rang out clearly in the silence. He extended his right hand, palm open and facing upward, and bowed slightly toward Grey Ghost. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."
Grey Ghost's golden eyes fixed on his palm, then flicked nervously to the sky where the Cannibal circled. The massive black dragon was staring down with cold, vertical slits, puffs of white, scorching steam venting from its nostrils. It was clearly hostile toward this small intruder; the ugly beast had tried to hunt Grey Ghost more than a few times in the past. Dreamfyre, hovering nearby, let out a low trill, her pale blue wings beating up a wind that forced the sailors below to retreat another few paces.
"Cannibal, take Dreamfyre and fly higher!" Daemon shouted toward the sky.
The Cannibal let out a roar of dissatisfaction, its massive leathery wings beating against the air as it slowly ascended into the night. Dreamfyre looked aggrievedly toward Gael and Daemon before following suit, though her golden eyes remained locked on Grey Ghost.
Relieved of the pressure from the two behemoths, Grey Ghost finally summoned its courage. Flapping its wings, it half-flew, half-scuttled across the deck to Daemon. First, it sniffed his palm gingerly, the dry fish crumbs on its nose tickling Daemon's skin so much he almost laughed.
Then, as if confirming it was safe, it suddenly rubbed its small head against Daemon's palm. The scales felt smooth and cool, carrying the salty tang of the sea.
Only then did everyone see Grey Ghost clearly. It was a full size smaller than the Cannibal or Dreamfyre, roughly the size of a destrier. Its pale grey-white scales shone with an iridescent sheen under the torchlight, its wings looked like thin veils of mist, and a few strands of seaweed still clung to the tip of its tail.
Most conspicuous was its belly, which was slightly distended. Hanging from its mouth was half a dried fish it hadn't managed to swallow—proof it had just stolen quite a meal.
Daemon ran his hand down Grey Ghost's neck, his fingers brushing over the bulging stomach. He glanced up at the drying racks. The racks, originally laden with the crew's provisions, were now mostly empty, save for a few scraps hanging from the ropes. He smiled helplessly and ruffled the dragon's head. "You craven little beast. You certainly know how to forage."
Grey Ghost seemed to understand. A flicker of ingratiation passed through its golden eyes, and it nuzzled his hand again.
Daemon, however, was puzzled. Grey Ghost was notoriously solitary and avoided men. Why would it fly from Dragonstone to the Gullet and follow his fleet? Was it the call of the dragon mark? Or was there... some deeper reason?
Just as he was lost in thought, a deafening roar tore through the sky!
The Cannibal dove suddenly, a jet of pitch-black dragonfire erupting from its maw. The flame struck the sea not far from the ship, sending up a massive plume of steam and water. The scorching heat wave blew the torches on deck askew. Dreamfyre, startled by the sudden violence, roared and swerved, her pale blue wing nearly clipping the mast.
Grey Ghost was scared out of its wits. With a whoosh, it darted back into the shadows of the fish rack, leaving only its small head poking out. Its eyes were wide with terror, and the dried fish fell from its mouth.
"Cannibal! What in the Seven Hells are you doing? I'll have the men bring out Borros's ale for you later! And the cook will roast you a whole sheep as an apology!" Daemon glared up at the black dragon, then turned to his "Little Aunt" Gael, who stood with her hands on her hips. He sighed. "My apologies. That beast probably saw Grey Ghost getting close to me and got jealous."
Gael stood with her hands on her waist, her pale violet eyes full of reproach. She exaggerated her tone, "Jealousy is no excuse to frighten my Dreamfyre! Look at her, she's so scared she's nearly weeping!" She pointed to the sky, where Dreamfyre seemed to be letting out low, pitiful whines in coordination with her rider. "No, you must compensate Dreamfyre! That barrel of ale Lord Borros gave you isn't enough. You have to give her half the sheep too!"
Daemon didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he simply nodded to his aunt's "tyrannical demands." "Fine, fine. Half for her, half for him."
He immediately ordered the sailors to fetch a fat sheep from the galley. Once slaughtered and halved, the meat was bound with rope and tossed into the air toward the Cannibal. The black dragon caught the meat with precision, crunched down, and let out a satisfied growl before flying out over the water to eat at its leisure.
Gael wasn't finished. She grabbed Daemon's hand and pulled him toward the fish racks. "Come on, bring me with you. Let's go see that shy dragon. Don't let it hide anymore. I want to pet it too."
Daemon couldn't refuse her, so he allowed her to drag him along.
In the shadows, seeing Daemon return, the fear in Grey Ghost's eyes diminished slightly. But it still refused to come out fully. That is, until it saw Gael reach out her hand to touch it.
The dragon's pupils suddenly constricted to slits. A threatening, vibrating growl—grrr-grrr—rumbled in its throat, and pale grey dragonfire began to glow at the corners of its mouth!
"Look out!" Redwyne shouted, preparing to charge, but Daemon raised a hand to stop him. Everyone else's eyes widened in fear as the glow of the fire brightened.
In the split second before Grey Ghost released the breath, Daemon's hands shot out and clamped the dragon's mouth shut!
Mmmph—!
The dragonfire exploded inside Grey Ghost's mouth. Sparks of pale blue flame hissed out from between Daemon's fingers, falling onto the deck and scorching small black pits into the wood. Daemon felt a searing heat against his palms, but no pain. He held on tight, refusing to let go until the fire in the dragon's throat was completely extinguished. Only then did he slowly release his grip.
"Little Daemon! Your hands!" Gael screamed, grabbing his wrist, tears welling in her eyes. "Quick! Let Alys see it! Mysaria! Johanna! Go get Alys Rivers!"
Mysaria and Johanna turned and bolted toward the cabins, their footsteps urgent on the planks.
Above, Dreamfyre sensed something was wrong. She spat out the half-eaten sheep and breathed a gout of pale blue fire at the sea, as if venting her displeasure.
This time, it was the Cannibal who was startled, nearly dropping his dinner. He glared at Dreamfyre, but seeing her anxiously staring toward Daemon, he realized his rider was safe. He grunted and went back to his mutton, though he glanced down periodically to check.
Gael gingerly pried open Daemon's hands, her fingers trembling as she brushed his palms. To her astonishment, Daemon's hands were completely unscathed. Not even a mark. Only a few flakes of Grey Ghost's scales clung to his skin.
"This... how is this possible?" Gael's eyes went wide. She checked again and again. "You're unhurt? Dragonfire can melt steel plate!"
Grey Ghost, huddled in the shadows, looked equally confused. It tilted its small head, making a confused chirp-chirp sound, as if asking, Why aren't you afraid of my fire?
Daemon smiled, feigning nonchalance, and rubbed the dragon's head. "Perhaps because fire and blood flow in our veins."
At that moment, Alys Rivers arrived, trailing Mysaria and Johanna. Wearing a deep green cloak, her gaze fell upon Daemon's unblemished hands, then shifted to Grey Ghost. A knowing smile curled her lips, and she whispered words meant only for herself: "My dear Black Dragon... you truly are the one from the prophecies..."
Maester Bernard stood behind Vaegon, looking at Daemon with intense curiosity, then at his mentor. His lips moved, brimming with questions. But Vaegon did not answer. The Prince merely stared at the boy—silver-gold hair gleaming in the torchlight, one arm held by Gael, the other resting on the wild dragon's head. The dragon mark on his shoulder seemed to pulse with a faint light in the darkness.
Vaegon's fingers unconsciously tightened around his sleeve, his eyes masking deep shock. He gave Bernard a slight shake of his head, signaling him to remain silent.
Lyonel Strong noticed the commotion as well. He looked toward his second son, Larys, who stood in the shadows. His brow furrowed, mouthing a silent question: Did you know?
Larys, leaning on his cane, let his black robe flutter in the wind. He spread his hands and shrugged at his father, his expression one of helpless ignorance. Clearly, even the deep-minded Clubfoot hadn't expected Daemon to catch dragonfire with his bare hands.
"My Prince! Are you unharmed?" Redwyne was the first to approach, his voice full of concern. He checked Daemon's palms and sighed in relief. "Seven Hells, that took years off my life. I didn't think the little beast would breathe fire!"
Mys Rivers pushed in with the others, scratching his head. " The Prince is invincible! Dragonfire can't touch him! I thought for sure you were burned!"
Cullen Celtigar was even more dramatic. He dropped to one knee, offering a standard knight's salute. "My Prince! You are truly the blood of the Dragon! Even a recluse like Grey Ghost is drawn to you, flying all the way from Dragonstone to swear fealty! This is a portent for the ages!" Being from Claw Isle, Celtigar had heard plenty of fishermen's tales about the elusive Grey Ghost.
Budaimir Tarth and his sister, Brienne, approached as well. Brienne knelt, her six-foot frame striking against the deck. She lowered her head, her voice thick with self-reproach. "My Prince, Princess... I failed to protect you. I put you in danger. My life is yours to forfeit."
"Up, get up!" Gael quickly pulled Daemon's hand and helped Brienne rise. "It's not your fault. It's this cowardly dragon—he's just too jumpy. Look, we're all fine!" To reassure Brienne, she gathered her courage and reached out to pat Grey Ghost's head again.
Grey Ghost was still shaken from the incident. When Gael touched it, it flinched instinctively, but intimidated by the "Dragon's Aura" radiating from Daemon, it dared not pull away. It submitted to the petting with a look of utter grievance in its golden eyes.
Seeing that Gael was safe, Mysaria and Johanna gathered around, gently touching the dragon's scales. The little dragon let out a few more pitiful chirps but endured the attention obediently.
Behind them, Bethany Hightower, shielded by her brother Ormund, watched the scene in silence. Dressed in a green gown embroidered with the Hightower beacon, she twirled a lock of hair around her finger, her eyes filled with calculation. This Daemon Blackfyre—who could catch dragonfire with his bare hands and tame wild dragons—was far more interesting, and mysterious, than she had imagined.
"I say," Redwyne spoke up, breaking the mood. He pointed to the sea, grinning at Alyn. "That fire from Cannibal and Dreamfyre probably boiled half the bay. Should we have the lads fish some out? A hot meal for the crew!"
Alyn's eyes lit up. "A fine idea! I'll give the order!"
Mys Rivers leaned in, his voice booming. "I'm coming too! I can catch the big ones! Back in the Riverlands, I once caught a fish bigger than myself!"
His boast drew a round of laughter from the crowd. The tension caused by the dragonfire vanished instantly. Thanks to this simple-minded fellow, the "noble airs" of the highborn companions dissolved, and the mood lightened.
The deck became lively again. Sailors busied themselves lowering skiffs to retrieve the "Dragon-Roasted Fish." Daemon's followers gathered in excited knots, discussing the miracle they had just witnessed. Gael was still teasing Grey Ghost, insisting it nuzzle her hand of its own accord.
Only Alys Rivers and Vaegon remained apart—one standing in the shadows deep in thought, the other staring at Daemon with a complex look in his eyes.
Above the sea, the Cannibal had long since finished his half-sheep. Catching Dreamfyre unaware, he snatched the floating remains of her portion from the water and swallowed it whole.
Then, he dipped his head and struck the water, coming up with a large fish roasted golden-brown by the dragonfire. The black dragon gave a satisfied growl, beating his wings to glide low over the waves, snacking on the floating buffet. Clearly, he was enjoying the feast.
Daemon looked up at the Cannibal, then down at Grey Ghost huddled against him, and the corners of his mouth lifted.
He didn't know how the arrival of this small, wild dragon would change the future. But he knew that from this day forth, Grey Ghost would not be the lonely beast of the history books destined to die in obscurity. He was now family—something to be protected.
The wind in the Gullet picked up again, carrying the scent of salt and roasted fish. The fleet moved slowly into Blackwater Bay, where the lights of King's Landing flickered faintly in the distance.
The story of Daemon Blackfyre was only just beginning.