Chapter 38 — Mia Hogg
The air over Hog's Head reeked faintly of smoke and brine, the scent of slaughtered swine drifting from the slaughterhouses that dotted the slope below the keep. In the courtyard, beneath the slanting afternoon light, Mia Hogg stood with her hands reverently clasped around the hilt of a sword that was not hers.
Dark Sister.
The Valyrian steel shimmered like liquid shadow in her grasp. Ripples of dark grey ran along its edge like storm clouds moving across a night sky. The pommel was wrought of red-gold in the shape of leaping flames, the guard etched with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, its eyes twin rubies burning with secret fire. Beneath the rubies, tiny garnets gleamed like tears of blood.
"It's more beautiful than I imagined," Mia whispered. "The sword of Queen Visenya herself… the greatest woman warrior who ever lived."
Prince Daemon Targaryen, leaning lazily against a stone pillar, smiled faintly.
"Don't say that in front of my grandmother," he warned. "Queen Alysanne has never forgiven Visenya for locking her away when she was a child. The mere mention of her name sets her teeth on edge."
Mia's laughter was low and unrestrained, as honest as her manner. She was a tall girl—nearly two meters, built more like a knight than a maid, her armor smoke-grey and simple, forged without a hint of ornament. Her eyes, however, gleamed with something Daemon seldom saw outside Dragonstone: untempered wonder.
"May I?" she asked softly, lifting the sword slightly. "May I feel her weight, just once?"
"Of course," said Daemon.
Mia smiled, the kind of smile that brightened the whole yard. "When Count Corbray passed through last year with Lady Forlorn, I asked to hold it, and he looked at me as if I'd asked to steal his daughter."
She unsheathed Dark Sister. The steel caught the sunlight like water catching flame. For a heartbeat, Daemon thought he saw the faintest outline of a dragon rippling in the blade's reflection—a ghost of Visenya's will, perhaps, or merely his own imagination.
Mia swung the sword in a testing arc. Her movements were quick and powerful, yet graceful as a cat. "Perfectly balanced," she murmured. "It almost hums in my hand. I can feel it thirsting."
She returned the sword with care, as if handling a holy relic.
Daemon's lips quirked. "Would you like to see a dragon next? Not from a distance—close enough to feel its breath."
For the first time, the girl hesitated. "Aye… but I've heard dragons breathe fire on men. That they sometimes eat them."
"Not while I stand beside you," Daemon replied, and there was no boast in his voice—only the calm certainty of a dragonlord.
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They climbed the low hill where two dragons rested.
Vhagar, ancient and vast as a fortress, lay coiled upon the crest like a living mountain, her scales dulled bronze and blue in the sunlight. Her snore was a thunderclap that rolled through the valley. On the far side, Caraxes crouched over the carcass of a wild boar, roasting it with short gouts of flame and tearing the meat apart with savage delight.
Mia halted, wide-eyed. Her breath caught.
"They're… beautiful," she whispered, though the word felt feeble beside such creatures.
Daemon only smiled. He approached Vhagar without fear, retrieving from her saddle a small lacquered chest. When he opened it, the contents gleamed blood-red and gold in the sunlight.
"This," Daemon said, "is my armor."
The armor was unlike anything Mia had ever seen. The breastplate gleamed dark red, set with garnets and black jade shaped into a three-headed dragon. The helm was wrought like the snarling visage of a dragon, its eyes twin sapphires, its teeth inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
Mia could only stare. "I have never seen armor… adorned with gems," she said softly. "It seems fit for a king."
Daemon chuckled. "In King's Landing, every lordling at the tourneys tries to outshine the other. My armor is more than protection—it is spectacle. When poor hedge knights face me, they aim their lances at my breast, hoping to knock free a jewel and earn a year's fortune."
Mia smiled despite herself. Her own armor—plain gray steel forged by the smiths of Harrenhal—felt suddenly dull and small. Her sword, once her pride, seemed a farmer's plow beside a dragonlord's blade.
Daemon spoke lightly then of King's Landing—the vast Dragonpit, the crimson towers of the Red Keep, the smell of silk and perfume on Street of Silk, the bawdy songs of Flea Bottom, and the gleaming masts in the harbor where Lord Corlys Velaryon's warships lay moored.
Mia listened as if drinking in a dream. Her whole life had been pigs, mud, and rain. Her father's tales of knighthood were her only window beyond the Vale's narrow hills.
At last, she breathed, "I want to see it. All of it. Prince Daemon… take me with you. I can wield a sword as well as any man. I can guard your back, or serve in your Kingsguard."
Her eyes were fierce, burning with longing.
Daemon blinked, realizing too late the fire he had kindled. He drew his hand from her grasp.
"Your father would not allow it," he said. "You are his heir. Hog's Head needs you."
She shrugged. "We are but landed knights, my prince. We raise pigs and salt ham. If my sisters love it so, let them have it. I was not born to die in a sty."
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That night, torches blazed within Hog's Head Hall. The walls were hung with dried pigskins; the smell of roasting meat filled the air. Every dish on the table was pork—spiced hocks, roasted boar, honey-glazed neck, black-bean tongue, and ham as tender as silk.
Prince Baelon and Daemon both praised the meal.
"This ham is exquisite," Daemon said. "I've heard a woman named Martha makes the finest in the village."
Donnel Hogg, a broad man with a beard glistening with grease, laughed boisterously.
"Ha! You heard true, Prince. Martha's hams are the pride of the vale."
He summoned the cook—a plump woman of thirty with flour on her cheeks. Daemon smiled and said, "Ser Donnel, I have need of such a hand in my household. Will you lend me your Martha?"
Martha hesitated. "My prince, I would gladly serve you, but I have old parents and little ones—and my husband still raises pigs."
Daemon waved a hand. "Then bring them all. My castle is still being built, but when it's done, there will be space for loyal folk like you."
Martha curtsied deeply, eyes shining with sudden fortune.
As wine flowed, Donnel Hogg grew merry. "My second daughter, Callie, is betrothed to a stout knight; Daisy and Rowan have suitors of their own. Only my eldest—my pride, Mia—stands unwed at seventeen. She's stubborn as a sow and scares every man who tries."
Mia set down her cup with a clatter. "Because none of them can best me with a sword."
Donnel's laugh faltered. "Aye, and that's the trouble."
Lady Margot Crakehall, his wife, spoke softly. "Our youngest ran off with a singer and may be heavy with his child."
Donnel groaned. "A bastard! Gods spare me. And now my eldest dreams of King's Landing. What songs have you been filling her head with, Prince Daemon?"
Daemon raised a hand, smiling easily. "Ser Donnel, your daughter's skill with sword and shield shames many a knight I've seen. She deserves to see more of the realm. Let her serve my wife, Lady Gael, as a sworn shield. Queen Alysanne herself was guarded by a woman once—Ser Jonquil Dark. Why not another?"
Silence fell for a heartbeat.
Then Donnel barked a laugh, half disbelief, half pride. "A woman of Hog's Head guarding a dragon's wife! Ha! The songs would be worth hearing."
Mia's eyes met Daemon's across the table—her gaze alight with hope.
---
Later that night, as torches guttered low, Daemon stood upon the hill again. Caraxes stirred restlessly beside him, his red scales gleaming in the moonlight. Below, Hog's Head lay quiet, wrapped in the scent of smoke and pork fat.
The prince looked eastward, toward the faint glow where King's Landing lay beyond the horizon.
He could still see the awe in Mia Hogg's eyes.
A dragon stirs the air wherever he goes, he thought. Even here, amid pigs and straw.
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🔥 End of Chapter 38 — "
Mia Hogg"
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