The Royal Train left the capital on the last day of the fourth month of the year 104 and moved along the Roseroad to Oldtown. Aegon refused to depart with Viserys and his family, citing a desire to see the depopulated Red Keep, and lived in it for his own pleasure for two whole weeks, glad of the opportunity to speak with no one—sometimes he could say but a few words a day even to Dennis. Then, astride Vermithor, he set off for Dragonstone, where he again immersed himself in reading and commenting on chronicles, walks through the Dragonport, music-making, and flights.
Vermithor rejoiced at the return to the Dragonmont scarce less than his rider: Aegon discovered with no small surprise that Silverwing had remained faithful to the companion of all her seventy years of life, and allowed only him to approach her. At sunset, they left their chosen lair in one of the caves beneath the mountain, soared into the sky, and, restricted neither by riders nor even saddles, traced such movements around one another that Aegon's tongue would not turn to call it anything other than a dance. Being at an impossibly close distance from each other, the dragons now tried to catch one another by the hind limbs, now intertwined tails, now crossed necks and circled in one place, now began to play tag. Several times the Prince made sketches with graphite, but it came out too schematic and rough, and soon Aegon abandoned this business, admitting he had no talent for drawing.
While the Bronze Fury and Silverwing enjoyed each other's company, Aegon carefully, using their presence, visited the eastern slopes of the Dragonmont, where the other lizards dwelt. Invariably he was accompanied by several Dragonkeepers, doing this rather for their own peace of mind: the only protection from a dragon they could provide was to spot one of them in time. All of them were in one way or another descendants of Ainar the Exile's people who came with him to Dragonstone, and they did not so much fear dragons, like Andals or inhabitants of the Free Cities, as revere them.
On one of these sorties, they climbed far to the east, into a terrain alien, inhospitable, and disfigured: lava that poured from the Dragonmont on the day Maegor the Usurper was born flowed down its eastern slope and burned the pastures where the islanders grazed their few cattle. Since then, the earth was covered with a black crust of molten and re-solidified stone, and dragons took the place of sheep. Aegon wanted to reach the Cape of the First Beacon that day—the extreme eastern point of the island, whence, as far as the eye could see, stretched the Narrow Sea and beyond which there was not a single patch of land until the very shores of Andalos.
"Look, dārilaros ñuhys (my Prince)," pointed out the senior Dragonkeeper named Baelor. His hair was like Valyrian gold, but dark eyes and a too-fleshy nose spoiled everything—his sailor father had picked a bride in White Harbor and brought her home; unfortunately, the child took after his Westerosi kin in appearance, and in everyday speech managed to mix the Common Tongue with Valyrian.
Aegon followed the dragon guard's staff; on a rocky ledge formed by lava poured out decades ago, a small dragonet, the size of a grown foal, warmed itself. Basking in the rays of the bright sun, it spread wings with membranes the color of spruce needles and froze like one of the statues in the Conqueror's Garden, blissfully squinting its eyes; on the coal-black stones, it looked like a bush with young foliage that had broken through by gods know what means. There were no crests on its head, and horns were barely visible—not too typical for a dragon of its size.
"Do you know from whose clutch it is?" Aegon inquired for some reason in a whisper, hiding beside Baelor behind a boulder; a couple more Dragonkeepers crouched to the ground a few steps from them. "How long since it hatched?"
"I cannot say, dārilaros ñuhys (my Prince)," Baelor shook his head. "Kostilus (Perhaps), it is one of Vagraro riñar (Vhagar's children)—you see, there are no crests, and molroti byko issi (the horns are small)."
"And the scales are green," Aegon nodded to himself, examining the dragonet.
Vhagar's offspring meanwhile opened amber eyes, looked around, and changed pose, exposing as large a surface of its body as possible to the sun. But suddenly a blurred shadow flashed, the dragonet jerked, but it was too late. A dragon falling from somewhere out of the sky landed right behind it; snap!—and spruce membranes feebly trembled on both sides of a toothed maw with crooked fangs.
"What the..." muttered Aegon in shock, but Baelor only hissed at him and pulled him further behind the boulder, due to which he stepped unsuccessfully; pain pierced his leg, and he collapsed onto his knees.
The Prince, naturally, crawled to the edge of the cover anyway and looked out to glance once more at the Cannibal. Until now he had only heard of the dragon preferring to devour its own kind; Grandfather mentioned him, Septon Barth and Dragonkeepers told of him, but for the first time Aegon saw him alive and, moreover, at a meal.
Unlike many other dragons, no one's tongue would turn to call the Cannibal beautiful; this was a true beast from the deepest of the seven hells: ugly and deadly dangerous. His black scales were unevenly covered with dark green streaks, passing on the belly into horn plates of some mossy color; dirty-grey crests ran in five rows from his nape to his shoulders along the neck; the lower jaw jutted forward strongly, and several assorted spikes, resembling incorrectly grown teeth, stuck out from the chin. Most remarkable in the dragon's appearance were his horns: large and curled downward, like a ram's.
Aegon watched spellbound, with a mixture of disgust, as the Cannibal crunched the bones of his young kin; when he moved his jaws, the wings still sticking out of his maw moved, creating the impression that the emerald poor fellow was still alive. Suddenly the Cannibal moved his head and met the Prince's gaze. Both froze in surprise.
"Nyke zūgan daor (I do not fear)," said Aegon to himself, not averting his gaze, though he tried to convince rather himself than the dragon. The Cannibal only snorted in response and let a stream of black smoke from his nostrils: as if to say, we know, indeed; swallowing the dragonet at last, he flapped his black wings and flew away to the north.
Baelor at his side exhaled with relief.
"Zyri (He) flew to jelmōñi dōra (the windy stones)," reported the Dragonkeeper, meaning a group of rocks a couple of miles from the northern coast of the island. "He has a lair there."
"And how many hatchlings does he need for dinner?" inquired Aegon, shaking off small pebbles stuck to his long-suffering knees.
The guards strenuously examined the stones under their feet; finding no support from his comrades, Baelor sighed heavily and confessed:
"We know not, dārilaros ñuhys (my Prince)."
"Why?"
Awkward silence followed again.
"No one ordered it, dārilaros ñuhys (my Prince)," finally one of the junior Dragonkeepers gave voice. Aegon ground his teeth and felt anger spreading like molten bronze in his chest.
"Aōha boter — ozurnēbagon zaldrīzoti (Your duty is to watch over the dragons)," he hissed in Valyrian. "Skoros udrāzma ao ajorrāelilē kessyt ūñagon ry zaldrīzoti skore issa lentor aemas? (What command do you require to count the dragons that belong to my House?)"
The guards found no answer. Aegon spat in anger and hobbled along the path through the lava field back to the castle: the mood to continue the walk was gone, and hardly was the hungry Cannibal to blame for this. Jaehaerys established the Dragonwatch, under him they dressed in black armor with a crest on the helmet, but as it turned out, they ate their bread for nothing. Dennis, of course, does not count, he served there barely a day and a half and since then trails after him from Oldtown to King's Landing and Dragonstone.
The Watch kept count only of adult dragons, those who were hard not to notice, but even here there was a division bordering on neglect of duties: Dragonkeepers tended only saddled lizards, looked after those left without riders with half an eye, and did not count the wild ones who had never known a rider by heads. Adolescents, such as this emerald one, were not taken into account: too spirited, nimble, small, they preferred crevices whence neither older kin nor humans could smoke them out; it was hard to keep track of all.
That is why the number of dragon young was unknown, and since the Cannibal constantly reduces it... On the other hand, if the horned beast feeds only on his own young, then he must eat them regularly; that means somewhere deep in the Dragonmont there are clutches of eggs unknown to the Watch, from which dragonets hatch only to be devoured by an older kin. From the number of possible losses of priceless dragon lives, the hair on the back of Aegon's head stirred. On the other hand, this allowed assuming that, firstly, the dragon population is stable, and secondly, remains in such quality due to the continuous hatching of new eggs.
Passing Silverwing sprawling at the entrance to her cave, Aegon thought that the Dragonkeepers became another brainchild of Grandfather that would have to be brought to mind and, very likely, he would have to deal with this. Chuckling at his own thoughts, the Prince thought that it was a good idea in any case: he himself could observe dragons, besides, he promised Daemon to solve the question with Vhagar.
On the morning of the next day, seating Dennis behind his back, Aegon set off on Vermithor to catch up with the royal train.
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