The Dragonpit of the Stepstones was a far cry from the domed splendor of Rhaenys's Hill. It was essentially an oversized cowshed, rough-hewn and smelling of sulfur and salt.
Vhagar's colossal form acted as a living barricade at the entrance, her snoring vibrating through the earth like rolling thunder. To her left lay Sheepstealer; in this sanctuary, the wild dragon no longer had to sleep with one eye open for the Cannibal.
Inside the pit, the atmosphere was almost domestic. Sunfyre and Dreamfyre were coiled together in a shimmering heap of gold and pale blue. Nearby, Tessarion was true to her rider's mischievous nature, occasionally nipping at Sunfyre's tail. Sunfyre, ever the patient "big brother," simply tucked his tail closer, while Dreamfyre—inheriting Vhagar's legendary temper—would occasionally snap her jaws to drive the younger dragon back.
Aegon led the way, acting as a guide to the stunned Skaði.
"The mountain at the door is Vhagar, Aemond's mount," Aegon explained. "Inside are mine and Helaena's. And the blue one bothering Sunfyre is Tessarion, Daeron's dragon."
Skaði stood frozen. She had seen dragons before, but never like this—four hills of scales and muscle resting in companionable silence. Vhagar's sheer presence was a physical weight, making the girl's knees tremble. Yet, remembering the suckling pig and the warmth of the manor, she swallowed her fear.
"Can I... observe them?" Skaði whispered. "To see the details for the steel?"
"Close observation is best," Aegon agreed. "Hugh, soothe Sheepstealer. I'll handle the rest."
Aegon approached Vhagar first. The ancient she-dragon opened one massive, reptilian eye, tracking Aegon's movement.
"Calm, Vhagar. Relax," Aegon cooed, placing a hand on the dragon's snout. Under Vhagar's bewildered gaze, he beckoned Skaði forward. The girl moved like a ghost, her eyes tracing the jagged ridges of Vhagar's scales. Once finished, they moved inside.
Sunfyre didn't need soothing; he needed an audience. As Aegon introduced him as the most magnificent dragon in the world, the golden beast preened, arching his neck and flaring his wings to catch the torchlight.
"Four dragons, four Valyrian steel swords," Aegon said, turning to the smith. "Satisfy me, and you will never know hunger again. I also want you to train a group of craftsmen. Be their teacher."
"A teacher?" Skaði waved her hands in a panic. "I am foolish, My Lord. I only know the hammer."
"You are unique, Skaði," Aegon said, sensing her hesitation. He decided to employ the "royal touch," stepping forward to take her massive, calloused hands in his. He looked up at her with practiced, soulful earnestness.
"I need you. No one can replace you. You are the only one who can forge the future of my house. You are unique, Skaði. Truly."
Skaði froze. In her thirteen years, she had been called a freak, a slave, and a beast. Her previous masters had used whips to communicate. No one had ever said they needed her. No one had ever called her unique since her father died.
Tears welled in her eyes. Aegon, watching the waterworks start, panicked internally. Did I overplay it? Is the "sincere prince" act too much?
Suddenly, the world turned upside down. Skaði lunged forward and pulled Aegon into a massive, weeping embrace.
It wasn't a hug; it was a vice. Aegon's ribs groaned. The air was squeezed from his lungs instantly. His vision blurred, and for a terrifying second, he thought he saw the ghost of Queen Alysanne waving to him from the afterlife.
I'm being hugged to death, he realized with a jolt of pure adrenaline.
In a desperate reflex, Aegon entered the Dragon Spirit state. His consciousness snapped into Sunfyre. The golden dragon let out a startled roar and used the bone spurs on his forelimbs to gently but firmly pry the girl off his rider.
Aegon collapsed onto the dirt, gasping for air as if it were wine.
"I'm... sorry!" Skaði wailed, sitting on the ground with a thud that shook the floor. "I just... I didn't mean..."
Aegon held up a trembling hand, signaling her to stop. After a long minute of wheezing, he managed to stand up. He straightened his tunic, feeling his bruised ribs.
"I'm fine," he coughed, looking at the sobbing giantess with a mixture of awe and genuine terror. "Just... next time, Skaði, a nod will suffice. My royal blood doesn't make me crush-proof."
He had faced pirates, Dornish fleets, and the political rot of King's Landing, but he had never come closer to death than in the arms of a grateful thirteen-year-old girl.
"Now," he croaked, "let's get to the forge before you decide to thank me again."
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