Chapter 11
The sky had turned dark hours ago, but the world above the clouds remained cast in silver. A pale moon rode high, its light stretched across the soft blanket of mist below, endless and untouched. Hiccup flew in silence, the wind a constant whisper in his ears.
Ellie slept in his arms, her head tucked beneath his chin, the sharp ridge of her helmet pressing lightly into his chest. He didn’t dare shift her weight. The blood along her jaw had dried and cracked, flaking in places, but he hadn’t touched it. Not yet.
Toothless glided through the cold night air with practiced ease, but even he was tiring. Hiccup could feel it in the subtle drag of his wings, the slight hitch between each beat. The pack strapped across his back was heavier than usual, weighed down with gear, coins, and supplies they hadn’t had time to discard.
Beneath them, the smaller dragons faltered in formation. Their wingbeats had grown uneven, some gliding low before clumsily righting themselves, tails flicking as they struggled to keep pace. They weren’t built for this yet,not for the long, unbroken silence of night flights or the endless drag of weight and worry.
He shifted slightly, letting his hand rest against Toothless’ neck. “Just a little longer, bud,” he murmured. “We’re close.”
Or so he hoped.
Above the clouds, there were no landmarks. Just stars, cold, familiar constellations mapped a thousand times over. Hiccup scanned them now, counting softly in his head, tracing their arc through the sky. He adjusted their angle slightly, trusting his gut more than memory.
Then, the clouds broke.
A soft tear in the coverage opened below, revealing jagged plains and shimmering lights. A city stretched across the dark landscape, dotted in orange firelight, low walls, sprawling rooftops, and the glitter of canals winding like veins through its heart.
Hiccup narrowed his eyes. Red and gold domes. Stone bridges. Sloped roofs and minarets. Not far from the coast, tucked near rivers and trade routes.
“Myr,” he whispered.
It made sense. Close enough to where they’d fled. Far enough from Westeros for now.
He tapped Toothless’s shoulder and angled them down.
The descent stirred Ellie. She blinked awake slowly, dazed and quiet, her breath catching at the cold on her cheeks. Her arms shifted, but she didn’t speak, not yet. Her eyes followed the hatchlings as they dropped through the cloud cover, wings shaky, tails stiff. They were nearly spent.
They landed on a rise of pale stone just beyond the cultivated edge of the city. The plains here were wide, broken by scattered boulders and short brush clinging to dry earth. No forest, no tree cover but the high rock shelf offered shelter enough, shielded on three sides by ridged outcrops and open only to the stars.
Hiccup dismounted carefully, his legs stiff, boots hitting the stone with a heavy thud. Toothless exhaled sharply, sides heaving. He didn’t even wait for a signal, just collapsed into a crouch and curled his wings inward, finally still.
The hatchlings followed suit, landing one by one in graceless heaps. Eclipse gave a small, frustrated huff and curled up near a rock. Glade didn’t even bother, he just dropped to the ground and stayed there.
Ellie slid from the saddle with a grunt. She didn’t speak. Just moved slowly, gathering what little she could carry to set up camp. Her hands trembled once, barely noticeable, but Hiccup saw.
They moved like that for a while. Quiet. Measured. The kind of silence that settled only after long adrenaline fades and the exhaustion finally caught up.
There was no fire. The dragons provided all the warmth they needed.
When their bedrolls were unfurled and the packs were down, Hiccup finally stepped toward her. Ellie sat with her knees drawn up, arms looped loosely around them, her face turned toward the city lights flickering in the distance.
He crouched beside her without a word. Then reached for his canteen and a clean cloth.
“Let me see.”
She didn’t resist.
He took her chin gently, tilting her face toward the moonlight. The blood had dried along the line of her jaw, crusted into a dark stain that reached the edge of her ear. He worked in silence, brushing it away bit by bit. The cut was shallow. Angry. It would scar.
Ellie blinked slowly, her expression unreadable.
“I should’ve seen him coming,” she muttered.
“You did see him coming,” Hiccup replied. His voice was soft, low. “And you still got away.”
She didn’t respond to that. Just stared past him, toward the glowing line of the city beyond.
He cleaned the last of the blood and soot from her face, then wiped his hands on the edge of his sleeve.
“You did everything right,” he added. “We’re alive because of it.”
Her throat bobbed. Her eyes were dry now, but tired.
“It doesn’t feel like we’re winning.”
Hiccup exhaled, the sound long and slow. “We’re not trying to win. Not yet. Right now we’re surviving.”
He looked out toward the city again. Toward the firelight. The towers. The shadows moving just beyond the walls.
“But we’ll rest. Just a few days. Let the dragons recover. Let you recover.”
“And then?”
“And then we start figuring out what it means when Valyria isn’t a myth.”
By the time they settled into their bedrolls, the wind had stilled. Only the faint rustle of brush and the occasional chirp from the hatchlings filled the night. Ellie had been the first to lie down, too tired to argue when two of the dragons immediately crawled over her, limbs splayed and eyes already drooping. Within minutes, the others followed, drawn to her warmth like moths to flame. She was soon buried beneath them, Eclipse draped over her legs, Glade tucked along her side, the smaller ones piled loosely across her chest and stomach, their tiny bodies rising and falling with her steady breaths.
“Mmph,” she groaned faintly, one arm flopped free from the mess of wings and tails. “I’m gonna die like this.”
Hiccup huffed a soft laugh as he lay back, tugging his cloak over his shoulders. “What a heroic end.”
Toothless rumbled low, then shifted beside them with deliberate weight. He curled around the entire cluster, dragons, humans, packs and all, his tail drawing close like a heavy black line of ink across the stone. The heat from his body blanketed them, warm and constant, more comforting than any fire.
Silence returned.
Hiccup stared up at the stars.
He didn’t know how long he stayed that way, watching the sky, listening to the slow breaths around him. But the weight of the day pressed deep into his chest. Not the fear, not even the exhaustion. Just… the truth of it all.
They had survived again.
But they were running. Still running. And now they were hiding in a strange land, halfway across the world from anything that had ever felt like home.
And yet…
The dragons had hatched.
Ellie had lived.
They were here.
Hiccup exhaled slowly, letting the tension leave his chest. The road ahead was long and uncertain, but for the first time in days, he didn’t feel lost.
Not exactly.
He turned his head toward the bundled form of Ellie buried beneath the hatchlings, her face barely visible beneath a curtain of tangled wings and spines.
“We’ll make it,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “We’ll make it.”
And the night swallowed his voice as sleep took hold.
The morning arrived quietly.
Not with birdsong or bright light, but with a slow, creeping gray that softened the edges of the world. A faint mist clung to the earth, curling through the rocky brush and brittle grass around their camp, the air damp and heavy with salt and ash. Somewhere in the distance, the faint hiss of the sea lapped against the unseen shore, rhythmic and constant. The earth here was dry and yellow, dotted with low scrub and clusters of hardy trees, more like twisted shrubs, bent and windblown from years of exposure. The hills sloped just enough to offer cover, but not enough to be called shelter.
Hiccup stood just outside the perimeter of their camp, one hand pressed to the brass rim of a small collapsible scope, a tool from Berk’s more experimental trades. It was a bit cracked and bent along the edge, but it still worked well enough. He squinted through the lens, adjusting it slightly as he trained his gaze toward the distant shapes on the horizon.
Myr.
Or what he guessed to be Myr. The rising structures were slender and pale against the dark coastline, a forest of delicate spires and domes glittering faintly in the haze. Even from here, it looked nothing like King’s Landing or Oldtown. Cleaner, in a strange way. More symmetrical. Artistry layered into its very bones.
Hiccup lowered the scope and breathed out slowly.
He reached for his half-unrolled map, the parchment curled from use, and crouched down to mark what he saw. The angle of the hills. The edge of the city. The likely access roads. A possible market route, assuming the structures he saw weren’t ornamental towers. He scratched down a few notes with the butt of a charcoal stick, thoughts ticking through plans: where to land unseen, which roads to avoid, what resources they might be able to trade.
The rustle of soft movement behind him drew his attention.
He glanced over his shoulder to see Ellie stirring beneath the heap of dragons, one pale arm flopping over Eclipse’s curled body before she groaned and pushed herself upright. She was pinned beneath a very proud Darkwing and a snoring red dragon curled atop her legs. Her hair stuck out in messy tufts, and she blinked blearily toward the fire.
Toothless lifted his head and yawned wide, stretching before padding over to nudge Hiccup with his snout. Hiccup patted his side absently and returned to the camp, tucking the scope into his belt as the smell of warming bread began to rise from the flat pan set over the coals.
“Morning,” Ellie muttered, still groggy as she gently nudged the red dragon off her lap. It flopped to the side with a sulky snort but didn’t protest. “What time is it?”
“Just past dawn,” Hiccup replied, poking at the bread and flipping a slice over. “We’ll eat, then get moving. Not far now.”
Ellie hummed and shuffled closer, dropping down beside the fire with the red dragon trailing behind like a stubborn shadow. Her hand found its head and absently scratched behind its horns, eyes unfocused.
“He’s kind of cute,” she murmured.
“He’s a thief,” Hiccup said without looking up.
“He’s misunderstood,” she replied.
Hiccup let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh.
Ellie glanced at the red dragon again. “I still don’t know what to name him. Something fiery, maybe. Ember? No, too on the nose. Blaze?”
“That one’s taken,” Hiccup said, handing her a piece of flatbread. “Back home.”
Ellie shrugged and took a bite. “Still a better name than no-name.”
They ate in relative silence, the dragons slowly waking and stretching around them. Glade wandered off toward the edge of the camp, sniffing at a cluster of brittle flowers. Eclipse was halfway up a nearby rock, eyeing the horizon. The others curled and uncurl like lazy cats, content for now.
Once the food was gone and camp mostly cleared, Ellie finally turned to Hiccup, brushing her hair from her eyes. “So… what’s the plan today?”
Hiccup nodded toward the ridge he’d scouted earlier. “We head that way. I saw the edge of a city—pretty sure it’s Myr. It’s not far, but we’ll go slow, keep to the high ground until we’re sure it’s safe.”
Ellie followed his gaze, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “You think they’ll notice us?”
“Not if we’re careful,” Hiccup said, tightening a strap on his belt. “We don’t need to draw attention. We’ll find a quiet spot in the city, get what we need, and move on.”
Ellie nodded, already pulling her cloak over her shoulders. “Right. In and out.”
As they began breaking camp, Hiccup kept one eye on the horizon.
He had a feeling today wouldn’t go as quietly as they hoped.
As the last of the fire was stamped out and their gear packed tight, Hiccup straightened and scanned the slope once more. The pale spires of Myr shimmered faintly through the mist, more visible now with the morning light pressing the haze back. It looked deceptively still.
“We’ll head out within the hour,” he said, turning to Ellie. “We need food. Clean water. Maybe a few medical supplies if I can trade for them.”
Ellie tilted her head, slipping her small satchel over her shoulder. “Do we have anything to barter with?”
“Some of the sharpened tools. That old compass you fixed. A few strips of dried meat.” He paused, then added, “We’ve got coin too—but we don’t spend unless we have to. Trade buys time. Money buys safety.”
She nodded, her eyes drifting toward the dragons. “What about them?”
Hiccup looked to where the hatchlings were tumbling around the brush, wings flared in clumsy play. Toothless stood nearby, a silent sentry. The older dragon was watching him too, waiting for direction.
“We hide them,” Hiccup said. “There’s a narrow ravine up the hill, shaded most of the day. Plenty of rocks and scrub. I don’t think anyone would find them unless they were actively looking.”
He stepped toward Toothless and rested a hand against the dragon’s neck. “You’ll take them to the ridge while we head down. Hunt if you can. Stay out of sight. I’ll call when we need you.”
Toothless chuffed quietly, his wings giving a slow beat of understanding.
Then, Hiccup turned back to Ellie. “We can’t show up with a pack of dragons trailing behind us.”
Ellie raised a brow. “Obviously. But you’re still taking me with you, right?”
There was a beat of hesitation.
He studied her face, the streaks of soot still clinging to her jawline, the subtle tiredness under her eyes. She hadn’t said much since the flight from Oldtown, hadn’t brought up the encounter again, but it clung to her like smoke. Still, her chin was up, eyes steady. Ready.
“Alright,” he said finally. “But you stay close. Don’t wander. Let me do the talking.”
She grinned, already pulling her hood up. “Deal.”
Hiccup rifled through their packs and pulled out two neutral-colored cloaks, dusty but intact. He tossed one to Ellie and shrugged the other on, then crouched beside the bags, adjusting the leather holsters strapped across his chest and thigh. His fingers moved with practiced ease, tightening the loops that held his short blade and tools, ensuring nothing clanked or caught. The throwing knives were nestled flat against his side, hidden but easy to reach. Finally, he pulled his hair back, tying it off with a leather cord at the nape of his neck, the auburn strands catching faint gold in the rising light..
Toothless came next. The dragon allowed him to rub soot over the more reflective parts of his scales, dulling his natural sheen until he looked like he’d rolled in ash. Toothless grumbled about it, snorting smoke into Hiccup’s face more than once, but tolerated the process.
Ellie watched it all with silent amusement.
Once everything was packed, hidden, and secured, Hiccup gave one last glance to the ridge, and then they were off.
The path down toward the coast was quiet, the sound of their footsteps softened by loose dirt and scattered stones. The mist had thinned now, giving way to sun-glinted scrubland, golden and dry. The city grew larger with every step, its walls rising tall and white, trimmed in metal and gold that caught the light like knives. Artistry lived in every visible part of the city, from the bridges strung between towers to the domes of painted glass that shimmered like gemstones.
Myr was beautiful. That much was clear.
But even from here, Hiccup could feel something brittle beneath it.
As they neared the outskirts, distant voices began to filter through the air. A market, perhaps. Street chatter, the clatter of carts. The scent of spice and roasting meat rode the breeze, but so did smoke and oil, and something bitter beneath it.
Hiccup’s pace slowed as they approached one of the side entrances along a sloping road carved into the hillside. Two guards stood there, more ornamental than threatening, their armor glinting like polished bronze. They didn’t even glance up as Hiccup and Ellie passed.
No one stopped them.
Inside, the city opened wide and winding, the streets smoother than he expected, the structures tall and elegant. Banners flapped from high windows, and mosaics decorated the plastered walls. But between the artistry and precision, other details began to rise to the surface. Children sweeping dust from steps with woven brooms. Bare feet. Heavy collars.
And chains.
At first, Hiccup wasn’t sure he’d seen it correctly. His eyes caught on a man hauling a water cart, his arms wiry and lean, his back marked with old scars. A thick iron band circled his neck. Behind him, another man barked a command and cracked a stick against the ground.
Hiccup slowed.
Another woman passed, baskets stacked high on her shoulders. Her expression was distant, eyes cast downward. Her wrists were bound in cuffs that linked beneath the baskets, forcing her to carry without shifting her arms.
It happened again and again. In corners. In alleys. Near the forges and outside the textile halls.
Hiccup stopped walking.
Ellie paused too, following his gaze.
“What are they doing?” Hiccup asked, voice low, something sharp edging into it.
Ellie’s brow furrowed, but not in surprise. “They’re slaves.”
The word didn’t settle in his mind right away.
“I know what the word means,” he said. “I just didn’t think…”
He trailed off.
Didn’t think they’d be so casual about it. So blatant.
Didn’t think it would feel so… normal here.
He looked around again, really looked, and suddenly the beauty of Myr twisted in his throat. Ellie’s voice came soft beside him. “It’s not the same as Flea Bottom… but it’s not far off. Just more polished.”
Hiccup glanced down at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze was distant. Her fingers were twitching at her side like they wanted to curl into fists.
“I’m not used to seeing it like this,” he admitted. “Out in the open. And no one even—no one looks .”
“No one wants to.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. “That’s how they sleep at night.”
A cold feeling washed over him, not outrage, not yet. But something deeper. Something heavier. Something like shame.
They continued walking.
And though neither of them said it out loud, something had changed
The road narrowed as they neared the city proper. Myr’s outer market stretched across the horizon like a scar, cracked stone walls, leaning watchtowers half-swallowed by vines, the remnants of forgotten battles lingering in its bones. Morning mist clung low to the earth, curling around their ankles, dissipating slowly beneath the slow rise of a pale sun. The scent of roasting meat and hot metal rolled in on the breeze, mingling with sea salt and chimney smoke.
Hiccup adjusted the strap of his satchel, stepping off the worn trail and into the hum of civilization. The city breathed in pulses: vendors shouting over one another, boots thudding against cobblestones, horses snorting, hammers striking steel in rhythm behind thick canvas flaps. People moved with purpose and noise, and for a moment, it almost drowned out the discomfort crawling under his skin.
Beside him, Ellie pulled up her hood, then dropped back a step behind. It had been her idea, the positioning. "They look less if you walk in front," she'd said dryly. And she was right. In a place like this, assumptions were currency. But it didn't stop the eyes.
They felt them, shifting glances from corners, half-lidded stares that lingered just long enough to be noticed. Hiccup kept his face neutral, his stride even, but beneath his cloak, one hand had slipped down to brush against the dagger at his belt.
Ellie looked too much like she belonged here, and didn’t. She had her mother’s Meereenese coloring, warm undertones to her skin, hair that darkened in the sun. In Myr, she might’ve passed for native… if she didn’t carry herself like someone born far from these streets. Too upright. Too defiant. A foreign soul in a familiar shell.
They drifted through the stalls, dried fruit, jerky, tools. Hiccup bartered for rope with a weathered old man, kept mental notes on water prices, evaluated the strength of sailcloth. The hatchlings were eating well enough from their hunts, but water was harder to come by. He traced the patterns of the city’s aqueducts on his mental map, half-planning a route for collection, half-thinking about the long trek ahead.
Then a sound cracked through the air.
A sharp yelp—familiar. Ellie.
He spun.
She stood several paces away, her face turned just slightly, the side of her jaw red, a large man gripping her arm in a way that made Hiccup's stomach twist. Her shoulders were hunched, her eyes hard. He saw her hand move, beneath her cloak, fingers curled around the hilt of her hidden blade.
Hiccup was already moving.
He crossed the distance in seconds, his hand clamping around the man’s wrist with a strength that startled even him. He pulled Ellie back sharply, placing himself between them, shielding her with the breadth of his cloak.
“Let go,” Hiccup said, voice low and firm.
The merchant didn’t release immediately. He was broad-shouldered, with a paunch and a nose bent slightly from an old break, but his grip tightened reflexively, perhaps out of habit more than thought.
“She bumped into me,” he said, tone flat. “Girl should learn to watch where she walks.”
“She’s a child,” Hiccup snapped. “Not something for you to lay your hands on.”
The merchant’s eyes flicked to Ellie. Then to Hiccup. A slow smirk curled on his face. “Then maybe her owner should keep her on a tighter leash.”
The words landed like a gut punch.
Ellie stiffened behind him. Hiccup’s jaw clenched.
“She’s not a slave.”
The merchant blinked, then laughed. “Sure she’s not. No collar, no chains. Pretty thing like that? You walking ahead, she walking behind? That’s a trained one. Bet you paid a fortune.” He leaned in slightly. “Or maybe stole her.”
“She’s. Not. A slave.”
The merchant shrugged, unbothered. “Doesn’t really matter what you say. You let a girl like that wander too far off, someone’s going to assume she’s available. Pretty thing, rare blood—probably fetch a good price, even without obedience.”
There was a quiet shift in the market.
Not silence. But space. The people around them edged just enough away to show they were listening, curious, hungry for conflict, but not willing to intervene. Hiccup’s hand curled tighter around the hilt of his dagger. His other arm pressed back gently against Ellie, steadying her.
The merchant leaned back, hands raised mockingly. “Look, traveler. No harm meant. Just… friendly advice.”
Hiccup’s eyes didn’t leave him. “Touch her again,” he said, softly, “and I’ll break your wrist before you realize it’s gone.”
The man’s smirk flickered. Not fear, but calculation. He stepped back, muttering something about “soft-skinned northerners” under his breath as he turned.
Only once his back disappeared into the crowd did Hiccup turn to Ellie.
“You alright?”
She nodded stiffly. “Yeah.”
He didn’t push. Not here.
They walked on. Hiccup’s ears rang with the echoes of what had been said, and worse, the fact that no one had seemed surprised by it. The glances hadn’t stopped. In fact, if anything, they felt heavier now.
They bought what they needed, kept their heads down. But the earlier illusion of safety was gone. Every step felt like a countdown. Myr’s streets were turning sharp.
And somewhere beneath the noise and the crowds and the sun-warmed stones, a pressure was building.
Because now Hiccup understood.
They weren’t just being watched.
They were being evaluated.
And someone, somewhere, had just started counting how much Ellie was worth.
The sun had crested its highest point by the time they left the second market, the cobbled road warm beneath their boots and the scent of dust and roasting meat clinging to the air. The closer to the city’s center they got, the more ornate the buildings became, arched doorways carved with curling leaves, colored glass catching the sun in shards of green and amber. But it did little to distract from the weight of the supplies digging into Hiccup’s arms.
A coil of thick rope hung over one shoulder, a sack of dried fish clutched in one hand, and the folded canvas they’d found, good quality, surprisingly, tucked beneath the other. Ellie walked beside him, shouldering her own load with ease, though her eyes moved constantly, sweeping the streets like a silent sentry.
They passed through a narrower alley that emptied into a small square, quieter than the markets but still lively. Across from them, a house was under construction, more like reconstruction. The stone walls were cracked, scaffolding erected on every side. Laborers moved slowly under the sun, most of them shirtless and sweat-slicked, their movements more sluggish than sharp.
Hiccup’s eyes caught on one man in particular.
Old. Bones too thin beneath sagging skin. His beard hung in wisps, and a long welt, half-healed, split across his back. He held a heavy block of stone to his chest, steps shaking as he crossed a wooden beam bridging two gaps in the foundation.
A shout cut the air, sharp and angry.
A younger man, armed with a long switch, pointed furiously at the old slave. His words were too fast to fully catch, but Hiccup didn’t need to know the language. He knew the tone.
The slave stumbled.
The master’s whip cracked forward, catching the old man across the should, rand the block dropped. It smashed against the stones below with a solid crunch, narrowly missing another worker’s foot.
The old man fell with it.
He didn’t get up.
Hiccup stopped walking, breath catching hard in his throat. The sack of fish slid slightly in his grip.
Ellie felt it immediately. She reached out, fingers curling around his sleeve before he could move.
“Don’t,” she murmured under her breath.
His jaw clenched. “He’s not going to get up.”
“I know,” she said, eyes already locked on the master, who was advancing now, whip raised again. “But not yet.”
The man snarled something low and mean, grabbing the fallen slave by the arm and yanking hard. The slave wheezed and coughed, body crumpling under the force. It echoed faintly across the square, wet and sickly.
A pause. Somewhere behind the scaffolding, a plank gave way with a sharp creak, then a crash, someone shouting in alarm. The overseer’s head snapped up, distracted by the sound. His attention shifted.
Ellie let go of Hiccup’s arm.
He was already moving.
Hiccup dropped to one knee beside the old man. The slave’s eyes fluttered open at the touch, cloudy and bloodshot. Hiccup kept his voice low and steady, speaking softly in Common.
“Easy. I’ve got you.”
He slipped one arm under the man’s shoulders, the other beneath his knees, and slowly, carefully, helped him upright. The old man was feverish to the touch, skin hot and slick, breath rattling in his chest. When he coughed again, it was into Hiccup’s shoulder.
Ellie hovered behind him, one hand resting near her belt, eyes flicking between the workers and the returning overseer.
“Can you stand?” Hiccup asked.
The man shook his head, just slightly. His lips moved, whispering something in a cracked voice, too faint to understand.
“I’ll help you sit,” Hiccup said. “Then you rest. You’ve done enough.”
He guided him to the shade beneath a low beam, near a crumbling barrel where a few others had left tools. A cup sat nearby, half-filled with water. Hiccup handed it to him and waited as the old man drank, coughing between each gulp.
When he finally looked up, there was something grateful in his eyes.
Something like surprise.
Then the overseer returned, barking something guttural. He paused when he saw Hiccup still crouched there, Ellie standing behind him like a shadow.
Hiccup rose, slow and deliberate, towering just enough to make it clear he wasn’t afraid. The moment stretched taut, then snapped as the overseer turned and stormed away, muttering curses under his breath.
Ellie let out a long breath.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said quietly.
Hiccup’s eyes followed the retreating man. “Yes,” he said, voice low. “I did.”
The old man coughed again behind them, long and deep.
Hiccup reached into his satchel and pulled out a small cloth, dabbing at the sweat along the man’s brow, before offering what was left of the fish. The old man took it with a trembling hand.
“I’m sorry,” Hiccup murmured, unsure if the man even understood.
But the man nodded, like he did.
When they walked away, neither of them said anything for a long time. The square faded behind them, but something lingered.
Later, that something would follow them home.
The chamber stank of tinctures and burnt leather. Oldtown's afternoon light filtered weakly through high windows, painting the tiled floor in fractured gold. A brazier crackled nearby, its warmth doing little to soften the sting of the maester's tools.
"Ow! Gods! Stop that, you're tearing it!" Daeron hissed, jerking as the maester pulled a stubborn sliver of singed metal from beneath the shoulder strap of his riding armor. The boy’s silver hair clung to his temples, damp with sweat, and his violet eyes shone, not with pain, but with something wilder. Brighter.
"You’ll live, prince," the maester muttered, dabbing a cloth in a pale green tonic.
"It burned through Tessarion's saddle! Did you see that? It wasn’t dragonflame—it was something else. Like a star fell and exploded behind us!" Daeron twisted toward the others gathered in the room, expression half-horrified, half-thrilled. "He shot at me. At us. A blast of pure fire, like lightning made of night. And his dragon—it didn’t even roar. It just looked at us. Like it knew ."
Vaegon Targaryen stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back, face unreadable. His silver hair had dulled with age, and the chain of the Citadel weighed heavy on his shoulders, catching glints of light with every movement. Across from him, a tall man in fine robes leaned with quiet interest, Ormund Hightower, a cousin to the current Lord of Oldtown, and one of the few who still held interest in the affairs of the boy prince sent to their city.
“I saw them,” Daeron muttered as another shard was pulled from the charred edge of his pauldron. “The dragons. The ones that were stolen. I chased them.”
Gwayne raised a brow. “Stolen?”
Vaegon’s head tilted slightly.
“Yes,” Daeron said, voice rising slightly with a mix of pride and injury. “The ones from King’s Landing. We all heard of it. The eggs that vanished. I found them. Or… at least I found the ones who took them.”
Ormund arched a brow, not quite believing the tale. "The one rumored to have fled with the stolen clutch? Are you sure?"
Daeron puffed out his chest, wincing as the maester pressed the cloth harder. "Of course I’m sure. Who else would it be? He had the hatchlings with him! I saw them. They followed the big one like ducklings after their mother. All colors. All shapes. One of them had four wings ."
That made even Vaegon's head tilt slightly.
"I knew it the moment I saw them," Daeron continued, now pacing despite the growing bandage under his collar. "They were the stolen eggs from King's Landing. From the vaults below the Dragonpit. Father said they were gone, taken weeks ago. No one ever found the thief. But I did. I found them."
He turned toward Vaegon now, eyes blazing with a child’s righteous conviction. "I’ll write to Father. He needs to know. The dragons are not lost. They’ve been raised by someone. Someone dangerous ."
Vaegon’s voice was quiet, but carried. "Who was the rider?"
Daeron frowned, eyes narrowing as if remembering. “I don’t know. The helmet was ripped off when the black dragon turned. Just before the blast. Looked like a boy. A little older than me. Dark hair, tanned skin. Dornish maybe? Or Essosi. Couldn’t tell. But young. Not a man.”
“A child,” Vaegon echoed. “Riding a dragon not born of Westeros. And yet, commanding it.”
Ormund’s brow furrowed. "He would need blood. Valyrian blood. Or... something else."
Vaegon didn’t respond immediately his expression didn’t shift, but his fingers twitched slightly. Then, quietly, "Perhaps."
Daeron sank into a chair with a heavy sigh, fingers brushing over the scorch-marked edge of his chestplate. “They were flying above the clouds. The big black dragon—he was unlike any I’ve ever seen. Not Balerion. Smaller. But still… huge. Powerful. I thought maybe—maybe he’d challenge us. But he didn’t. Just… fled. T-Tessarion didn’t hesitate, she chased after them.”
The boy swallowed hard, and for a moment, something flickered behind his eyes.
“They weren’t trying to fight. Just run.”
That earned a faint murmur from the maester. Gwayne’s frown deepened.
Daeron didn’t meet his uncle’s gaze. He shifted instead, the pain in his shoulder pulling him back to the moment. “Tessarion tried to catch them. But that other dragon—he did something. She hesitated. Just for a moment. Like she heard something I didn’t."
Vaegon’s eyes flicked toward him, sharp. "But she obeyed."
"Of course. She’s mine." Daeron frowned. "Still… I don’t like how she looked at that other dragon. Like she was waiting for it to command her."
The silence stretched.
Ormund’s voice broke it, quiet and dry. “You’re a boy, Daeron. Still chasing shadows like they’ll make you a man.”
Daeron flushed. “I was defending my crown’s property.”
“Were you?” Ormund said mildly. “Or chasing glory you haven’t earned?”
The boy’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Daeron finally looked up. “She’s hurt, isn’t she?”
Vaegon hesitated for the first time. Then nodded. “She is. The blast fractured part of her left wing. She will recover—but not quickly. She won’t fly for some time.”
Daeron stared down at his hands.
“I should’ve caught them.”
No one answered him.
Outside, the bells of the Citadel tolled softly, the weight of something old stirring in their echo.
Vaegon turned back to the window, the breeze shifting his chain. "We must tread carefully."
Daeron frowned. "Why? He ran."
Vaegon’s reply was barely above a whisper.
"Because next time, he may not."