Chapter 130: The Dragon Tamer

"You're wrong. Do you know where you went wrong?" Valar's scolding stopped mid-sentence as he noticed Viserys holding a tearful little Samantha, her face earnest and pleading.

Valar was momentarily speechless. He hurriedly climbed down from Silverwing's back, fumbling as he tried to take his crying niece from Viserys, but Samantha only cried louder. "Uncle, we were wrong! Wahhh, please don't punish my brothers!"

"Alright, alright, Samantha, don't cry. Uncle won't punish you. I promise." Valar, flustered, didn't know where to place his hands. Hearing his promise, Samantha's wailing gradually subsided to soft sobs.

Only then did Aegon cautiously help Rhaegor up from the ground. Meanwhile, the tavern-goers and Tom had all fallen to their knees in reverence. They had just realized that these children were none other than the offspring of the King and the Prince. Tom, the bearded blacksmith, was both terrified and pleasantly surprised to learn that his good deed had been in service of such esteemed company. In the Summerfield, it was well known that Prince Valar was fair and just in rewarding and punishing those under his protection.

After finally calming Samantha down, Valar turned his attention not to the boys but to Tom, who was still kneeling nearby.

"You've done well, soldier. The Summerfiled takes pride in having such a dedicated citizen," Valar said thoughtfully. "Are you a knight, soldier?"

Tom was stunned, staring at Valar in disbelief. Of course, he wasn't a knight—he was a common blacksmith, a voluntary member of the city watch. In Westeros, knighthood was both a rank and an honor, signifying elevation above commoners, the right to a surname, and the potential to earn lands through military service. Those who had achieved distinction during the Dance of the Dragons, such as the Riverlanders knighted and granted land from the displaced House strong, had become figures of great importance.

"Your Highness, I'm merely a blacksmith, serving the city watch as a volunteer," Tom explained.

"Uncle Valar, this bearded man is kind," Samantha interjected, pointing at Tom. "He offered to protect us." The boys nodded in agreement, with Rhaegor adding, "He also lent us horses to get here safely."

"I see." Valar glanced at the children, concerned they might start crying again, so he let the topic shift with a smile. "You've shown both valor and kindness by protecting the King and his kin. That merits this honor. Straighten your back, soldier."

Tom immediately straightened up, recognizing the opportunity to change his family's fortunes.

Valar unsheathed the Valyrian steel sword, Widow's Veil, and gently tapped Tom's shoulders seven times. "Tom of Summerfield, for your bravery in protecting the King, Princes, and Princess, and for your previous service, I, Valar of House Vaelarys, hereby knight you. Rise, Ser Tom, and choose your surname."

As the sword touched his shoulder, Tom could scarcely believe he was being knighted until Rhaegor gave him a light nudge. Tom quickly bowed deeply to Aegon and Valar, overwhelmed with gratitude.

Once Tom was dealt with, Aegon cautiously approached Valar. "Uncle Valar, so, um, what about us—"

Valar gave him a sidelong glance. "Your Grace, after all this, are you seriously thinking of wandering the city with the children?"

Aegon scratched his head awkwardly. "We were just trying to…" He trailed off as Valar held out his hand expectantly. The children exchanged confused glances until Rhaegor suddenly remembered: Valar and their father were twins, and today was their nameday. He quickly tugged on Aegon's sleeve, and the young King finally understood, sheepishly scratching his headscarf.

"Next time, come up with a better excuse for your escapades," Valar said with a wry smile. "Alright, kids. Write down what you need and ask Ser Tom to buy it for you. Then come back with me. Aegon, Rhaegor, you still have dragon-taming duties today. Draezell is already waiting at the Dragonpit, and your younger brother will be there soon."

The boys sighed in unison, except for Rhaegor, while Samantha wiped her tears. Tom, however, immediately stood up and bowed. "As you command, Your Grace, Your Highness."

Aegon pouted and ran to a nearby spice shop, borrowing a sheet of the shopkeeper's ledger paper and a quill. He quickly scribbled a list of items, counted out five gold dragons from Viserys' coin pouch, and handed them to Tom. "Thank you, Ser Tom."

"Your will be done, Your Grace." Tom carefully folded the list and tucked it into his breastplate before hurrying off with his and the Targaryens' horses.

"Alright, no more dawdling," Valar commanded. "Viserys, carry Samantha. Your Grace, take care of Rhaegor. Get on the dragon. I've equipped four saddles—it'll be enough. Viserys, you sit in front, and Your Grace, take the rear. Don't forget to secure the straps."

The children exchanged resigned glances but obediently climbed the rope ladder hanging from Silverwing's saddle, one after another.

As Silverwing flew off, the street returned to its usual bustle. Tavern-goers resumed their revelry, and the market buzzed with life once more. However, two finely dressed silver-haired men watched the dragon's silhouette disappear into the sky. One of them spat on the ground, tossed a few copper coins onto the bar counter, and dragged his companion through the twisting streets of the city.

Eventually, they arrived at a modest but well-decorated Mansion near the Summer Market. There, they spotted Tom directing shop assistants to load a cart with purchased goods. One of the men muttered bitterly, "By R'hllor, even lowborns like him are getting rewarded by House Vaelarys, while we true sons of the dragon are left outside. Bloody disgraceful."

"Enough, Lataz. Mind your words," the more composed man chastised. He knocked on the door, unaware that a group of children were playing nearby. Among them, a slight silver-haired boy carried a dark-haired girl on his back, laughing alongside another silver-haired boy carrying a younger boy. These were sailors from the Ratcatcher, docked at the port, enjoying their rare break with their friend, Tom's daughter, Lia.

After a brief moment, a young silver-haired girl opened the door, kneeling as she did so. Lataz, the man prone to cursing, didn't even glance at her. Instead, he stepped on her back as though she were a stool, entering the Mansion. He casually grabbed the arm of a naked boy standing as a lamp holder along the way.

Inside, a young man with silver hair and violet eyes stood before the hearth, dressed in a silk tokar typical of Volantis. He was visibly annoyed as he ordered several girls to stoke the fire. "It's freezing in this place! Lataz, Ben, any progress?" he asked eagerly when the two men entered.

The calmer man, Ben, shook his head. "There's no way to infiltrate Dragonstone. You know as well as I do, Hoegon, that even in Volantis, Vaelarys's estate was a fortress. Now that he's holed up in this barbaric, backwater place, his castle is even more impenetrable."

Hoegon Bellerys sneered. "Back in Volantis, if I wanted to visit his estate, his father would personally greet me at the gate. Vaelarys owes everything to that old sorcerer Claelorius. Without him, they're nothing but small-time landowners — plenty of those inside the Black Walls of Volantis."

Hoegon's bitterness wasn't entirely misplaced. Like House Vaelarys, the Bellerys family had once been among the forty dragonlord families of Valyria. Unlike the Vaelarys, who break their dragons eggs and fled into the Black Walls to escape persecution, the Bellerys family originally had significant influence in Volantis. However, during the Doom, their dragonlord ancestor had been deceived and slain by the priests of Norvos, along with his dragon. Compounding their misfortune, Valyria's dragon eggs had all been concentrated at the Fourteen Flames for hatching, leaving families like Bellerys, Ulnar, Surlaxon, and Matarion without dragons after the cataclysm.

In the Century of Blood, these families had rallied behind the Tiger Party, attempting to restore Valyrian glory, but their efforts had ended in failure. Hope rekindled only when the three brothers of House Vaelarys managed to tame dragons, sparking ambitions anew.

"If the Vaelarys brats can tame dragons, why can't we?"

Ben Ulnar explained, "These aren't the days of old, Hoegon. Try to understand." He accepted a glass of red wine from a nearby girl and took a sip.

"Add fire peppers! How many times do I have to tell you? My food needs plenty of fire peppers!" Lataz Surlaxon cursed at the girl serving him wine. With a furious gulp, he drained the cup and then spat it in her face. "What is this trash? So bland. Bring me golden wine from the Arbor or Vaelarys silver wine!" The girl didn't dare protest in front of her master and rushed off to the cellar to fetch another bottle.

"Damn this place — no slaves allowed. How are we supposed to live without slaves?" Lataz cursed again. The slaves in this Mansion had been smuggled from their ship and were kept locked inside. If the City Watch discovered them harboring slaves, it would mean serious trouble.

"Enough," Ben Ulnar snapped, glaring at Lataz with frustration. "Don't forget we're here under the mandate of Governor Berisio."

"To hell with the mandate," Lataz spat on the ground. "Draezell is out of his mind, staying in this miserable place and refusing to see us. Let the old man's troubles stay far away from us. Hoegon, we observed it — the dragon in the Dragonpit, the one without a rider, belongs to that dead bastard king."

"Shut your mouth," Hoegon hissed, quickly silencing Lataz. "If you want to die, don't take us with you. Calling the late bastard king by that name will get us killed here." While Hoegon privately doubted Jacaerys' legitimacy, he understood that the boy king was beloved by all of Westeros. Speaking ill of him in public would bring an angry mob down on them in an instant.

"Fine, fine. I'm talking about the late King of the Iron Throne's dragon — the dark green one. Every evening, just before sunset, it flies out for a stroll. That's our chance," Lataz said, a glint of fervor in his eyes.

"That dragon's too small," Hoegon grumbled. He believed that a man should ride a dragon as grand as Vermithor or Silverwing. However, only Vermax was avaible.

"Don't worry. I've already booked us a ship to Dragonstone," Ben said, his tone firm. "There are a few wild dragons there. If the information is accurate, Sheepstealer and Grey Ghost are large ones. It's a pity the Regent hasn't released the other two wild dragons. If only..."

"Then it's settled," Hoegon declared, slapping the head of a tattooed slave boy kneeling beside him. The boy nearly fell to the ground. "Tomorrow, we set out to tame a dragon. If we fail, we'll go to Dragonstone."

Beneath the lavish window of the villa, a slender, silver-haired boy pressed his hand tightly over the mouth of a dark-haired girl. Fear painted his face as he crouched in the meticulously trimmed bushes. Moments earlier, he and his friends had been playing near the estate. His younger brother, Erin, had suggested they climb over the wall of the seemingly abandoned Mansion for fun. Adam, the silver-haired boy, and his companions, including the girl named Lia, eagerly agreed.

But when Adam and Lia climbed over the wall, they overheard the voices inside. Through the window, they glimpsed the slaves within the house.

Realizing the danger, Adam carefully led Lia out the same way they had entered.

"What's wrong, brother? What's inside—" Erin began but was immediately silenced by Adam's hand over his mouth.

"We need to find Lia's father, Uncle Tom, now. We've overheard something we shouldn't have," Adam whispered urgently.

---

Dragonstone, the Dragonpit.

Draezell glanced at the children, his eyes sharp. Samantha held back her tears, Rhaegor looked ashamed, and Aegon and Viserys scratched their heads awkwardly. They had removed their headscarves, and except for Viserys and Samantha, the boys had changed into riding leathers.

"Enough. I appreciate your intentions, but the next time you want to go out and play, take Hoffa or Sebastian with you and let us know first," Draezell sighed, ruffling their hair. "Don't make us worry."

"Yes, Father/Uncle."

"Alright, enough talk. Time to practice." Rey, also dressed in riding gear, stood beside Rhaena, who looked envious as Rey mounted Shadowmare.

"Rhaegor, you're up first," Draezell instructed his eldest son to step forward. "You rascal, this is your first day flying a dragon, and you—"

"Father, I was wrong," Rhaegor apologized, lowering his head in embarrassment. Draezell responded by placing a hand on his son's head.

"Alright, alright, no need to apologize. Your intentions were good. I was just teasing. You're a good boy — all of you are. Now, summon Star Song."

Rhaegor nodded and called out in High Valyrian toward the depths of the cavern, "Starsong, be good. Come out."

A melodious dragon roar, like a song, echoed from the depths.

The first thing to emerge was the disc-like crown of horns resembling a royal diadem. The black dragon, its body adorned with starry patterns, slowly crawled from its lair. It raised its neck, gazing at the six-year-old boy before it.

Vermithor and Silverwing's low growls resonated, joining in the celebration as another hatchling reached the age to take to the skies.