Chapter 143: New Bloodsworn Brothers

Daemon suddenly smiled, throwing an arm around Draezell as he used to do when they were younger. "Draezell, tell me honestly, what do you think of the remnants of the dragonlord families?" To be fair, the old prince couldn't entirely dismiss the wild, desperate screams of Hoegon earlier. He himself had once envied his father, uncle, and mother for their majestic flights on dragonback before he claimed his own. No one understood better than he did the irresistible allure dragons held for those of Valyrian blood. In a way, he could sympathize with the madness and despair of those who sought to steal them.

"Daemon, as I said before, they're just a pitiful group of people who dream of becoming overlords again but lack the power and vision to do so." Draezell lightly tapped the stone he was sitting on and said quietly, "Have you thought about how to protect the Targaryen dragons? Are you going to keep locking them up in the Dragonpit?"

Daemon cast a meaningful glance at Draezell. Two years ago, when he visited Dragon's Nest and saw the Vaelarys family's dragonpit, he realized just how flawed the Targaryen-built Dragonpit in King's Landing was. His own dragon, Caraxes, rarely stayed in the pit, preferring Dragonstone or even an open cave during campaigns like the one in the Stepstones.

Caraxes had never taken well to chains, and Daemon didn't particularly enjoy seeing dragons restrained either. The Dragonpit's proximity to the city's residential areas also posed problems — dragons could hardly differentiate between hunting grounds and neighborhoods. This was why he reluctantly ordered chains for the beasts, despite knowing it was a mistake. The mob killing Shrykos during the riots in King's Landing had proven how dangerous it was to shackle dragons.

"Thank you for the reminder, Draezell," Daemon sighed. "But we have our dilemmas. When Maegor built the Dragonpit, he never considered the preexisting settlements on Rhaenys's Hill. Dragons hunting in the city... I can't let King's Landing turn into their feeding grounds."

Draezell stood, brushing the dust off his clothes. "Daemon, I trust you've studied the records taken from the Citadel about dragonpits. Since you began keeping dragons in the Dragonpit, none have grown as large as Meraxes, let alone Vhagar or Balerion."

Daemon's gaze wavered. He recalled something from his visit to Dragon's Nest. There, he had observed the interactions between dragons, including Vermithor summoning younger dragons like Vermax, Shadowflame, and Stormcloud back to their roosts with a single roar.

"I understand now. Thank you, Draezell," Daemon said abruptly, seemingly out of nowhere. Draezell paused, then smirked knowingly before walking away, his destination set on regrouping with Tom and the others. Afterward, he intended to return to Dragon's Nest for the selection of his new bloodsworn brothers. Aslan and Hoffa were preparing to induct five new members, completing a group of nine alongside Hoffa, Aslan, Tigaro, and Sebastian, who now served as Draezell's trusted guards and commanders.

Daemon was a sharp man. He knew better than to directly ask Draezell if House Vaelarys had inherited dragon-taming knowledge. Draezell wouldn't answer such a question. However, he hadn't stopped Daemon from observing Dragon's Nest's dens. Among the confiscated Citadel manuscripts, one theory stood out: the confined space of the Dragonpit stunted dragon growth.

Unlike Dragon's Nest or Dragonstone, whose dragonpits were semi-enclosed and expansive, King's Landing's Dragonpit was sealed shut. Wild dragons also favored caves over open skies, suggesting a preference for less confinement.

Perhaps the Citadel meant that the sealed doors of the Dragonpit hindered the dragons' activity?

Whatever the case, Daemon decided it was worth experimenting with Dragon's Nest's model. He'd see if Caraxes could emulate Vermithor's role and coordinate the other dragons, which might allow him to open the Dragonpit's seaward doors and free the dragons from their chains.

It was worth a try, Daemon thought, nodding to himself.

---

Ratcatcher

Malrda instructed her husband and Tom to take the children to the castle to enjoy their rewards. Daemon had ordered Dragonstone to prepare a feast for the crew and offered a bounty of fifty golden dragons. However, Malrda herself stayed behind to inspect the ship. They wouldn't be spending the night on Dragonstone. Once Vermithor took flight, they needed to head back to Planky Town, as the journey to Sunspear would still take several days on horseback.

Joffrey slowly approached Malrda, who was calling out to dockworkers to scrape off barnacles. She immediately sensed someone behind her and turned, only to see a handsome, slender boy with brown hair and a complex expression. Her eyes instantly fell on the pure silver seahorse clasp on his cloak. Combined with his finely tailored attire, she immediately realized who he was.

"My lord," the petite woman curtsied slightly in respect.

"Malrda," Joffrey hesitated.

The female captain smiled and tossed her hair, calmly replying, "Lord Joffrey, I already have a husband. My husband, Dennis, is a member of the City Watch in Summerfield and a retired Silver Blood cavalryman. He owns land near Summerfield."

"Lady Malrda," Joffrey said with a gentle smile. He lacked the haughty arrogance typical of most nobles, appearing instead like a normal yet mature young man. The brown-haired young earl glanced around to make sure no one nearby was paying attention before lowering his voice. "Before he passed, my grandfather told me about Adam and Erin."

Lady Malrda immediately grew wary. "Lord Joffrey, I assure you, we have no intention of ever setting foot on Driftmark again. My husband and I are fully capable of raising the two children, and with the merits my husband has achieved, he will soon be knighted and earn a surname. My children will take his name." Malrda understood Joffrey's status, as well as her children's. While she knew Queen Rhaenyra's three sons were all noble and capable, she dared not gamble her children's lives — especially with the many Valyrian bloodlines still eyeing the position of Lord of the Tides. Just because Joffrey held back didn't mean others would.

"No, no, Lady Malrda, you misunderstand." Joffrey quickly waved his hands and lowered his voice further. "Adam and Erin are tied to me by blood. Whether I call them brothers or uncles, that fact doesn't change. Valyrian blood flows with salt and sea, fire and blood — especially the precious bloodlines of my grandfather and father. Lady Malrda, do you understand my meaning?"

"I understand, my lord. But I only wish for my children to grow up safely. We've built a stable future and don't wish to take any more risks," Malrda replied quietly.

Joffrey shook his head and continued to speak to her in hushed tones. Whatever he said made Malrda's eyes widen in shock, but she still shook her head firmly. Joffrey sighed deeply and, with a tone beyond his years, said, "Lady Malrda, I hope you'll reconsider. The gates of High Tide will always be open to you."

But Malrda remained resolute, her head shaking once more. She clearly wasn't swayed. Left with no other choice, Joffrey sighed again and departed, leaving Lady Malrda standing alone by the Ratcatcher, staring dazedly at the towering castle above.

---

Dragon's Nest, beneath the Dragoncrystal Tower

In the training yard, Hoffa stood with his black hair tousled and long spear in hand, coldly observing the remaining candidates. After no fewer than seven rounds of combat, only five young men remained — the exact number Hoffa needed. But he still had to test their skills further. The Bloodsworn Brotherhood's primary duty was to protect Draezell and his family, even if Draezell himself hardly required protection.

Three young warriors had already passed Hoffa's trial and now stood by Arslan's side. The first was Juchi, a 17-year-old Dothraki boy with a face as delicate as a girl's but a body rippling with muscle. His curved arakh hung at his waist, and his long braid marked his prowess. He was one of three Dothraki warriors recommended by Argo, who had promised Juchi a place as his Ko, as long a he became Draezell's guard. If Juchi proved himself worthy, the title would be his.

The second was Joffrey Cafferen, the 16-year-old youngest son of Lord Randyll Cafferen. A towering boy at six-and-a-half feet tall, with black hair and an imposing presence, Joffrey wielded a flail and shield with impressive coordination. He had lasted a long time in the fight against Hoffa until the Valyrian steel spear, Lawkeeper, pierced through his shield, forcing his defeat.

The third was York Waters, a 24-year-old silver-haired mercenary who served as Lady Leyla's guard. Born a bastard of the Celtigar family, York had earned respect through his valor, fighting aboard ships from a young age. Like Joffrey, he had only been defeated when Hoffa shattered his shield.

Now, 15-year-old Arthor Celtigar stood in the ring. With close-cropped silver hair and striking looks, he wielded a long spear in one hand and the Valyrian steel battle-axe Crabtide, a Celtigar family heirloom, in the other. Carefully circling Hoffa, his eyes were locked onto the elder warrior's spear. Arthor had already lasted longer than most, and if he could endure a few more moves, he would pass.

Clink! A sharp sound rang out as Hoffa exploited an opening in Arthor's footwork, disarming him of his spear. The weapon flew from Arthor's hands, but the boy reacted quickly, raising Crabtide just in time to block Hoffa's Lawkeeper. The spear bore down heavily, forcing Arthor to one knee, unable to move.

"One last move, Arthor," Hoffa said, his expression as cold as ever. "Will you continue?"

Arthor's face flushed red. Suddenly, he leaned back sharply. Sensing the danger, Hoffa raised his spear just in time to deflect the steel axe that came flying from Arthor's hand.

The little crab had thrown his weapon and lunged toward Hoffa, attempting to engage in close combat.

The next moment, Arthor was caught by the throat and lifted off the ground. Hoffa's expression remained unreadable as he held the boy mid-air, letting him struggle for a long moment before slowly setting him down.

"You pass, Arthor," Hoffa said impassively, nodding toward the coughing boy and gesturing for him to join Arslan.

At that moment, the sound of dragonfire echoed from the north.

Draezell had returned.

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