GOT : All Left Behind

In hindsight, charging off to Dragonstone once a convenient excuse to leave town presented itself may not have been my wisest idea.

Hah. Maegelle might just raise the dreaded eyebrow and present me with a whole list of my other "not my wisest ideas" if I ever said that to her, no matter how many of those ideas had been Baelon's. Naturally, I formed a new plan: don't admit it wasn't a wise idea to anyone and just swagger on.

Really, it rated just ahead of keeping awake for more than an entire day in preparation for my little excursion in terms of idiocy. When I had roped Corlys into this scheme of mine, I had entertained the idea of sleeping on the journey over to the island.

Alas, I had underestimated how short a journey it would be on Corlys Velaryon's personal runabout. Thus, the sun had barely begun to cast its orange fingers across the sky by the time we had made it past Driftmark. I had precious little time to prepare myself as we crossed the brief channel between the two most important islands of the Narrow Sea, time that I spent donning my armor.

It would hardly do to be recognized by the locals, after all. While the guards could be convinced to help me, the Dragonkeepers were another story. They had not been informed of my visit and were more likely to confine me to the keep until my father came to resolve the matter.

That was a conversation I would very much like to avoid.

"There's a fishing village at the eastern tip of the island," Corlys informed me as I tightened the last straps on my breastplate. Thank the Seven for advances in armor design and thank the Smith in particular for Master Bryar's foresight in making this particular suit easy to put on without assistance. "We'll dock there. You go tame you dragon, and then I'll-"

A near-deafening roar interrupted my friend as the early morning sky darkened above us. Slipping on my helmet, I turned to face the source of the noise, revealing a vivid red dragon climbing into the sky. It roared again, soaring westwards over our heads.

Caraxes out flying? My brother Aemon must be returning to King's Landing, resuming his duties as master of laws. Or to visit our pregnant sister.

That was fine by me.

Aemon was… not my favorite brother. Granted, I only had two of them and it was hard to beat Baelon. Especially when he was ten years my elder, a father, a member of the small council, and a lord in your own right. He was too busy for his youngest brother, and I could hardly fault him for that.

As long as he was not there to meddle in my efforts to save his island holdings from itself, all the better. This was something I could handle just fine on my own.

"I'll see in you in King's Landing, then," I said as I disembarked, my voice muffled slightly by the helmet.

This was it. My last chance to back out had sailed, it was time to act.

I did not spare Corlys and his departing ship a glance as I trudged off towards the volcano that dominated the island. The Dragonmont was smoking, as it so frequently did, and that was enough to keep most of the dragons within their lairs. Increased volcanic activity meant warmer caves, and the beasts loved little as much as a warm home.

Hopefully, that smoke did not herald a disastrous eruption.

There was a well-worn path that hugged the coastline. The hard-packed combination of soil, volcanic ash, and sand was surprisingly pleasant as far as dirt roads went, with fewer bumps than I had anticipated. Still a dirt road, though, and one that was largely unmarked. In other words, still a bother.

The disturbingly low literacy could be blamed for that, I suppose. Another reason to declaw the maesters at the earliest opportunity.

But my ideas for radically upending the social structure of Westeros could wait until after I had access to the world's angriest lizard. For now, I had to focus on finding said flying lizard's lair.

I knew it was on the eastern half of the island, if only from shadowing Lord Tyrell at the last Small Council meeting. I also knew that he had recently stripped a hatchery clean, so he was probably still reasonably well-fed. Hopefully, that meant the dragon was not in the mood for roast Targaryen.

Then again, I was not an expert on the dietary requirements of dragons. Or the nutritional value of dragon eggs. Considering that magic was involved, almost anything was possible. And since I had no desire to research how many dragon eggs it would take to keep a dragon satiated, it was going to remain a mystery for the foreseeable future.

For now, all that mattered was getting to the dragon's lair. That meant paying close attention to my surroundings in the hope of finding some clues. Since the beast had a marked preference for its own kind, however, there was hardly going to be a convenient trail of burned prey to follow. So I had to improvise.

Which meant taking the first path that led towards the volcano.

Because I was a smart man.

Still, there were worse plans. Caves were hard to miss, especially caves that were large enough to host this particular dragon. Such caves were more likely to be found on the side of the mountain. Thus, I continued my hike while keeping my eyes peeled for any gaps in the dark stone of the mountain.

It took hours.

Hours of marching under the pre-noon sun, while not the worst time to do so, was hardly pleasant. It was enough to reduce me to a sweaty mess in plate. Even after removing the helmet. Even with the benefit of the sea breeze. I was still hiking in full plate after all. I was sweating so badly I was almost tempted to wonder whose dumb idea that was, but I didn't.

Because I was a smart man.

As the sun began to reach its zenith, I finally found it.

A gaping hole in the side of the Dragonmont. Scorch marks dotted the surrounding rocks and what little vegetation had managed to grow had long since been reduced to cinders and ash. It was a dragon's lair, that much was certain. And since there were only two wild dragons on the island worth mentioning, I was fairly confident that this cave belonged to my target.

There was no sense in delaying the inevitable.

Simply approaching the cave filled me with dread. This was a beast that had never known a rider. This was a beast whose preferred prey was dragons. How much of the 'blood of the dragon' was metonymy, I wondered, and how much was literal?

More importantly, would it matter? Taming a dragon was more an art than a science. While there was plenty of literature about dragon hatching and rearing, there was precious little about the act of taming itself.

Normally, there was a presumption of knowing your target; These were intelligent creatures, and you had to tailor your approach appropriately. How aggressive was it? How much did it eat? Who was its last rider? There were half a hundred variables to consider.

The Cannibal was old, angry, liked to eat smaller dragons, and had never been ridden before. Any one of those qualities would have been a red flag large enough to function as a Lannister banner.

Combined, it made me painfully aware of just how much of a foolhardy idea this was. There likely wouldn't even be enough of me left for my parents to perform the funeral rites for if this didn't work.

At least now I had confirmation that the Cannibal, if this was indeed his lair, ate things other than smaller dragons. At least three mangled sheep skeletons poked through piles of ash, along with a cow's head and far too many human skulls for my liking.

Ah, there it was!

In between piles of pale bone smothered in dark ash rested smaller pieces of gleaming black bone, and that was all the confirmation I needed.

This was the Cannibal's lair, and it left me feeling all too vulnerable.

But this was the first step of the third phase of my master plan. Phases one and two would not bear fruit for quite some time, being personal and economic in nature, but this one would generate near immediate returns. More importantly, if the other parts failed, this was my backup. This was my greatest weapon to keep my family safe for at least the century ahead, if not the one after.

I could settle for mediocrity or try to make a difference. And in this life or the past one, mediocrity was never going to be enough.

"Cannibal!" I called out into the darkness of the cave. "Show yourself!"

On cue, two glowing orbs of venomous green larger than my head blinked into existence in the dark cave. The pupils were tiny specks of black, smaller than my hand, smaller than they had any right to be in a cave that dark.

Here we go.

"I am Vaegon Targaryen," I announced myself. "And I have need of you."

The orbs tilted slightly, the head that housed them turning in a mute query before returning to their normal position, growing larger as they neared. Slowly, a massive head left the darkness of the cave, sliding into the brightly lit outside world. The coal-black head was nearly twice as high as I and moved with a grace that I did not expect from a creature of that size.

"I have need of a dragon, and who better than you?" I asked and was met in turn with a growl so deep I felt it resonate deep within my chest. Perhaps this was the wrong approach to take? Time to change strategies. "You are the greatest of the dragons on this island. Why should I settle for a creature that thinks a diet of pure mutton makes it strong?"

The growl subsided and more the dragon revealed itself, sliding further into the light as a resounding thump heralded a forelimb dragging the body of the massive creature closer still. I could make out some spines along the neck of the creatures, though the nape was thankfully free of them.

Green eyes, pupils still frighteningly small, bored into mine with a hint of impatience.

It was unnerving how much intelligence was hidden in such a small movement. Just how smart was this beast?

"My family will wipe itself out if I do not intervene, pitting brother against sister, dragon against-" I explained, earning another bone-rattling growl as I cut myself off. Was the promise of violence not appealing to the Cannibal? Was a future of glorious battle not to his liking?

Wait a minute.

The Cannibal did not hunt the larger wild dragons despite his considerable size advantage.

Could it be?

"If I do intervene, and I cannot do so without you, then you will never have to face another dragon in battle as long as I live," I explained, and the growl dissipated. Was it me, or was there a fading green light peering through those black fangs? Reaching out with an armored hand, I stood my ground, invited him to come to me. "That is my offer to you."

Immediately, he roared, his eyes blazing once more in reaction to the perceived insult. But no green light showed itself in his throat, and he did not advance at all.

I stood my ground as the roar washed over me as my pulse pounded in my throat. Uncertainty would doom me. Weakness would doom me. Confidence, the blood of the dragon, would prevail.

Gently, hesitantly, the massive black head neared the offered hand. Giant nostrils sniffed at the limb and its iron plating. For a pulse-pounding moment, the beast before me seemed to weigh its options. Its lips drew back in a snarl as it nudged my hand slightly.

It took every ounce of nerve in my body to keep myself from flinching.

Of course, I was the blood of the dragon, and why would I flinch from myself?

Seemingly satisfied, the Cannibal bent its neck, lowering its nape to let me climb on.

That went better than expected, frankly.

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