Dragon's Lair, Stepstones
Laenor was petting Embaryx as his bonded devoured the shark he had hunted from the sea. He wore his dragon-riding clothes, ready for flight, for soon Embaryx and Caraxes would take to the skies toward the Bloodstone. The sun would rise soon, and the flight from here to Bloodstone would take half an hour, placing them at their destination by early morning—just in time to kill as many men as possible.
The conclusion of the War Council was to follow the plan laid out by Laenor's father. Though Prince Daemon had grumbled about the time spent on these barren rocks, he had ultimately been persuaded by promises of gold from tolls, land to call his own, and, of course, the glory of conquest.
Speaking of his father, their fleet had already set sail, leaving behind only about two hundred men holed up in the caves of Dragon's Lair. It wasn't many, and the caves had too many entrances to properly fortify. Their presence, with just enough supplies, was to test how much damage they could inflict—and to see how the Triarchy would retaliate to such tactics.
Laenor was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of wings flapping. With a shriek and a roar, Caraxes entered his vision, the Blood Wyrm landing beside them. The terrain where Laenor and Embaryx stood was flat, allowing Caraxes to land easily. Daemon sat astride the dragon, clad in his usual black armor—though Laenor could spot the riding leathers underneath.
Daemon dismounted and strode toward him. Laenor glanced at the two dragons—and smiled at what he saw. Caraxes was trying to snatch a piece of the shark Embaryx was devouring, but the younger dragon was eyeing the Blood Wyrm dangerously, as if warning the older beast not to try him.
"Your dragon, Embaryx, is something else," Daemon said, stopping beside him. "Every time I see him—and at the pace he grows—it astounds me. There's debate whether this is the natural rate of growth for dragons, or if yours are simply… special. Perhaps, when they start laying eggs, I'll have my answer. I have to say, Lord Laenor, your mount is magnificent…"
They both watched as Embaryx snatched back the piece Caraxes had managed to steal and roared with ferocity, wings raised, posture threatening—as if ready to fight for what was his.
"… and equally ferocious. I like this one." Daemon laughed as Caraxes roared back, angered by the smaller dragon's insolence. "Truly. Caraxes has found his match in ferocity. About time. The Dragonpit is filled with dragons that only eat when food is brought to them. They've forgotten how to hunt. They sleep too much, I say. Dragons should not be fed and chained. They should be free—free to hunt, to fly, and to take what they want. It is their birthright as apex predators. What do you think, Laenor?"
Daemon cracked his whip with a loud snap. Caraxes turned his gaze toward them and backed away from Embaryx, though not before growling and sulking—clawing at the ground in frustration.
"I second you on that, Prince Daemon. Dragons are not meant to be chained in stables—because that's what the Dragonpit is: a stable made of stone, meant to house dragons. They must retain their instincts to kill and hunt. That is what makes them apex predators—what makes them the fear and terror carried by House Targaryen. And I've never heard of Dragonpits or chaining in Valyria. At its peak, our motherland was said to host more than three hundred dragons among the Fourteen Flames."
Laenor wasn't lying. He truly believed dragons should never be chained. He had never chained Embaryx or Veltharys—not once. They knew what it was to hunt, and what it was not. But, according to his mother, they were special. They showed exceptional intelligence not seen in most dragons.
Daemon smiled in approval, satisfaction in his eyes, and patted Laenor on the back. "Seems there's more to you than sea and salt. Now let us depart. And why aren't you wearing armor? I don't want you ending up like your maternal grandfather. Go—run along, put on your armor, and get back here quickly. We don't have much time."
Daemon shooed him off as Laenor turned and walked away. Behind him, Caraxes continued sulking, clawing up great chunks of earth beneath his claws.
~ * ~
Laenor soared through the sky on the back of Embaryx as his mount executed sharp turns and loops—maneuvers his mother had once taught him and Laena. The scent of salt and fresh air filled his lungs, and he let out a shout of joy. Laenor loved flying. Every time he took to the skies with Embaryx, the world and all its worries shrank beneath him—small and insignificant.
Embaryx suddenly dove, and Laenor gripped the saddle tightly, bracing against the wind that clawed at his face and forced his eyes shut. The young dragon leveled off beside Caraxes, who seemed to enjoy skimming low across the sea's surface, snapping up fish with quick plunges of his head.
Embaryx snorted and growled—a sound that might have been mocking. Caraxes finally glanced at them and responded with a dismissive grunt. Embaryx arched his back and, with a powerful beat of his wings, shot upward like a black star streaking across the rising red-orange sun.
The shrill roar that followed made Laenor glance back—Caraxes was on their tail. The race was on.
Laenor leaned forward, urging Embaryx faster. The two dragons streaked across the sky, neck and neck. In the end, Laenor and Embaryx reached Bloodstone first—just barely. Caraxes was so close he could have bitten their tail.
But a win was a win.
Embaryx folded his wings suddenly, and Laenor braced himself, tightening his belt and gripping the saddle. His vision tilted as they flipped upside down briefly before the dragon corrected their course. Laenor had to stop himself from shouting with pure exhilaration. They had practiced that maneuver for weeks.
Out of the corner of his eye, Laenor saw Prince Daemon, having finished his scouting, signal him to approach from the west. With a sharp nod, Laenor sent his intention to Embaryx through their bond.
They were flying high, and the wind was fierce. From this altitude, Laenor couldn't see much. Contrary to popular belief, Bloodstone had settlements—mostly fisherfolk and scattered streets where merchants sold stolen goods. Laenor had to watch closely to avoid burning the locals. Fortunately, they stood out—unarmored and near their boats—unlike the Triarchy soldiers.
When Laenor spotted armored men emerging in groups from a cave entrance, he waited until the flow stopped. Embaryx circled high above, and after several minutes without movement, Laenor gave the command.
Embaryx tucked in his wings and dove like a spear from the heavens. In less than a minute, they were within range. Laenor shouted, "Dracarys!"
The enemy saw them just before the inferno descended, but it was far too late. Fire sealed the cave entrance first, preventing escape. Then came the cat-and-mouse game—men running in all directions, some in blind panic, others hoping to distract the dragon.
Laenor directed Embaryx in every direction, methodically chasing and burning them. Black and grey fire consumed some whole, while others burned slowly, writhing in agony. He showed no mercy.
Once the outer field was cleared, Laenor turned to the archers hiding behind rocks. Many fled back into their caves, but not before loosing a few arrows when Laenor's back was turned. One arrow grazed Embaryx, enraging the young dragon, who fully understood the threat to his rider.
By the time they finished, Laenor's body ached all over. The sun hung high above, and the cave—heated by combined flames from Caraxes and Embaryx—echoed with distant screams until only silence remained. Likely, the last of them had fled deeper underground.
Prince Daemon signaled him to land near the Velaryon encampment, where tents were being raised and ships docked along the shore. As Embaryx descended, Laenor didn't miss the fatigue on Daemon's face, or the way he was breathing hard. Even the Rogue Prince had his limits.
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