Baelon paused at the foot of the narrow stairway spiralling beneath the castle, the stones around him sweating with cold.
This was a secret passage he read about in the Red Keep many years ago, a bit of information that had little use in his original plans.
Now?
He was only glad for his childish curiosities.
Baelon peeked from around he stairwell, looking outside, trying to make sense of what he ought to do next.
His eyes darted around, staring at the starless black ocean that stretched on without end outside.
The sight tugged at him, at the edge of his wakefulness, lulling him toward sleep.
His eyelids drooped for a heartbeat.
"No," he hissed, snapping his head up sharply. He bit the inside of his cheek and welcomed the sting. "Not now."
He stepped outside just as metal clanked in the distance.
Baelon froze. Torchlight flickered against jagged rock as two guards appeared on patrol, trudging their way down the narrow path that ran along the base of the keep.
He darted backwards into the tunnel and pressed himself flat against the wall, barely daring to breathe.
The guards' boots dragged lazily, their voices little more than a slurry of complaints carried by the wind. Exhausted. Bored. And mercifully inattentive.
The light skimmed the tunnel mouth and slid away again.
Baelon waited a beat for the footsteps to fade, and only then did he step outside once more.
With his heart in his throat at possible exposure, he kept low, hugging the stones, weaving between boulders and patches of twisted shrubs that clung stubbornly to the volcanic soil.
The air grew heavier with the sour tang of sulphur as he neared the lower slopes. In the faint moonlight he could make out trails of scorched earth leading toward the dragon pits.
Unlike the great dome in King's Landing, this was a work of nature, a scattered mess of hollow passages that passed through the island's volcanic heart.
Nevertheless, Baelon paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he realised something. Patting his head, he looked at the darkness around him and then the moon above as he grimaced.
"Who needs a torch when you have hair like this…" Reaching down, Baelon picked up some loose soil and ash.
With great reluctance, he rubbed onto his palms as he then dirtied his hair. He could only hope the bright silver atop his head would no longer betray his position.
Continuing on, he soon reached the first main entrance and stopped dead.
A dragonkeeper stood vigil just outside, torch burning low beside him. Baelon swallowed hard and ducked behind a stone slab nearby, cursing under his breath.
He wasn't getting through here anytime soon.
He circled around the rocks, crawling where the ground forced him low, letting the night swallow him wherever shadows allowed.
The second pit had a keeper, too. The third is no different. Every proper entrance he tried to scout was guarded.
Frustration began to gnaw at him as he closed his eyes, trying to stomp out the emotions rising within him.
So close. He was so, so close. Close enough to even smell the ash sulphur from within the pits.
He dragged in a breath and opened his eyes.
And then he saw it.
Half-hidden beneath a jutting lip of stone, no taller than his shoulder at full crouch, was a narrow opening.
It was a pathetic thing. A crack. A slit. A thing no man grown would ever bother trying to enter.
However, Baelon only smiled seeing this.
After all, at the end of the day, regardless of his special abilities, his plans and his scheming, he remained a half-grown boy.
Inch by inch, keeping his belly close to the gravel, Baelon crawled towards the gap.
No footsteps neared. No voices drifted close. The pit's main entrance glowed faintly behind him, the keeper's torch flickering like a distant star.
When he reached the hidden opening, he pressed himself behind a jagged stone and listened one last time. Nothing.
Certain he remained unseen, Baelon slid forward and eased his shoulders into the tight passage.
The stone scraped against his back and ribs as he wormed his way inside, holding his breath to keep from brushing too loudly against the rough volcanic rock.
And, soon, the narrow tunnel swallowed him whole.
***
How long had he been crawling through this godforsaken tunnel? He did not know. It could have been an hour, maybe two. Perhaps longer. Still, Baelon could not stop.
For Helaena. For their shared plans. For their shared future. He could not stop.
"Seven hells, calling this a tunnel is quite the compliment," he muttered, pressing his back against the rough stone. "It's more like some crawl space for a stray dog…"
And indeed, at times, it felt exactly like that. The tunnel had narrowed unexpectedly, pressing in from all sides, the ceiling scraping his shoulders.
He had considered turning back, especially should the tunnel narrow any further, lest he become trapped.
Thankfully for him, the passage widened once past a certain threshold, offering him a few precious moments of space to straighten, to crawl deeper.
At last, the tunnel began to open.
Baelon crawled out into a larger cavern, the shadows stretching out in multiple winding passageways.
Dust and soot rose in motes around him as he fell to the ground from the crack in which he came.
"This is quite a bit more complicated than I expected," he murmured, pressing himself against the wall behind him.
The passage he had come from was already behind him, and if he forgot his way, he might genuinely become trapped down here, lost forever among the winding veins of Dragonstone.
His gaze fell on a small stone lying near the cavern floor. It was a jagged, pale fragment, almost square in shape.
He picked it up, testing its weight in his palm. Then he scratched against the dark stone, leaving a thin white line, stark against the shadowed walls.
"Good enough," he nodded, satisfaction brief but necessary, and moved toward a tunnel directly opposite the one he had come from.
Any reason for choosing it? Not in the slightest.
"I haven't the faintest clue which tunnel to follow; may as well pick one at random," he mused, stepping forward.
The tunnel was faintly illuminated by a pale reflection of moonlight that filtered through a crack somewhere far above, high in the volcanic rock.
He held the stone loosely, occasionally making small arrow marks along the wall to remind himself of the way he had come.
Thus began his lonely trek, tunnel after tunnel, turn after turn. If not for his markings, he feared he could have been walking in endless circles, swallowed by the labyrinthine pits.
Eventually, the tunnels came to an end. A wave of heat rolled against him, heavier than anything in the cold corridors, and he wiped sweat from his brow.
The stone underfoot radiated warmth, and the air smelled faintly of sulphur and ash.
Baelon edged forward, creeping toward the end of the tunnel where the searing heat grew stronger, almost material, stroking his skin.
Ba-dum! Ba-dum! Ba-dum!
His heart hammered fiercely as he already knew what awaited him. At this point, only the Gods themselves could grant him any mercy now.
He peeked into the cavern beyond. It was vast, far larger than he had expected. Jagged rocks and outcroppings jutted from the edges, rising like petrified flames.
At the centre, two massive shapes lay in slumber. One was a deep bronze, scales like polished copper catching faint light even in the gloom.
The other was a gleaming silver, brighter than his own hair, glinting with a cold, moonlit brilliance.
They slept curled within themselves, wings folded like sails, tails coiled behind. Baelon's gaze locked on the bronze dragon, his eyes shining.
"Vermithor…" He whispered.
The dragon of his great-grandsire, the famous conciliator King Jaehaerys. And just like his first rider, this behemoth had a nickname: The Bronze Fury.
A low, rumbling grunt echoed through the cavern as both dragons soon stirred. Smoke curled from their nostrils as they exhaled, before sniffing the air.
Vermithor lifted his massive head, amber eyes glinting with deadly precision as it locked onto him.
On the other hand, Silverwing merely glanced at Baelon once, her eyes flicking, before settling back down, curling her wings closer and exhaling a gentle puff of steam.
Vermithor, however, was far less accommodating. The great dragon rose to his full height, the ceiling of the cavern barely containing him.
From snout to tail, he must have been well over a hundred feet long, chest broad enough to swallow a cart, and wings so wide that when spread, they would blot out the sun.
Ba-dum! Ba-dum! Ba-dum! Ba-dum!
Baelon's heart raced as he stared into those burning amber eyes. He felt the weight of the dragon's gaze, as it assessed him.
He had come this far. All that remained was to face the Bronze Fury.
Baelon gritted his teeth, forcing himself to speak in the High Valyrian:
"Lykirī, jin azantys!" Calm, now!
Despite his words, the Bronze Fury did not heed him, still staring at him with its burning eyes.
Seeing little effect in his words, Baelon was half-tempted to give up and make a sprint for it. But, he thought of Helaena back home, and his jaw clenched tighter.
"Rybās!" Obey!
He tried again, voice sharper. It was both a command and a plea at once. Inch by inch, he moved forward.
Then Vermithor opened his massive jaws. A guttural, bone-rattling roar tore through the cavern.
Baelon's eyes shrank in terror; he knew all too well what this preluded.
Reacting instantly, he flung himself behind a protruding rock. The heat hit him almost before the flames, a searing wave that seemed to melt the very air.
The roar of dragonfire exploded, the smell of ash and charred stone choking him as he pressed against the wall. Sparks hissed and spat where fire struck the rock.
He could not continue hiding there.
Baelon knew well that the rock he hid behind could not hold out for much longer.
Teeth gritted, he waited for a gap, then bolted from cover, stones thrown up to shield him as he crawled, ducked, twisted.
Behind him, the rock that had sheltered him had melted into a bubbling pool of molten stone as he swallowed.
Any second later, and he would have been turned to ash.
The Bronze Fury followed relentlessly, each swing of its head and blast of flame narrowing his space, forcing him to dodge and duck.
Smoke stung his eyes, and sweat poured down his temples. Yet, he could not stop his actions. He was too far gone to even entertain the thought of giving up.
Unfortunately for him, there were only so many places to hide.
Flames soon licked along the stone, encircling him, and before he realised it, Vermithor had turned this section of the cavern into a blazing sea, trapping him.
'This is a beast?' he thought. 'This thing has more cunning than most men. Especially Aegon.' He paused at the mention of his brother, then muttered grimly. "Especially Aegon."
Still, his light-hearted joke did little to steady his nerves, as another plume of flames swept towards him who stood in the open, with nowhere to hide.
He sighed, closing his eyes. "Seven hells… is this how I go?" Thoughts of Helaena filled him; she might be far worse off than him.
After all, he merely has to turn ash.
She would have to wake up, grapple with that dream, come to terms with his death, and then survive amid the hungry gazes from eyes filled with ambition that surrounded her.
As Baelon braced himself, with the flames illuminating his vision even with his eyes closed, his lungs settling into the familiar rhythm.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Hold.
Repeat.
And then, just as with the candle flame before, he noticed it: a bright light forming in his mind, tethering to the fire aimed at him.
Shock coursed through him. He cracked his eyes open, staring directly at the streams of flame moments from his face.
Then—
He willed them away. The torrents split, branching into two paths that slammed harmlessly into cavern walls.
A strange silence fell over the cave, with two pairs of eyes, one violet and the other amber, staring at each other in confusion.
Capitalising on the moment, Baelon spoke again, "Lykirī, ñuhor!" Be calm, my friend!
Slowly, the Bronze Fury began to settle, heeding his words.
Its maws closed with its flames dying, as a strange bond flickers into being, similar to what he had forged with the flames moments prior, but this was different.
Ancient. Deep. Instinctual.
He inched closer, trembling, and finally touched Vermithor's snout. The same one that was moments away from taking his life.
Warmth radiated through Baelon's palm, a giddy joy rising within him.
He had done it.
"I claimed a dragon," he whispered.
Not just any dragon. One of the largest, beaten only by Vhagar, who had been claimed by his aunt Laena before he had even been born.
And this meant he had a real plan, a fallback for him and Helaena: fight or flee, live or die.
Fire and blood now served as their shield.
Vermithor lowered his head, eyes fixed on him, questioning. Baelon climbed onto the dragon's massive back, gripping the tough spikes along its spine.
"Sōvēs!" Fly!
Baelon shouted a command.
The dragon shifted beneath him, moving toward a massive opening ahead. Dragonkeepers, alerted by the earlier fire, shouted in panic, waving torches and orders.
Nevertheless, they were rendered helpless by this new turn of events.
Vermithor's wings unfurled as it let out a tremendous roar.
Then, with a deafening beat of wings, the Bronze Fury rose into the night sky.
For the first time, Baelon felt unbound, freer than he had ever been. Dragonstone shrank below, cliffs and peaks dwarfed by the sky, wind tearing past his ears.
Then a second cry caught his attention. Beside him, Silverwing glimmered in the moonlight, her silver scales flashing, wings beating gracefully to keep pace.
"Does Silverwing follow Vermithor?" Baelon raised a brow. "Does that mean I get two dragons, rather than one?"
He laughed, loud and unrestrained, until the wind slammed into his throat, forcing him to choke and clutch Vermithor tighter.
In a moment's panic, he had almost loosened his grip on Vermithor.
"Krr-damn it! The first thing I'll do when we get back to King's Landing is fit you with a proper saddle!"
Vermithor grunted beneath him, the sound echoing like a drumbeat, and whether he understood Baelon's words, only the Bronze Fury could say.
Beneath the pale moonlight, two dragons and a young boy prowled the sky. Night stretched endlessly before them, full of freedom. Full of hope.