Chapter 137: The Dragonlord's New and Old Grudges
The Silver Dragon spread its wings and swept across the sky.
Rhaegar bade the Deer Maiden farewell and set out from Storm's End for the Stepstones.
Three dragons moved together—spectacular, yet impossible to miss.
Neither Roberta nor Rhaegar shed tears; farewells needed no words. The young, vivid life believed everything could still be won.
Rhaegar saw the Stormlands' rainy forests, emerald hills, and moss-covered cottages—scenes unlike King's Landing. More important, there was a rose to dance with him: the peerless Deer Maiden.
The place Rhaegar and Roberta cherished most was the Isle of Tarth: a realm of ridges, lakes, and waterfalls, of alpine pastures and shadowed vales. Its waters were sapphire blue, like flawless gems—or the eyes of a lovely girl.
Wine, lust, wealth, and temper—four walls in which every soul hides. A rose delights, yet great deeds spring from hardship, and unknown perils still lurk between two continents; Rhaegar could not lay down his arms.
The dragons chirped joyfully in the wind; Rhaegar's sojourn in the Stormlands had yielded much.
First was Ser Steffon's goodwill: the Stormlands fleet that winters in the lee of Tarth's western shore can reinforce the Stepstones if new conflict flares. In truth, Steffon's lady hails from nearby Estermont, but that isle is small and mountainous—poor for quartering troops.
Second, and more vital, were the fresh, vibrant new runes hewn from storied Storm's End. Never had Rhaegar heard runes roar so loudly as from those mighty walls.
Rhaegar sensed that in ancient legend great magics must have surged, for war was merciless. Only such peril could inspire a fortress so grand, its very stones laced with rune-magic to foil attackers—a craft long since lost.
Pale-grey fire surged in Rhaegar's palm: the new rune "Net"!
Runes are roused by a man's living fire, by flame and blood. The fiercer the fire, the stronger the gift.
The ashen, stone-veined flames wove into a lattice; several identical X-shaped runes linked, merging into a small, round, sealed city wall that seemed to bar every breach.
[Explorer: You have found the surging "Net" rune within Storm's End; its magic is knit into the walls and forbids sorcery passage.]
[Rune-Binder: You have discovered the fifth rune: Net.]
The rune's hue was pale-grey stone; it barred magical intrusion. Where flame arose, sorcery was shut out.
The grey fire blazed, burst into sparks, and melted into Rhaegar and his three dragons.
The "Net" rune exulted; its warm fire soaked into Rhaegar's body. He felt a thread snap in the dark: a sudden, perfect freedom.
Rhaegar gazed toward the unknowable North—perhaps a realm of frozen sky. Sorry, he thought; I truly hate being watched.
By blood, the Three-Eyed Crow was one of Rhaegar's distant kinsmen; Brynden Rivers, known as Bloodraven, once spared no crime to steady the Iron Throne. Yet weirwood lives are long, and across those centuries Rhaegar could not guess how much humanity the old man still retained. Perhaps he had cast off his human self, becoming something else entirely. Targaryen kingship was, after all, only an eye-blink in history.
Greenseers crossed time's river to watch all things, yet all things felt that gaze—who would enjoy such spying?
Rhaegar now understood the First Men's fear: they believed greenseers spied through weirwood eyes, so in their wars with the Children of the Forest they felled entire groves. Yet Rhaegar deemed the greenseers' sight even more terrifying—beyond weirwoods, they could peer through beasts, birds, and even humans.
Yet for all their dread, if greenseers were truly invincible, they would not have been driven into hiding.
Cut off from the greenseers' gaze and shielded by the Net Rune, no sorcery could now disturb Rhaegar; he no longer feared unseen watchers.
"Rise!"
A fiercer flame burst from Rhaegar's palm, shifting through colors and shapes: a resolute shield, a shattering war hammer, a sky-piercing sword, a lush great tree, and a round net in Storm's End's likeness.
Carve and polish, carve again—the more runes he gained, the more wondrous their marvels became.
The Shield Rune meant protection, turning aside physical harm. The Net Rune also defended, blocking sorcery. The Hammer Rune symbolized overwhelming force. The Sword Rune granted precision and affinity with weapons. The Tree Rune represented vitality and life.
Five runes merged into one, forming a crown: a strange circlet whose five faces were pale-grey net, obsidian hammer, bright sword, green tree, and bronze shield.
[Rune Crown: The runes thirst for your flame; they leap for joy at its touch.]
Rhaegar's heart soared; the Rune Crown dissolved into fire, then flowed back into his body.
He felt strength, vigor, agility, and defense all rise.
Rhaegar summoned fire once more, embedding runes within it. His flames no longer feared sorcery; they burned with terrifying power and precision. If he wished, he could even imbue them with curses.
I am the king of fire, the fire mage, Rhaegar thought. A brute cannot become a true Dragonlord—only one who masters magic is worthy.
The three-headed dragon roared in response, its cry echoing across the sky.
Rhaegar guided his dragon toward Bloodstone in the Stepstones.
Bloodstone had been fully restored; banners stood thick as a forest, soldiers in perfect order.
After greeting commanders, Rhaegar ascended to his study.
Inside, two marked locations caught his eye:
The Iron Islands.
Tyrosh.
According to reports, both were unstable.
Tyrosh, caught between Lys and Myr, was being bribed heavily.
Meanwhile, in the Iron Islands, the sons of the Old Kraken sought to revive the Old Way.
There are no eternal friends, only eternal interests, Rhaegar mused.
The Targaryens had many enemies.
In Essos, the legacy of the Valyrian Dragonlords had left deep scars. When Old Valyria fell, cities like Lys and Tyrosh slaughtered the remaining dragonlords.
In Westeros, House Martell and the Ironborn resented Targaryen rule.
And there was the shameful Blackfyre Rebellion.
Rhaegar focused on Tyrosh.
It was time to act.
At that moment, Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Brynden Tully, Ser Thalassar, and Bronze Yohn Royce entered.
Rhaegar presented Brynden with his medal.
"Your Grace, the Stepstones are nearly secured," Brynden said.
Barristan frowned. "Lys and Myr are bribing Tyrosh."
Thalassar added, "Our forces are reduced. Many armies have returned home."
Rhaegar nodded.
"What of the boy?"
Thalassar replied, "A talented sailor. Former smuggler. His captain was executed by the Night's Watch."
Davos Seaworth.
Rhaegar understood.
"I will go to Tyrosh," he declared.
Silence fell.
Then he issued orders:
Ser Barristan Selmy — Acting Lord of the Stepstones
Ser Brynden Tully — Deputy
Ser Thalassar — Fleet Commander
Bronze Yohn Royce — Ground forces
"The Iron Islands will be watched. The Stepstones remain our priority."
Tyrosh lay ahead.
And the game had only just begun.
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