The pear trees blossomed for the second time near the end of 71 AC.
A breeze swept across the grounds outside Harrenhal, scattering white pear blossoms through the air like drifting snow. A dozen wooden training posts and straw dummies stood planted across the lush green field.
Princess Rhaena lounged comfortably in a reclining chair, gently rocking back and forth. On the small tea table beside her sat a cup of honey water and a plate of small pastries, both prepared by Rhaegar himself.
These days she greatly enjoyed spending her afternoons like this: sitting lazily to the side while supervising Rhaegar's dragon training and martial practice.
"You tall stick! You're doing it wrong!"
Rhaena snatched up a small baked cake and hurled it at him.
Rhaegar was no longer the "little stick" she used to call him. Compared to boys his age in Westeros, he had entered puberty later. Now fifteen, he already stood taller than Rhaena, yet he remained thin as a rod, all the food he ate seemingly turning only into height.
When the pastry flew toward him, Rhaegar merely tilted his head and caught it easily in his mouth.
With his right arm he held Tessarion tightly against his waist. With his left he adjusted the red headband tied around his brow to catch the sweat, then gripped the young dragon's slender neck and aimed its head at a straw dummy.
"Dracarys!"
"Gaaah!"
Blue fire burst forth.
Rhaegar repeatedly squeezed and released the dragon's neck. The steady stream of flame broke into bursts, clusters of blue fireballs shooting forward in rapid succession.
"Tat-tat-tat-tat! Die, you little bastard!"
One straw dummy erupted into flames. Laughing and shouting, Rhaegar ran across the field with the dragon in his arms, burning one dummy after another. A small boy of five or six followed behind him, yelling just as loudly.
The boy was the child of the old soldier and maidservant who had died years earlier. Wearing Rhaegar's childhood clothes, he had been taken in as Rhaegar's personal attendant.
Only noble bastards were given special surnames. Common folk had none. So Rhaegar had simply named the boy Zorro.
Tessarion's fire ran out quickly. The little dragon opened its jaws and began panting.
Rhaegar tossed it aside. The dragon flapped its wings twice before landing steadily on the grass.
In its hatchling stage Tessarion had grown rapidly. From head to tail it measured nearly three meters long, though its body remained slender. Like Rhaegar himself, it seemed to grow in length more than in bulk, barely over a hundred jin in weight. Still, it could already fly.
Rhaegar might look frail, but he was surprisingly strong. For now he could still carry the dragon for short periods.
By next year, he suspected, that would no longer be possible.
Walking toward Rhaena, he gave another command:
"Demās! (Sit.)"
Tessarion folded its blue wings and settled onto the grass, its tail swaying back and forth.
Rhaegar continued:
"Ipradagon parklon! (Eat cooked meat.)"
The dragon lifted its head and began drooling. Rhaegar pulled a piece of cooked meat from his belt pouch and tossed it into its mouth.
"Sȳ rī, renīs. Good job. Head pats."
He vigorously rubbed the brass-colored scales on the dragon's head.
Rhaena suddenly sat upright, unable to tolerate what she was seeing any longer.
"You must not squeeze a dragon's throat while it's breathing fire! And Tessarion's teeth have already grown in, you must start feeding it live prey!"
Rhaegar pulled out another piece of cooked meat from his pouch and tossed it into his own mouth.
"But I still have to eat too!"
"And you must stop bringing it into your bedchamber at night," Rhaena said as she stood, smoothing down her magnificent red gown. "Young dragons must sleep in a room heated with charcoal."
Rhaegar gave an awkward grin.
"Heh… my bedchamber has charcoal too."
In truth, the room grew unbearably hot every night. He often ended up sleeping beside the window just to survive the heat.
Rhaena planted both hands on her hips.
"Do you think you understand dragonriding better than I do? When I first rode a dragon, your mother hadn't even been born!"
"Right, right."
Faced with Rhaena's seniority, Rhaegar had no way to argue.
What Rhaena knew was that Rhaegar possessed a rare strain of Targaryen blood that allowed him to ride other people's dragons.
What she did not know was that Tessarion's egg had hatched only because of the strange imprinting that occurred when it came into contact with Rhaegar's rage. There was no mental bond between boy and dragon.
In truth, Tessarion was essentially a wild dragon that happened to favor Rhaegar.
Dragons gradually took on traits similar to their riders. Normally they did not attack humans or livestock without reason, and they could understand simple High Valyrian commands. If not for their appearance and inability to speak, many full-grown dragons felt almost like people in temperament.
But Tessarion could not sense Rhaegar's thoughts.
Whenever Rhaegar failed to keep watch, the creature's wild instincts surfaced. It would run about roaring at people and horses, even trying to breathe fire at them.
Rhaegar still dared not feed it live prey. Instead he trained it like a dog using cooked meat.
He even slept beside it every night for fear it might hurt someone.
From Rhaena's descriptions of wild dragons, and his own experience raising dogs, Rhaegar suspected something else.
Since Tessarion had never eaten live prey, it likely had no instinct to devour humans or horses.
More likely, it simply believed strangers were trespassing in its territory and tried to drive them away.
A deep, rumbling roar echoed across the castle.
From atop a tower, Dreamfyre lifted her head and gave a low call.
All of Harrenhal, the surrounding forests, and the Gods Eye belonged to Dreamfyre's territory. Tessarion's domain extended only to the castle interiors it could reach.
Dreamfyre had no interest in challenging it. Tessarion wasn't even as large as one of her claws.
To Dreamfyre, the little dragon was nothing more than an annoying fly.
Sensing Dreamfyre through their bond, Rhaena turned toward the pear orchard.
Their master-at-arms Royce Blackwood was approaching, accompanied by several soldiers carrying parcels.
"Your Grace, Queen Dowager," Royce said respectfully. "Rhaegar. Good afternoon. These goods have arrived from King's Landing. Most have already been stored in the warehouse. But the escorting knights insisted these particular packages be delivered directly to you."
The parcels varied in size. Rhaena eagerly began opening them.
Royce was in his early twenties, tall, broad-shouldered, with long black hair and a handsome face. His manners were unfailingly polite.
He had not yet been formally knighted.
In truth, the reason he had become Harrenhal's master-at-arms was simple:
He was the only man who answered the recruitment notice.
Knights of the Faith of the Seven were blessed by the Father, the Warrior, the Mother, and the Maiden. Marriage required seven vows, seven blessings, and seven promises under the eyes of the gods.
Incest and bastardy were considered betrayals of the Seven.
Because of Prince Baelon's betrothal and Rhaegar's dragon, many followers of the Faith were outraged. Some septons had even publicly condemned Rhaegar by name.
When Harrenhal posted a notice seeking a master-at-arms, not a single knight dared risk the Faith's wrath, even for the Queen Dowager.
And certainly not to teach swordsmanship to one of the infamous "Vomiting Comets."
Royce Blackwood arrived during that time.
When he first met Rhaena and Rhaegar, he simply pointed to the sigil on his chest.
A flock of black ravens circling a dead white weirwood tree.
The Blackwoods of the Riverlands did not worship the Seven.
They followed the Old Gods.
To avoid drawing too much attention from the Faith, House Blackwood had only sent Royce, the second son.
People always remembered the firstborn and ignored the rest.
Even so, the gesture carried weight: House Blackwood had become the first Riverlands house to openly support the crown's decision.
Rhaena suddenly found something else in the parcels.
"There's even a small harp!"
"I bought that myself, Your Grace," Royce said.
He took the harp from her hands and gently plucked the strings. Soft, beautiful music flowed into the air.
Royce was not exceptional as a warrior. He was simply competent with bow, sword, and horse.
But he was an excellent singer who composed his own ballads.
Rhaena paid him an additional salary to teach Rhaegar music.
After Prince Baelon learned the lyrics to the little song "The Great King Sent Me to Patrol the Mountain," he sang it nearly every day. Queen Alysanne had even written to Rhaena asking her to make sure Rhaegar's musical education improved.
While the three of them were distracted by conversation, Tessarion grew restless.
Three cooks from Harrenhal were returning from the shore of the Gods Eye, driving a flock of geese through the castle gate.
Tessarion suddenly sprinted toward them.
The dragon roared at the flock, trying to breathe fire, but Rhaegar had already exhausted its flames earlier. Only a few weak sparks popped from its throat.
Without dragonfire to bolster its courage, and having never hunted living prey before, Tessarion quickly lost its nerve.
It turned tail and ran.
A flock of geese began chasing the dragon, creatures several times smaller than it.
Tessarion fled on its hind legs, flapping its blue wings wildly just to keep balance. Its neck stretched forward as it squawked in panic.
Behind it, the geese chased after it, honking furiously.
Rhaena watched the scene and exploded in rage.
"Look what you've turned Tessarion into! Does that thing look like a dragon to you?!"
But Rhaegar knew the truth.
If he followed Rhaena's methods and let Tessarion hunt live prey, its wild instincts would awaken.
One day when Rhaegar wasn't nearby, neither Rhaena nor the Dragonkeepers would be able to control it.
He had no idea how many people it might kill.
Why is raising a dragon this miserable…
In less than half a year he would turn sixteen.
Yet the only places he had ever been were Harrenhal, the Red Keep, Dragonstone, and the Silent Sisters' septry in Oldtown.
He could barely count them on one hand.
And every journey had been with Rhaena beside him.
Boys his age were already wandering the world, seeking glory and adventure.
But he remained protected inside Harrenhal.
He could not ride Dreamfyre.
He didn't even own a horse.
Tessarion's wild nature had been suppressed.
And Rhaena's protection of him was almost suffocating.
Rhaegar sat down on the grass, watching Tessarion flee from the honking geese.
Boy and dragon alike.
Both felt like beasts trapped in a cage.
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