Dance of The Dragonwolf

A Wolf from The North

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Baelon Targaryen

"What do you know of dragons, Daemon?" Baelon asked, the mighty Vhagar purring under his gentle touch. His son straightened.

"They are not beasts, no matter what the smallfolk or Lords whisper. They are of our blood, our equals." His son was a man grown now, fifteen and strapping. He reminded the Hand of Alyssa with every step he took.

"Aye. The maesters would make those believe a dragon chooses a rider or vice versa, yet that is not so." The winds were fierce on the plains of Dragonstone, where hatchlings and adult wyrms alike either ignored or eyed the Last Daughter of Valyria and her kin warily.

"Think of it as a marriage, you take one, and it's for life. One does not own the other." Daemon made a face at that but nodded. He was still too young to fully understand, but he would soon.

There were plenty for her and Daemon to choose from. The glorious gold and pink the commoners named 'Sunfyre.' His aunt Rhaena's fierce Dreamfyre is splendid as a clear summer sky. Syrax, a fierce she-dragon, and that was not to mention the wild ones on Dragonstone- the Cannibal, the Grey Ghost that flitted around like the mist of a cool autumn morn, and the unnamed ruddy brown dragon that took a liking to the shepherds' flocks. There were young dragonlings too, yet too small to bear weight, but sometimes that produced the strongest bonds. Baelon's son smirked and uncoiled his whip.

"I have long thought about this day, father. There is only one dragon worthy of me, only one that could bring honor and contest my sire's. Viserys was a fool to choose Balerion." The Hand's smile died at that. He did not want to entertain the thought of dragon brother and sister fighting, even in theory. It twisted in his stomach like a knife.

"Which?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"The Blood Wyrm. Caraxes." Daemon shrugged as though the choice was obvious and walked briskly to the lairs within the Dragonmont.

"He is not to be trifled with. You must be careful." The Hand warned. Another toothy grin flashed in his direction.

"And neither am I." Smoke rose from the dragon's keep like fog floating along the sea. Baelon could see the red outline of Caraxes in the distance, and his heart lurched. The dragon had gone rogue since he'd failed to protect his brother Aemon, and he feared for his son. Alyssa, save me, He thought.

Caraxes roared straight into Daemon's face when he reached touching distance, yet the man did not flinch. He laughed in the dragon's face; R'hllor help him and snapped his whip down hard on Caraxes' snout. Baelon the Brave's son indeed.

The dragon reared back, fire building in his throat, when Daemon roared his command again, lashing wherever he could reach. It could only tickle the dragon, Baelon knew, but now even Vhagar's attention was grasped, and she hummed at his side. It sounded like a laugh.

The Blood Wyrm cocked his head, thinking, and then brushed it against Daemon with a surprising gentleness. The Hand's son rubbed along the huge jaw.

"Are we not the same? Hm?" He asked in earnest. Caraxes grumbled in stubborn agreement. Then to Baelon's amazement, his late brother's mount lowered his wing and accepted Daemon mounting him. The two leaped into the sky with a cry, and Vhagar roared out with them. Baelon hastily climbed her back to join them, and together father and son owned the skies.