SHADOWS OF THE PAST //HOUSE OF THE DRAGON//

Chapter 9

Daemon strode into the dragon pit, his footsteps echoing against the stone walls as he entered the dim chamber where Vermithor thrashed in his chains. The bronze dragon's growls reverberated through the space, the sound deep and menacing. The air was thick with the scent of fire and smoke, and the dragon keepers stood back, tense and wary. Daemon's eyes swept over them before settling on Vermithor, whose molten-gold gaze met his.

"Laehos, Daemon," one of the dragon keepers, a man with graying hair and a scar on his cheek, spoke up in High Valyrian. "Drakari iksan glaesan. Naejot vestragon ziry, sagon kesīr mōris sȳrī."

("Prince Daemon, the dragon is not himself. To calm him is nearly impossible.")

Daemon took a step forward, his eyes never leaving the dragon. He replied, his voice steady and commanding. "Ēdrus iksā gevives hen mirre ūndegon kesir. Skoroso sagon vēzos va syt issa?"

("The dragon remembers something that cannot be soothed. What troubles you so deeply?")

Vermithor's massive head turned toward Daemon, his eyes gleaming in the darkness as he growled, the sound rumbling through his entire body. Daemon reached out and rested a hand on the dragon's snout, speaking in a low, soothing tone. "Lykirī, mōrī vala," he murmured. "Daoruni iksan kesir tolī zaldrīzī."

("Easy, old friend. There is no need for this rage.")

As Daemon stood with the great dragon, his wife Laena and their twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena, remained outside the dragon pit for their safety. Laena's arms rested protectively around the girls' shoulders as they waited, listening to the distant growls that seeped through the thick stone walls.

The scarred dragonkeeper hesitated before speaking again, his tone wary. "Ñuha prinsā, zaldrīzoti iābē drīvose gevie issi syt daor mīsagon hēnūz vēttan. Prūmȳ ondoso vūjūbas. Sȳz kepe sōvīrī naejot.""

("My prince, the dragon's fury is like nothing we have ever witnessed. It began only a few days ago. As if he senses something.")

Daemon's expression hardened as he considered the keeper's words. "Daorun ȳdra daor ñuha zaldrīzoti, se ry kostōba iksis iksā mērī gevīā lir."

("There are no other dragons near here, and no old memories should disturb him now. If there was something, I would know of it.")

_Back in the red keep:

In the stillness of his chambers, Rhaegar Targaryen lay restless, covered only by a thin blanket, his bare, muscular chest rising and falling with the rhythm of uneasy dreams. His once-proud frame was slick with sweat, each movement causing his long, silver-white hair to cling to his skin, damp and disheveled. His breathing quickened as he struggled to wake from the vivid nightmare that gripped him. He sat up abruptly, the pale light of the moon streaming through the window casting shadows across his tense, sculpted form.

His heart still pounding from the remnants of the nightmare, Rhaegar swung his legs over the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his tangled hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He could feel the cold air prickling his damp skin, reminding him that sleep would not come again tonight. With a resigned sigh, he rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached for a set of simple clothes and draped a dark cloak over his shoulders, the hood concealing his distinctive Targaryen features.

Rhaegar moved towards the secret passageway in his chamber—a hidden door behind an ancient tapestry, long forgotten by most. He slipped through the passage and emerged outside the Red Keep, stepping into the night. He walked with purpose, his hood casting his face in shadow, his eyes keenly observing the world around him.