The cold wind whipped across the deck as Hadrian stood at the bow of the ship, his cloak billowing behind him like the wings of a great beast. They had left White Harbor behind days ago, and now the waters of the Narrow Sea stretched endlessly before them. The journey to King's Landing was long, but the weather was in their favor, and the sea was calm—a rare blessing, considering how treacherous the waters could be at this time of year.
The crew bustled about the deck, tending to the sails and making preparations for their arrival. Hadrian's guards stood vigilant, their eyes scanning the horizon, while Kreacher, ever by his side, gazed out at the sea with a contemplative look on his face. Regulus was below deck, pouring over maps and notes, preparing for the political storm that awaited them in King's Landing.
Suddenly, a shout rang out from one of the sailors high up in the crow's nest.
"Dragon! In the sky!" The voice trembled with both awe and fear, as if the man could scarcely believe what he was seeing.
Hadrian turned his gaze upward, following the sailor's pointing finger. His heart skipped a beat as he caught sight of the beast. It was magnificent, unlike anything he had seen before. The dragon soared through the air, its wings cutting through the clouds with terrifying grace. Its scales glinted a deep crimson, almost like blood in the sunlight, and its tail lashed behind it as it flew.
"The Bloody Wyrm," one of the soldiers whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the wind. "It's Daemon Targaryen's dragon, Caraxes."
The men on the ship fell silent, all eyes fixed on the sky as the dragon passed overhead. Even the most seasoned sailors, men who had weathered countless storms and faced the dangers of the sea, looked mesmerized by the sight. The sheer power and majesty of the creature was undeniable, but there was an underlying sense of fear. Dragons were the stuff of legend, creatures of fire and destruction, and seeing one in flight was a reminder of the raw power that the Targaryens held.
Hadrian, too, was captivated. He had read about dragons in countless books, but none of those words could truly capture the feeling of seeing one with his own eyes. The way it moved, the way the air seemed to tremble around it—it was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. And yet, he couldn't help but feel a strange pull, a curiosity that stirred deep within him.
Kreacher, who had been silent for most of the journey, stepped closer to Hadrian, his eyes never leaving the dragon. "Are these dragons like those in our old world, Master Hadrian?" he asked quietly.
Hadrian glanced at him, then back at the dragon, which was now little more than a speck on the horizon. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice thoughtful. "The dragons of Westeros, the ones the Targaryens ride, are the only ones known to exist at least in the last thousand years. But even the books I copied from the libraries don't say much about them, only that they were once common in the ancient realm of Old Valyria. Now, the Targaryens are the only dragonriders left."
Kreacher frowned. "And what of Daemon Targaryen? Does he know more about them?"
Hadrian shook his head. "From what I've seen, even he doesn't fully understand them. He's bonded to his dragon, that much is clear, but the deeper mysteries of their kind... that knowledge has been lost with Valyria's fall. The bond between a dragon and its rider is powerful, but the rest is managed by the dragonkeepers. They are the ones who tend to the creatures, ensure they are fed, and oversee their care."
Kreacher seemed to consider this for a moment, his brow furrowed. "Are we going to acquire one, Master? It seems... useful."
Hadrian smiled, a mix of amusement and intrigue crossing his face. "I don't know if that's possible, Kreacher. Dragons are rare and fiercely loyal to their riders. Taking one from the Targaryens would make us enemies of the crown. That's not a battle we want, not yet."
Kreacher nodded but pressed on. "What about the ice dragons? The ones in the North?"
Hadrian's expression grew more serious. "Ice dragons... yes, I've read about them, but no one knows if they truly exist. The tales speak of dragons made of ice, cold as the bitterest winter, whose breath can freeze armies in an instant. But they are just stories, legends whispered around fires on cold nights. If they do exist, they would be creatures of the far North, beyond the Wall. That's dangerous territory, Kreacher. More dangerous than even the Targaryens."
The elf-turned-human remained quiet for a moment, then nodded again. "Perhaps it is wise not to chase after such things, then. But it's worth considering, Master Hadrian. We live in strange times, and power can be found in the most unexpected places."
Hadrian turned his gaze back to the horizon, where Caraxes had long since disappeared. Kreacher's words lingered in his mind. The idea of riding a dragon—especially an ice dragon—was tempting. But he knew the risks. The North was a harsh and unforgiving land, and even he, with all his power, couldn't afford to underestimate it.
"Perhaps," he said finally, his voice soft. "But for now, we focus on the task at hand. King's Landing awaits, and there are other dragons we must deal with."
The journey continued, the ship slicing through the waters with steady determination. Hadrian's mind, however, remained occupied with thoughts of dragons—fire and ice, legend and reality. As they sailed south, the cold winds of the North began to fade, replaced by the warmer, saltier air of the southern seas.
A few days passed without incident, the crew working diligently to keep the ship on course. Hadrian spent much of his time in quiet contemplation, reading through his notes or speaking with Regulus about the political landscape of Westeros. The upcoming meeting in King's Landing was critical. It would determine how Skagos would be seen by the rest of the realm—whether as a fledgling power or a force to be reckoned with.
One afternoon, as they sailed past Gulltown, a cluster of rocky peninsulas jutting out into the sea from the Vale of Arryn, Hadrian spotted another ship in the distance. It was smaller than theirs, a lone vessel moving with purpose. Its sails bore the sigil of House Grafton, one of the more powerful houses in the Vale. Hadrian made a mental note of it, though it wasn't unusual to see ships from the Vale patrolling these waters. The Grafton's were loyal bannermen to House Arryn, and they kept a close watch on the seas.
"Do you think they know we're here?" Regulus asked, standing beside Hadrian on the deck.
"Perhaps," Hadrian replied, his eyes still on the distant ship. "But we're too far from the Vale for them to bother with us. They have their own problems to deal with, especially with the Targaryens keeping a close eye on the Vale."
Regulus nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I've heard whispers that Daemon Targaryen has been making overtures to the lords of the Vale, trying to gather support for his ambitions."
Hadrian raised an eyebrow. "Ambitions? What kind of ambitions?"
"To claim the Iron Throne for his brother, of course," Regulus said with a sly smile. "Daemon has always been a man of action, not content to sit idly by while his brothers future rule is threatened by the sea-sanke."
Hadrian considered this for a moment, the implications of such a power struggle settling over him like a heavy cloak. The Targaryens were a family bound by blood, but bloodlines often bred conflict, and the Iron Throne had been the cause of wars before.
"And where do we fit into all of this?" Hadrian asked, his voice quiet.
Regulus smiled, a glint of cunning in his eyes. "Wherever we choose to, my lord. Skagos is on the rise, and we have the luxury of playing the game from the shadows. We can watch, we can wait, and when the time is right, we can make our move. But until then, we remain neutral. Let the Targaryens tear themselves apart—we'll be there to pick up the pieces."
Hadrian nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Indeed. For now, we play the waiting game."
As the ship continued its journey, Hadrian's mind drifted once again to thoughts of dragons—both the fiery beasts of Valyria and the icy legends of the North. Power, as Kreacher had said, could be found in the most unexpected places. And Hadrian was determined to find it, wherever it might be.
King's Landing was only a day away now, and soon they would find themselves at the center of the realm's political storm. But for now, they sailed on, the sea stretching out before them like a vast, untamed frontier.
And somewhere in the distance, the dragons flew.