The Narrow Sea had always been a tempestuous mistress, but as the cog sliced through its restless waves, a chill settled deeper than the ocean spray. Vaelon Celtigar stood at the prow, the weight of his heritage settling on his shoulders like a mantle heavier than his silken cloak. His silver hair whipped about his face, and his golden-orange eyes—uncommon among the dragonlords—were fixed on the horizon where the dark waters met a steel-grey sky.
Behind him, the sailors worked with quiet precision. Their gruff voices rose over the lapping waves, but Vaelon barely heard them. Instead, his mind churned with the thought of what awaited in King's Landing—a city as dangerous and intricate as a dragon's nest.
The past months had been a blur of preparation: securing the safety of the fossilized dragon egg, organizing provisions, and readying his small retinue for the journey. The egg, wrapped carefully in layers of velvet and nestled among herbs and straw, remained a secret closely guarded within Claw Keep's stone walls. Only Maester Corwin and his most trusted men knew of its existence.
Vaelon's dreams continued to be haunted by fire and shadow—visions of a great dragon awakening beneath a sky filled with ash, of wings stretching wide over a kingdom on the brink of war. The name Pyrthax whispered to him through those dreams, a key to a legacy long thought lost.
When the shores of King's Landing rose from the mist like a stone leviathan, Vaelon felt his heart quicken. The city was vast beyond imagining, its walls towering and ancient, banners fluttering proudly from every rampart. The air was thick with the scents of the sea mingled with spices, smoke, and the faintest hint of something more foreboding.
As the cog was guided into the bustling harbor of Blackwater Bay, Vaelon's gaze fell upon the Blackwater Rush weaving through the city, its dark waters reflecting the flame-lit windows of the Red Keep.
Stepping onto solid ground felt surreal after the rolling waves. The docks were alive with activity—merchants shouting their wares in myriad tongues, nobles in fine silks navigating the throng with practiced grace, and guards keeping watch with keen eyes.
Bartimos Celtigar moved with the authority befitting a lord, though the years had etched lines of weariness upon his face. Beside him, Vaelon matched his father's measured gait, feeling both the pride and burden of his name.
Their arrival drew glances from many quarters, whispers following them through the winding streets.
"House Celtigar," a merchant muttered to his companion, "proud blood of Valyria, yet fallen to the crab isles."
Vaelon met those whispers with a calm resolve. He was no boy of the past; he was the heir who would change their fortunes.
The journey through the city's maze led them to the Red Keep, where bronze dragons curled around the great archway, their eyes seeming to glow with ancient magic. Torchlight flickered against stone walls as they passed beneath towering battlements and into the shadows of the fortress.
Inside the council chamber, the weight of power was tangible. Rich tapestries hung from the walls, depicting dragons in flight, battles lost and won, and the heraldry of noble houses. The air smelled faintly of smoke and wax, mingled with the subtle perfume of jasmine from the gardens beyond.
At the chamber's head sat King Viserys I Targaryen. His silver hair, once dark, fell about a face lined with the scars of rule, yet his eyes were sharp and commanding. The king's presence filled the room, and even Vaelon, unaccustomed to such grandeur, felt the instinctual urge to bow.
Beside the king stood Prince Daemon, his younger brother, whose reputation for both brilliance and volatility preceded him. His gaze was keen, assessing every newcomer with a mixture of curiosity and thinly veiled challenge.
Bartimos's voice was steady as he addressed the king. "Your Grace, we come with loyalty and readiness to serve the crown in these uncertain times."
Viserys inclined his head, acknowledging the Celtigar delegation. "The realm stands on the edge of change, Lord Bartimos. The fires of old will either forge us anew or consume us all."
Vaelon's pulse quickened as the king's gaze swept toward him.
"Young Vaelon, heir of House Celtigar," Viserys said. "You carry the blood of the dragonlords. Your house's loyalty is noted, but loyalty is a flame easily extinguished. Will you nurture it, or let it die in the shadow?"
Vaelon met the king's eyes steadily. "I will see that our flame burns bright, Your Grace."
The days that followed were a dizzying whirl of courtly rituals, political maneuvering, and whispered conversations behind closed doors. Vaelon learned quickly that power here was as much a game of subtlety as of strength.
He met Lady Rhaenyra Targaryen, the king's daughter and heir apparent. Her fiery spirit was tempered by grace, and her eyes reflected the weight of expectation she bore. Though their interactions were brief, Vaelon sensed in her a shared hunger for legacy and change.
In the halls, he encountered Laenor Velaryon, betrothed to Rhaenyra. The Velaryons' command of the sea was legendary, and Laenor's easy charm masked a mind sharper than most gave credit for.
Vaelon also found an unexpected ally in Ser Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, whose vast knowledge of the Narrow Sea and its politics proved invaluable.
One evening, beneath a moon veiled by shifting clouds, Vaelon received a summons to a private chamber. There, waiting in the dim light, was a scholar from Old Valyria—an enigmatic man named Qelror Velshan.
Qelror's voice was soft but edged with urgency. "Lord Vaelon, your possession is no mere relic. The egg you carry is a seed of power, a fragment of the past waiting to breathe flame once more. But with power comes danger. Many eyes will turn to you, some with envy, others with dark intent."
Vaelon listened intently as Qelror shared fragments of lost dragonlore—ancient rituals, binding spells, and the delicate art of awakening the fire within stone.
"The Dance of the Dragons is approaching," Qelror warned. "Dragons will rise, and with them, the fate of Westeros will be decided. You must be prepared."
As the chapter drew to a close, Vaelon found himself standing atop the battlements of the Red Keep, the city sprawling beneath him like a sea of firelight and shadow. His thoughts drifted to the egg safe beneath his father's care back on Claw Isle, to the dreams that haunted his nights, and the destiny that awaited.
The Dance was coming.
And House Celtigar would not be left in the dark.