Rewriting Targaryen History

Chapter 104: Chapter 104: The Question In Smoke

By morning, the whole island knew I had touched the Amethyst Shadow.

Dragonstone did not need criers for that sort of news. A guard said something to a groom, the groom carried it to the kitchens, and by the time I reached the lower hall, servants who had never stood within a hundred paces of the cliffs were speaking with the solemn caution of witnesses.

The story had already improved itself.

One version claimed the dragon had lowered his head like a hound. Another said I had placed both hands upon his snout and whispered a command that made the rocks shake. A third, reported to me by Grey Roach with a face empty of amusement, said I had climbed halfway onto his neck before deciding not to fly out of humility.

"That last part is generous," I said in High Valyrian.

"It is inaccurate," Grey Roach replied.

"Generosity often is."

"The kitchen boy who said it has been told to stop speaking of dragons while holding knives."

"That seems wise for several reasons."

Grey Roach bowed and returned to his post as if restraining rumour and preventing accidental cutlery wounds were ordinary parts of household guard duty.

Vaerya heard the story before noon.

She was stronger than the day before, though still pale beneath the blankets. Celeste had allowed her to sit propped against pillows near the window, where she could see a piece of grey sea and feel important for having changed location.

Aegor sat beside her with a cup in hand, tasked with ensuring she drank whenever the maester ordered it. He had taken this authority seriously enough that Vaerya had begun plotting against him.

When I entered, she looked at me with immediate suspicion. "You touched the shadow dragon."

Celeste sighed from the chair beside the bed. "That was not supposed to be the first thing you said to your uncle."

"It was the most important thing."

"The most important thing is that you kept broth down."

Vaerya considered that with deep offence. "That is important to the maester. The dragon is important to everyone."

Aegor nodded. "The guards were talking about it until Grey Roach made them stop."

I looked at him. "You seem to hear a great deal for someone who is meant to be helping his sister recover."

"I hear quietly."

Celeste gave him a look that promised a future conversation.

Vaerya leaned forward as much as her strength allowed. "Why did he let you touch him?"

The room became less amused. I could have lied and made myself sound wiser. Many men did that around children, especially when they feared the child had asked the question better than any adult.

"I do not know," I said.

Vaerya frowned. "You should ask him."

"I suspect he may not answer in a way I can use."

"Dragons understand High Valyrian."

"They understand some commands. That does not mean they explain themselves."

Aegor looked thoughtful. "Father says men who explain themselves too much are usually hiding the weak part of the answer."

"Your father has ruined all of you for easy conversation."

Celeste smiled faintly, though her eyes stayed on me. "Are you going back to the cliffs?"

"Eventually."

"That is another word men use when they mean tonight."

Vaerya brightened. "Then ask him tonight."

Celeste turned to her daughter. "You are not encouraging your uncle to test whether a wild dragon is feeling reasonable."

"I am encouraging him to be polite."

"That distinction will not comfort me if he is eaten."

Vaerya sank back against the pillows, tired but pleased with the argument. "He should not get eaten before Father brings gifts."

"That is a practical concern," I said.

Celeste waited until the children were distracted by the maester’s next cup before following me into the corridor. She closed the door softly behind us.

"You are truly considering it."

"I am considering whether last night meant anything."

"It meant the dragon chose not to kill you."

"That is meaningful."

"It is also a low standard on which to build ambition."

I looked toward the narrow window at the end of the corridor. Beyond it, the sky was bright, cold, and wind-scoured. "I am not trying to make a crown out of this."

"No," Celeste said. "That would be easier to dismiss. You are trying to decide whether danger has placed duty in front of you, which is far worse because you become very stubborn when you think duty is involved."

That was uncomfortably accurate. "I need to understand whether he is only tolerating me or whether something more is possible."

"And if the answer is no?"

"Then I stop before tolerance becomes impatience."

Celeste studied me as if deciding whether that answer had enough truth to stand. "Vaeron would tell you to bring every dragonkeeper on the island and then insult you for needing the reminder."

"I have already received the dragonkeeper version of that insult."

"Good. Listen to it."

Maeron found me in the outer yard shortly after.

He did not look angry this time. That was worse. Anger meant he believed correction might work. The calm on his face suggested he had moved to preparing for disaster with professional patience.

"You wish to test the bond," he said.

"I wish to learn whether there is one."

"That answer is careful enough to be dangerous."

"Would you prefer I call it a claim and die from arrogance?"

"I would prefer you live long enough to irritate me tomorrow as well."

We walked toward the lower dragon path, away from the busier parts of the castle. Two younger keepers followed at a respectful distance. Grey Roach came too, uninvited and unmovable.

Maeron stopped beside a black wall marked by old scorch lines. "Tell me what you think happened."

"I sang. He listened. I touched him. He allowed it."

"That is what happened. I asked what you think it meant."

"I do not know."

"Good. Keep that answer close. It may save you."

I looked at him. "You have seen dragons accept riders."

"I have seen dragons accept riders, reject riders, ignore fools, and kill men who mistook patience for invitation."

"And which did he do?"

Maeron’s face creased. "If I knew, I would be less concerned."

That was honest, at least.

"He allowed touch," I said. "Why?"

"Because he chose to."

"You keep giving me answers that are true and useless."

"Most truths about dragons begin that way."

I almost laughed, but the sound did not come easily. "I have Valyrian blood, I speak the language, and I know an old song. Men have had all three and still died."

"Yes."

"So why am I alive?"

Maeron looked toward the high ridge where cloud dragged across the stone. "Perhaps he liked the song. Perhaps he liked that you did not rush him. Perhaps he smells something in your blood that is familiar. Perhaps he was curious. Perhaps he was full and not in the mood to kill. You want the answer to be clear because clear answers can be used. Dragons rarely grant that mercy."

Grey Roach spoke from behind us. "What test can be made without risking the prince too far?"

Maeron gave him a dry look. "None."

Grey Roach accepted that. "Then what test risks him least?"

The old keeper seemed to approve of the correction. "Distance first. If the dragon comes, the prince sings as before. If the dragon permits him close again, he may try a gentle command. Not service. Not flight. Not mounting. Something smaller."

"Such as?"

"Stay. Come. Lower. Words that test whether the dragon chooses to answer him, though even those may mislead. A dragon may do what you ask because he already intended to do it."

"That would make the test uncertain," Grey Roach said.

"Yes. Welcome to dragons."

I spent the afternoon avoiding the cliffs. That required more effort than I liked.

Instead, I went to the yard where Black Rat and Grey Worm were drilling the new smaller formations we had begun shaping. Fifty-man locks moved through marked gaps, closed against false cavalry calls, then broke into narrower files for stairs and alleys. The work was rougher than I wanted, but better than the day before.

Black Rat noticed my attention was divided. "The men improve more quickly when watched by a commander whose mind remains in the yard," he said.

"I am being criticised from every direction today."

"That suggests many directions contain truth."

Grey Worm adjusted the placement of a shield rank before joining us. "The dragon is not a formation. You cannot fix uncertainty by repeating it until it obeys."

"I had noticed."

Black Rat looked toward the cliffs. "Have you decided why you seek him?"

"No."

"That is poor ground for action."

"I know."

He waited. The silence forced more honesty than questions would have. "I thought I wanted to know whether I could claim him," I said. "Now I think I also want to know why he did not refuse me."

"Those are different questions."

"They may have different answers."

Grey Worm watched the men reset. "If he accepts you, others will call it strength."

"And you?"

"I will call it useful if you survive."

Black Rat added, "Useful things are not always wise."

"That sounds like something Vaeron would say."

"Then he would be correct."

I returned to Vaerya before dusk.

She had slept, eaten a little soft bread, and complained about being kept from the window when the wind rose. Aegor had fallen asleep in the chair beside her bed, one hand still resting protectively on the blanket. Celeste sat with mending in her lap, though the needle had not moved for some time.

"She looks better," I said quietly.

"She is better," Celeste replied. "I am trying to believe those are the same sentence."

"They are getting closer."

Her gaze moved to the window. "You are going soon."

"Yes."

"Then come back with the same number of limbs. Vaerya has already begun deciding what gifts Vaeron owes her, and I refuse to add funeral arrangements to the household accounts."

"I will try not to inconvenience the ledgers."

"That was almost a promise."

"It was the honest version."

Celeste looked tired enough to accept honesty, if not like it. "Then take the keepers seriously."

"I will."

Night came clear.

That seemed deliberate, though I knew better than to accuse the sky of planning around me. The clouds thinned after sunset, leaving the stars sharp above Dragonstone and the sea black below. Maeron met me near the lower arch with two keepers, no torches, and a cloak that did not snap in the wind. Grey Roach waited with four Unsullied, all of them far too composed for men escorting a prince toward a wild dragon.

Maeron gave instructions as we climbed. "If he comes, do not begin with command. If he ignores you, let him ignore you. If he leaves, let him leave. If he allows touch, do not take more because you fear the chance will not return."

"I understand."

"No, you remember. Understanding comes afterwards if you live."

"That is becoming a favourite distinction of yours."

"It has served me well."

We reached the shelf where the Amethyst Shadow had landed before. The cracked stone was still visible in the moonlight. I stood several paces back from it. Maeron and the others remained farther down the path, near enough to witness and too far to save me. That was likely the best arrangement available.

For a long time, nothing happened.

The waiting stripped away the confidence I had gathered during the day. It left the simpler truth beneath: I was a man standing on a cliff because an ancient creature had allowed me to touch him once, and I had decided that survival might be a question instead of luck.

Then the air changed. No roar announced him.

The Amethyst Shadow descended from the high ridge, wings open and silent until the final beats before landing. Stone trembled as he settled on the shelf. Moonlight moved across his scales, revealing dark violet beneath the black. His silver eyes found me first, then passed briefly over Maeron and the other keepers.

He did not like the audience. His head angled toward them, and smoke curled from his nostrils. Maeron lowered his gaze and stepped back once. The younger keepers followed. Grey Roach did not move until I looked over my shoulder.

"Back," I said in High Valyrian.

Grey Roach obeyed, though his displeasure could have sharpened knives.

The dragon’s attention returned to me. I began the song. Hāros Bartossi felt different the third time. Still frightening. Still old in a way that did not belong fully to me. But the first line no longer scraped against my throat. I kept it low, letting the wind take what it wanted. The dragon stood through it without moving closer.

When the song ended, I waited. The Amethyst Shadow lowered his head a little. That was all.

I stepped forward. One pace, then another. My feet knew the distance from the previous night, but memory did not make it safe. The dragon’s eye followed me. He remained still until I reached the point where my hand could have touched him if I chose to be greedy.

I did not touch him yet. I raised my hand and held it open. The dragon breathed out, warm air crossing my palm. Only then did I place my hand against the side of his jaw. The scale was warm, hard, and alive beneath my skin. The low vibration in his chest began after a few breaths, quiet enough that I felt it more than heard it.

I did not understand it.

That was the thing pressing hardest against me. I did not understand why this was allowed. I was not Daemon, raised around dragons from birth with a dragon’s wildness answering his own. I was not Rhaenyra, bonded to Syrax since girlhood.

I was not a child growing beside a hatchling until beast and rider learned the world together. I was a man with another man’s memories, another life buried inside my skull, and enough Valyrian blood to make the world expect fire to recognise me.

Recognition was not obedience. And yet the Amethyst Shadow remained.

I took my hand away before the moment soured.

The first test had to be small.

"Stay," I said softly in High-Valyrian.

The dragon did not move. That proved nothing. He had already been still. My heart sank slightly at the uselessness of it, and I nearly laughed at myself. Of course a dragon could make even obedience ambiguous.

I stepped back once. "Stay," I repeated.

He remained. Maybe because I asked. Maybe because he had no interest in moving.

I tried the next word carefully. "Come"

The Amethyst Shadow’s eye narrowed. For one breath, nothing happened. Then his head moved toward me. Only his head. Not his body. Not a full step. He lowered and extended just enough that the distance I had created vanished. Heat touched my face. Teeth sat close enough to settle every argument I had ever considered starting.

Behind me, someone inhaled sharply. I held still. The dragon had answered. Or he had chosen to unsettle me.

With dragons, the two might not be separate.

I lifted my hand again. This time, he did not wait as long before allowing the touch. My palm settled against the dark-violet scale near the old scar along his jaw. The low vibration returned.

I should have felt triumph. I felt confusion deepen into something close to fear.

"Why?" I whispered in High Valyrian. The silver eye watched me. "What do you hear in me?"

No answer came, only breath and heat.

I thought of the wrongness I carried. Heinrich Adler, dead beneath a chandelier in Dresden. Othorion Galeris, sellsword captain with blood old enough to interest dragons and a soul no longer cleanly his own.

Perhaps the Amethyst Shadow sensed none of that. Perhaps he sensed all of it and did not care. Perhaps a dragon’s reasons were older than any human wound I could offer as explanation.

I tried another command, one Maeron had suggested with obvious reluctance.

"Calm."

This time, I did not offer it as control. I spoke it with my hand still on his jaw, as much to myself as to him. The dragon’s chest rumbled once. Not louder. Deeper. The sound moved through my palm and into my bones. His head lowered another fraction, bringing the line of his neck closer to the height where a rider might one day approach.

Might. The thought struck too hard. My hand tightened before I could stop it. The dragon’s eye sharpened. I released the pressure immediately and stepped back.

"Forgive me," I said, voice low. "That was mine, not yours."

The Amethyst Shadow remained where he was. No flame. No strike. No correction beyond the warning already given. That mercy, if it was mercy, unsettled me more than anger would have. Anger had edges. Anger told a man where not to stand. This patience asked questions I was not ready to answer.

A reckless part of me wanted to try mounting then. The shape of the neck, the lowered head, the old song still lingering in my blood, the keepers watching from behind. All of it gathered around the possibility like kindling.

I did not move forward. Not because I lacked desire. Because I had too much of it. I stepped back again, deliberately, until there was clear space between us.

The dragon lifted his head. His wings opened halfway, vast enough that the stars vanished behind them. Wind pushed against my cloak. He watched me for several breaths, silver eyes unreadable, then turned toward the cliff.

Before he launched, I spoke once more. "Not tonight."

I did not know whether I said it to him, to Maeron, or to the part of myself that wanted certainty badly enough to mistake danger for answer.

The Amethyst Shadow pushed from the rock.

The wind hit hard, but I held my footing. He swept out over the sea in silence, dark body flashing violet where moonlight touched him. He did not cry this time. He only climbed toward the ridge and vanished beyond it.

No one spoke until the last wingbeat faded. Maeron approached slowly. Grey Roach followed with the expression of a man who had endured the evening by force of discipline and intended to disapprove later in private.

"Well?" I asked.

Maeron looked at the empty shelf, then at me. "He answered something."

"That is not the same as saying he answered me."

"No. It is not."

I looked down at my hand. It had begun to tremble now that the dragon was gone. I closed it before the shaking became too obvious. "He came closer when I asked."

"Yes."

"He may have done it because he wished to."

"Yes."

"So I have learned almost nothing."

Maeron’s eyes held mine. "You learned he tolerated the question."

We began the walk back toward the castle. Below us, the harbour lanterns moved gently with the water. Above, the ridge where the Amethyst Shadow had vanished was black against the stars.

I had gone to discover whether I could claim him. I returned without a clear answer. No rejection. No acceptance. No fire. No saddle. Only a dragon who had allowed touch twice, answered a command that might not have been a command, and left me standing alive with more uncertainty than before.

Refusal would have been simpler. Death would have been final. Instead, the Amethyst Shadow had given me the most dangerous answer a dragon could offer.

Uncertainty.