The Stronghammer - CH - 61

The royal fleet glided through the narrow straits surrounding Dragonstone, the ancient seat of House Targaryen looming in the distance like a black, jagged monolith rising from the sea. The island's shores were lined with obsidian cliffs, their edges worn smooth by the relentless waves of the Narrow Sea. Steam curled from the fissures in the ground, and the scent of sulfur clung to the salty air, an ever-present reminder of the island’s volcanic nature.

As the fleet approached the port, the dockworkers bustled about, preparing to receive the royal entourage. The port of Dragonstone was smaller compared to King’s Landing but well-fortified, with towering black walls of fused stone protecting the harbor from both invaders and the harsh elements. Long, narrow piers stretched out into the water, where sleek ships with dragon-head prows bobbed gently with the tide.

The air was thick and humid, a mixture of sea mist and volcanic heat that settled over everything like a suffocating blanket. The people of Dragonstone, hardened by life on the island, wore light, breathable clothing that allowed them to endure the oppressive climate. Fishermen mended their nets along the docks, while merchants peddled their wares—smoked fish, obsidian trinkets, and fine Valyrian steel crafts forged in the fiery heart of the mountain.

Eddie stood at the edge of the ship, his gaze fixed on the fortress that loomed above the port, an eerie and imposing silhouette against the darkening sky. The castle, carved from the island’s natural black rock, resembled the twisted form of a great dragon, its towers shaped like talons and wings. From the highest spire, the dragon statues stood as silent sentinels, their eyes seemingly watching all who entered the domain of the Targaryens.

As the royal family disembarked, a hush fell over the gathered crowd. King Viserys stepped onto the dock first, his presence commanding immediate respect. His golden robes shimmered in the weak sunlight, a stark contrast to the somber colors of the island. Behind him followed Queen Alicent, her emerald gown trailing behind her, and the royal children—Prince Aegon, Princess Helaena, and Prince Aemond—each with their own entourage of handmaidens and sworn swords.

Eddie, disguised as a squire, stood just behind Holden Cross, his eyes drinking in the sights and sounds of the bustling port. Holden, ever the seasoned knight, surveyed their surroundings with a watchful eye, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. The ten guards who had accompanied them from Storm's End lingered in the background, blending in with the general crowd but always keeping their liege within sight.

The welcoming party, led by Ser Steffon Darklyn, the castellan of Dragonstone, greeted the royal family with deep bows. His voice echoed across the docks as he welcomed them formally.

"Your Grace, Dragonstone stands ever ready to serve you," Ser Steffon intoned, his eyes flickering briefly to Eddie and Holden with mild curiosity before returning to the king.

King Viserys gave a nod, his face lined with exhaustion from the long journey. "It is good to return to our ancestral home. Make preparations for our stay, Ser Steffon."

The party moved through the port town, where the streets were paved with dark stone and lined with tightly packed houses, their windows shuttered against the occasional bursts of volcanic heat. The people, though not as lavishly dressed as those in King’s Landing, carried themselves with a quiet dignity, their loyalty to House Targaryen unwavering.

As they approached the castle gates, the heat intensified. Smoke curled lazily from the volcanic vents, and Eddie could feel the warmth seeping through his boots. The dragon keepers stood vigil outside the gates, their eyes wary and reverent as they watched over the few remaining dragons housed within the castle's inner sanctums.

The gates creaked open with a groan, revealing the cavernous halls of Dragonstone. The air inside was heavy with the scent of burning incense and molten rock. Carved dragon heads lined the walls, their obsidian eyes glittering in the torchlight. Targaryen banners, emblazoned with the three-headed dragon, hung proudly from the rafters, a reminder of the family's storied past.

Holden leaned toward Eddie as they walked, whispering, "The Targaryens built this place to last a thousand years. Some say the very stone here listens to their whispers."

Eddie, looking around in awe, couldn't help but wonder what secrets the ancient halls held. "It's like walking through the pages of history," he muttered.

Prince Aegon, already bored, stifled a yawn and muttered under his breath, "This place smells worse than the Dragonpit."

Aemond, on the other hand, looked determined, his eyes scanning every shadow as if expecting to find hidden truths buried within the walls. He met Eddie’s gaze for a brief moment, and Eddie could see the flicker of determination in his violet eyes.

"Come," Holden whispered to Eddie. "Let’s stay in the background and observe. There's much to learn here if we keep our ears open."

As the grand hall welcomed the royal family, Eddie couldn't shake the feeling that Dragonstone held more than just history within its walls—it held power, secrets, and perhaps, the key to his own destiny.

As Eddie settled into his routine at Dragonstone, he found himself increasingly familiar with the fortress's labyrinthine corridors, the volcanic heat seeping through the stone walls, and the ever-present scent of sulfur hanging in the air. His daily life had become a pattern—training with Holden Cross at sunrise and sunset, honing his swordsmanship and endurance, followed by hours spent exploring the island’s various nooks and crannies.

Holden, ever the vigilant knight, accompanied him on these ventures, pointing out key strategic locations and reminiscing about his own younger years in Westeros. They strolled through the bustling port, where sailors and merchants carried on their business with a wary eye toward the towering black fortress above. They visited the armory, watched the dragon keepers from afar as they tended to the great beasts, and observed the Targaryen household in their daily dealings.

One day, as they attempted to venture deeper into the dragon pens, a group of Targaryen guards blocked their path, their faces stern and unreadable.

"No entry beyond this point," one guard said, gripping his spear tightly.

Holden chuckled under his breath and leaned toward Eddie. "They’re more cautious these days, lad. No doubt your father’s little adventure with Cannibal made them tighten their grip on their prized beasts. You see, riderless dragons are a danger—not just to the realm, but to their own hold on power. They wouldn’t want someone with the right blood and the right courage to claim one of them."

Eddie smirked, nodding as he glanced past the guards to the dragon pits, where the immense shadows of slumbering beasts shifted. "I suppose they’re not wrong to be wary."

Despite the barriers, Eddie found ways to learn more about the dragons through observation and quiet conversations with the castle’s inhabitants. The dragonkeepers, though tight-lipped, let slip bits of information—how each dragon had their own quirks and tendencies, and how the younger ones were restless and unpredictable.

His life on Dragonstone continued without major incident until the arrival of Princess Rhaenyra and her children disrupted the status quo.

The news of their impending arrival spread like wildfire across the fortress, with the servants scrambling to prepare quarters fit for a princess. The tension in the air was palpable; Rhaenyra’s presence always brought whispers, both of admiration and resentment. Her claim to the throne was still contested by many, and Eddie knew from his father’s stories that she was not one to back down from a challenge.

Eddie and Holden watched from the castle's upper terraces as the ships bearing the royal crest docked at the port. Princess Rhaenyra disembarked first, regal and proud, her long silver hair cascading down her back like molten silver. Following her were her children—Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey, each with the Targaryen features that marked their Valyrian heritage.

Holden crossed his arms and muttered, "The realm still whispers about her, you know. And now she's bringing her sons to Dragonstone. To solidify her claim, no doubt."

Eddie felt a strange mix of emotions at seeing Rhaenyra in person. He had heard his father speak of her in the past—of what could have been, of youthful love and ambitions dashed by duty and power. But here she was, standing tall and proud, as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders yet did not bend her.

As they watched the procession ascend toward the castle, Eddie turned to Holden. "What do you think she’s really here for?"

Holden grinned. "To prepare for war, lad. One way or another, it always comes down to that with the Targaryens."

Later that evening, as the castle bustled with the activity of Rhaenyra’s arrival, Eddie found himself in the great hall, observing the princess from a distance. She held court with an air of quiet authority, discussing matters with the Dragonstone council and her sworn protectors. Her sons, meanwhile, wandered the hall, their eyes filled with curiosity and mischief.

Lucerys, the younger of the two, caught Eddie’s gaze and approached him with a curious smile. "You look like a knight," he said, sizing him up.

Eddie smirked and bowed slightly. "Just a squire, my prince."

"To whom?" Lucerys asked.

Eddie glanced at Holden, who was leaning against a pillar nearby, chatting with a few knights. "To Ser Holden Cross."

The boy’s eyes widened. "I’ve heard of him. He’s a great warrior, they say."

Eddie grinned. "The greatest, if you ask me."

As the evening wore on, Eddie couldn’t shake the feeling that Rhaenyra’s presence on Dragonstone would bring more than just courtly intrigue. With the kingdom divided and whispers of succession growing louder, he knew that war was on the horizon—and he had a front-row seat to it all.

Eddie had always been observant, keenly aware of the dynamics among the royal children ever since their arrival at Dragonstone. He had expected mischief and rivalry, but the tension between the king’s sons and Princess Rhaenyra’s children seemed to run deeper than mere childish antics. The corridors of the ancient castle were often filled with their laughter, but beneath the surface, there was a clear undercurrent of competition and resentment.

One afternoon, while walking through one of the lesser-used corridors of Dragonstone, Eddie spotted Prince Aemond rushing toward him, tears streaking his usually stoic face. His platinum hair was disheveled, and his fists were clenched tightly, trembling with frustration and embarrassment. Eddie stepped into his path, blocking his way before he could disappear into the shadows of the castle.

"Whoa there, young prince. What’s the hurry?" Eddie asked, his tone light but laced with concern.

Aemond wiped at his tears furiously, trying to put on a brave face. "Nothing... I don’t want to talk about it," he muttered, but Eddie could see the humiliation in his eyes.

Eddie crouched down to Aemond’s level, his gaze steady. "Come on, lad. You don't have to keep it to yourself. Tell me what happened."

Aemond hesitated, shifting uncomfortably before finally speaking in a voice filled with bitterness. "They... they made fun of me again. Jace, Luke, and Aegon. They said I’m the only one without a dragon, that I’m not a true Targaryen. They... they brought me a pig with wings and called it 'Aemond's dragon.' They all laughed, even Helaena." His voice cracked, and his fists clenched tighter.

Eddie's jaw tightened in anger. He knew what it was like to be belittled, to be made to feel lesser by others. He placed a reassuring hand on Aemond’s shoulder. "And what did you do?"

Aemond looked down, ashamed. "I tried to tell them I’d get my own dragon one day, but they didn’t believe me. They said no dragon would ever bond with me."

Eddie nodded thoughtfully, his mind already working on a solution. "They're wrong, Aemond. You don't need their approval to prove your worth. And I know exactly how we can show them just how wrong they are."

Aemond’s eyes widened in curiosity and hope. "You do?"

Eddie smirked and stood up, offering his hand to the young prince. "Aye. I’ll help you claim your own dragon, and not just any dragon—one that will make them all swallow their words."

Aemond hesitated for a moment, then took Eddie’s hand. "But how? They won’t let me near the dragons."

Eddie grinned. "Leave that to me. I know a thing or two about slipping past guards, and I might have an idea where we can find a dragon that no one's dared to claim yet."

Aemond’s curiosity grew. "Are you serious? No one will stop us?"

Eddie chuckled. "They’ll try, but what’s adventure without a little risk?"

For the first time in a long while, Aemond smiled. "Alright. What do we do?"

Eddie knelt beside him, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Tonight, we’ll sneak out to the dragon pit. There's a dragon there, bigger and fiercer than any of the others, one that even your cousins wouldn’t dare approach. If you have the courage, Aemond, you'll show them all that you're not just a Targaryen, but a dragon rider in your own right."

Aemond’s eyes shone with determination. "I’m ready."

Eddie grinned. "Good. Meet me at the back entrance of the castle when the moon is high. And remember—this stays between us."

As Aemond nodded and hurried off with renewed purpose, Eddie watched him go, feeling a sense of satisfaction. If anyone deserved a dragon, it was Aemond, and Eddie was going to make sure he got one. He just hoped they wouldn’t get caught in the process.