The Stronghammer - CH - 44

The air in Stormrage was thick with both grief and pride as the last of the Dothraki bodies were cleared from the battlefield. The warriors of Stormrage, weary but victorious, made their way back to their homes. Some limped, others carried the injured, but all bore the weight of the battle on their shoulders.

Robert stood on a hill overlooking the sprawling kingdom. His armor, still stained with blood, glinted faintly under the setting sun. He watched as the bodies of his fallen soldiers were gathered for cremation.

“These men gave everything,” Robert said quietly, his voice laced with sorrow. “Their sacrifice won’t be forgotten.”

Daemon Targaryen stood beside him, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword. “A king who honors his dead is a king worth following,” Daemon remarked, his voice uncharacteristically somber.

Robert nodded, his gaze never leaving the scene below. “Their names will be etched in stone, a testament to their bravery.”

The next morning, Robert summoned his council and the chief builders of Stormrage to discuss his plans.

“I want a memorial,” Robert declared, his voice firm. “A place where every soldier who falls in battle will be remembered. Their names will be carved into stone tablets for all to see.”

One of the builders stepped forward. “My King, such a project will require time and resources.”

“Take what you need,” Robert said without hesitation. “This is not just for us but for the generations that will come after. They must know the price of their freedom.”

The room fell silent, the weight of Robert’s words sinking in. Daemon, leaning casually against a pillar, smirked. “You’ve grown, Robert. The man I knew cared more for his sword and his pleasures.”

Robert shot him a look. “And yet here I am, building a kingdom while you run from your wife.”

Daemon chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Touché.”

As dusk fell, the people of Stormrage gathered on the plains designated for the memorial. Bonfires blazed, and the bodies of the fallen were laid upon pyres, their weapons placed beside them. Priests of the Red God chanted prayers, their voices rising in a solemn hymn.

Robert stepped forward, his imposing figure silhouetted against the flames. He raised his sword high. “These men gave their lives for Stormrage. We honor their sacrifice tonight and every day forward. Their names will be immortalized, and their deeds will never be forgotten.”

The flickering light of the evening fire cast long shadows across the stone walls of Robert’s chambers. He sat across from Daemon, his fingers drumming on the edge of the wooden table. The weight of the recent battle still lingered in the air, but Robert’s mind was elsewhere—on Cannibal.

The dragon’s sudden change in behavior was unlike anything Robert had ever experienced. Cannibal, who once responded eagerly to his summons, now remained hidden in the depths of the Spine Mountains.

Breaking the silence, Robert leaned forward. “Daemon, I need your counsel. Cannibal hasn’t left his lair since before battle. He’s never ignored my calls before. Something’s wrong.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his face thoughtful. “Dragons are creatures of instinct and mystery. But such behavior… it’s unusual, even for Cannibal. What do you think has changed?”

Robert shook his head. “I’ve considered everything—injury, sickness. But he seemed fine the last time I saw him.”

Daemon sipped his wine, then set the goblet down. “Dragons rarely act without reason. If Cannibal refuses to leave his lair, it could mean he’s guarding something valuable.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed. “Valuable? Like what?”

Daemon leaned back, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Eggs, Robert. Cannibal may be protecting his clutch.”

“What do you mean Cannibal is protecting eggs?” Robert snapped, his voice heavy with doubt. “He’s a male dragon, Daemon.”

Daemon chuckled, swirling his wine. “Ah, but that’s where things get interesting. If he’s guarding eggs, then he must have a mate in that lair with him.”

Robert stopped pacing, his brow furrowed. “A mate? Cannibal’s never shown any sign of having a mate. How is that possible?”

Daemon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Dragons are mysterious creatures, Robert. They don’t follow the rules of men. It’s entirely possible Cannibal found a mate before you even claimed him in the first place.”

Robert sat down heavily, still processing the revelation. “But how could I not know? Cannibal has been with me for years, responding to my every call. I’ve never seen another dragon near him.”

Daemon shrugged. “Dragons have their secrets. Remember, Dragonstone was once home to many dragons. Perhaps his mate was there, hidden among the wild ones. If Cannibal brought her here, it’s no wonder he’s refusing to leave.”

Robert and Daemon spent much of their time together, enjoying each other's company like old comrades reunited after years of separation.

“You’ve done well here, Robert,” Daemon said one evening, sipping from a tankard of ale as they sat on the fortress balcony overlooking the bustling city below. “Your people adore you, and your soldiers… well, they could conquer the world if you gave the word.”

Robert smirked, leaning against the stone railing. “The Blackstone Legion has made this kingdom what it is. They’re more than soldiers; they’re family. Every one of them has bled for Stormrage, and I’d trust them with my life.”

Daemon soon found himself drawn to the sparring yard, eager to test his mettle against the famed warriors of the Blackstone Legion. At first, his confidence was unshaken. He was a Targaryen, a seasoned warrior who had fought in countless skirmishes. How hard could it be to best a few soldiers?

The reality was humbling.

“Come on, Daemon, surely you can do better than that!” barked Ser Garrick, one of the senior Blackstone knights, as he effortlessly parried Daemon’s strikes during their sparring match.

Daemon grunted, swinging his sword with renewed vigor, only for Garrick to sidestep and deliver a light tap to Daemon’s shoulder with the flat of his blade.

“That’s one point for me,” Garrick said with a grin, stepping back.

Robert, watching from the sidelines, chuckled. “Don’t feel bad, Daemon. Garrick’s been doing this for years. He could probably fight blindfolded.”

Each day, Daemon sparred with different members of the Legion, and each day, he found himself soundly beaten. Even the youngest and least experienced of the knights proved to be formidable opponents.

“Damn it, how are they this good?” Daemon muttered after one particularly grueling match, wiping sweat from his brow.

Robert clapped him on the back. “Discipline and relentless training. The Blackstone Legion isn’t just any army, Daemon. They’re the best because they’ve earned it, day by day, fight by fight.”

Daemon nodded, though his pride smarted. “I’ll admit, Robert, your men are leagues ahead of Westeros’s finest. The Kingsguard wouldn’t stand a chance against them.”

“Kingsguard?” Garrick, overhearing the comment, laughed. “If your Kingsguard fought like they looked, they might have a chance. But from what I hear, they’re more about pomp and ceremony than actual skill.”

Daemon grinned despite himself. “You’re not wrong. Perhaps I should bring a few of your men back to Westeros to give them some proper lessons.”

Though Daemon often found himself bested in the sparring yard, he gained a newfound respect for the Blackstone Legion and their unyielding dedication. The Legion, in turn, grew to admire Daemon’s determination and resilience.

“You’ve got heart, Daemon,” said Ser Garrick after one of their matches. “Most men would’ve quit by now, but you keep coming back for more. That earns respect.”

Daemon smiled, feeling a rare sense of camaraderie. “If I can’t beat you, I’ll damn well learn from you.”

Robert, watching the exchange, felt a surge of pride. His kingdom was not just growing in power but also in unity. With Daemon by his side and the Blackstone Legion at his back, Stormrage was becoming a force that even the mightiest of realms would think twice about challenging.

The crackling of the fire filled the silence between them, broken only by the occasional clink of tankards as Robert and Daemon drowned their thoughts in ale. They were deep into their cups, and the weight of the day’s battles gave way to the more personal wars they carried within.

“Rhaenyra missed someone great,” Daemon said with a smirk, his words slightly slurred but carrying the sharp edge of truth. “Her bad.”

Robert’s hand tightened around his tankard, his knuckles whitening. The mere mention of her name sent a cascade of emotions crashing through him—anger, betrayal, pain. It had been years, but the wound still festered beneath the surface.

“You still think about her, don’t you?” Daemon continued, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent of sympathy.

Robert didn’t answer immediately, staring into the amber liquid as if it held the answers to questions he dared not voice. “Hearing her name still feels like a dagger to the heart,” he muttered finally, his voice low and bitter. “She didn’t just reject me. She made me fool.”

Daemon leaned back, his grin fading. “She didn’t believe you, you know.”

Robert shot him a sharp look. “What are you talking about?”

Daemon sighed, setting his tankard down. “When you first told her you claimed Cannibal, she thought you were lying. She told me herself. She thought you were just another boy spinning tales to impress a girl.”

The words hit Robert harder than any blow in battle. He felt his chest tighten, the old pain flaring anew. “So, that’s why she refused to run away with me,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Daemon.

Daemon nodded. “She didn’t think you could deliver on your promises. And, let’s be honest, Rhaenyra’s always been ambitious. Her sights were set on the Iron Throne from the start. She wasn’t going to throw away her chance at being Queen of Westeros for a dream she didn’t believe in.”

Robert laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Ambition. That’s what it all comes down to, doesn’t it? She wanted the throne, and I was just a distraction.”

“She’s a Targaryen,” Daemon said, shrugging. “Ambition’s in her blood. But ambition doesn’t mean she didn’t care about you in her own way. She just… couldn’t see beyond her own goals.”

The sun rose over the Spine Mountains, casting long shadows across the jagged peaks. Robert stood at the base of the trail, his eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of Cannibal’s lair. His heart was heavy with worry. Weeks had passed since Cannibal last responded to his call, and though the battle had been won, Robert felt the weight of his dragon’s absence.

Daemon Targaryen had departed, returning to his duties in Westeros. His visit had been a welcome distraction, but now Robert was alone with his thoughts once more. He knew it was time to face the truth—time to confront whatever was keeping Cannibal in the mountains.

The journey was grueling. The Spine Mountains were treacherous, their paths narrow and steep. Each step required careful calculation, and the biting wind showed no mercy. But Robert pressed on, his resolve unshaken.

After two days of climbing, he reached the summit of the second mountain. Before him lay a massive cave, its entrance framed by jagged rocks. The ground was littered with bones—remnants of Cannibal’s meals. Some were the remains of animals, but others were disturbingly large, hinting at prey far more formidable.

“This is it,” Robert murmured, his voice echoing in the still air.

As Robert approached, the air grew heavy with the scent of sulfur and decay. The cave was dark, its depths shrouded in shadow. He paused at the entrance, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.

“Cannibal,” he called, his voice firm but laced with a hint of uncertainty.

A low, rumbling growl echoed from within the cave, sending a shiver down his spine. Slowly, Robert stepped inside, his boots crunching over the scattered bones.

The cavern was vast, its walls lined with jagged rock formations. At the center, a massive black dragon lay coiled, its eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. Cannibal’s scales gleamed like polished obsidian, and his presence was as imposing as ever. But Robert’s attention was drawn to something else—a smaller figure nestled against Cannibal’s side.

A second dragon.