The Grey Ghost, though shy and a veritable coward when it came to fellows of his species, did not fear for making an entrance to those of mine. Somehow, without needing to voice any words or direct him by whip, for which I do not even own, my dragon understood that now that he was a creature tamed, he need return to the castle of Dragonstone.

I felt as if I could not smile any harder when the horns cried out, signaling an approaching dragonrider. Me. The Grey Ghost made for the courtyard, and I queerly noticed that it was empty of dragons. When we landed, men and women scurried my way, and when they saw my face, their own faces revealed simultaneous bouts of relief and worry.

Dismounting the Grey Ghost, I kept my hand against his jaw and spoke to the first servant to approach me, an elderly man known simply as Lom, who was the lead dragonkeeper on the island. We knew each other well enough, and I knew him as the kindly man that taught me some of the more subtle habits of nested dragons when I first began to shadow Maester Gerardys, recognizing me to be a lost boy of nine, Targaryen bastard or not.

"Flowers," Lom greeted, frowning harshly. "You return a dragonrider, to a wild dragon never tamed, for I know all that have come to this castle, and that is grand. But you return at an ill time, my friend."

"Ill?" I asked, scrunching my face. "What could be ill about my taming a dragon? Prince Jacaerys himself brought me to the Grey Ghost's cavern. Where is he? He wished desperately to see all the dragons in the known world. His chance has come."

Lom took on a somber face, beckoned me to follow him. I did so, the Grey Ghost awkwardly lumbering at my side. We walked through the courtyard, out from the castle walls, where an array stone Valyrian sphinxes guarded an eternal sentry, and made way to the beachhead. I quickly felt bile rise through my throat at the bloody mess was staining sand, stone and stair alike.

Prince Aegon's dragon Stormcloud, scaled black and blue like the rolling thunders she was named for, was wounded. Blood flowed from a pair of harpoon bolts piercing through her hide, one through her belly and the other through her neck. Prince Aegon was beside himself, crying and shrieking and similarly bloodied, though fortunately not similarly punctured by spears. One of Maester Gerardys's assistants was tending to him, or trying to, at least. It was clear that Aegon refused to be moved, no matter his injury, for he would not be parted from his dragon. Nobody approached Stormcloud though, whose wounds were quickly ebbing her life away.

I felt tears brim forth from my eyes as I took in the sight, for to see such a noble beast as Stormcloud felled so low was a difficult thing to accept. Memories funneled through me, and only then did I remember what was to come. I understood in that moment what had happened, who had done it, and who was next. "Where is Prince Jacaerys? Where are the dragonseeds?"

"Gone," Lom grunted. "The queen was the first to come down. She rushed to the banks with a speed faster than I'd ever seen from her. When she learned Prince Viserys had gone missing, likely swept away by the tide, she fainted dead away and her guards carried her off to her chambers. Prince Jacaerys then mounted Vermax, the dragonseeds following, and went after the warships that attacked the young princes, for revenge and the hope of finding little Viserys somehow still living."

"When did they leave?" I barked. Was there still time?

"Near a half-hour past I'd say," Lom said. My heart sank at the revelation, for I knew then that I would not be able to reach Jacaerys.

I sent a prayer to the Seven, the Old Gods, the Red God, and all the other gods of this world that came to mind. Let Jacaerys live. Before he was my prince, he was my friend. My memories of the dance of the dragons had been greatly diminished over these near twenty-nine years, and yet I felt a fool for forgetting this moment. So much unneeded death could have been avoided, had I been smart enough, swift enough.

Staring at Stormcloud… I resolved myself. I must at least try.

Without warning, I hoisted myself atop the Grey Ghost once more, and somehow understanding my panic, he darted into the sky, back towards Dragonstone. We raced along the castle, banking at the southern parapets, where the apothecaries stored their supplies. Fortune was on my side, for the largest window was open, likely to let the sea breeze moisten some of the more delicate medicinal spices. I signaled my mount toward the entry and dove inside, breaking beakers and knocking over plants and herbs aplenty with my ungraceful actions, causing the folk inside to scream in startled shock.

I felt my ribs burn as I made to stand but forced myself through the pain.

"Poppy!" I roared. There were three people in the room, a matronly septa and two apprentices from the citadel yet to earn their chains. "Bring me milk of the poppy! All of it!"

"You don't need none for that fall," one of the boys said, sounding angry. Likely for the damage I had caused.

I backhanded him for that. Hard. He fell with a flail of limbs, and the other two quickly did as bade, unwilling to risk pain at the hands of a larger man. Four kegs were rolled my way, and I directed them rolled towards the window while I grabbed a supply bag strung along a desk. I deposited great spools of thread, stacks of rag cloth, and some of the fallen herbs that held the property of being a cooling agent when properly applied in my bag. Before rushing away, I too grabbed an ornamental bravosi sword with a ringed hilt that had been mounted on one of the walls, slinging it through my belt. That was when I made to leave.

The Grey Ghost truly was a clever dragon, and I felt beyond blessed to have him as my partner. With very little direction, he used his hind legs and grabbed one barrel of poppy milk in each of his claws. My ribs twinged once more as I dove atop his back with my supplies in hand, and this time, recognizing that I did not have a particularly good grip on his body, for there was no easy way to mount him with from a window ledge with supplies in hand, the Grey Ghost returned to the beach at a more sedate pace, even with our rush.

When we had witnessed the scene initially, my dragon had silently walked with Lom and I. Upon our return, there was no silence to be had, though Lom had apparently returned to his duties at the stables. The Grey Ghost descended carefully, dropping the barrels onto the sand as softly as he could, his wings beating hand, and when they were clear, he landed by their side. Stormcloud warbled pitifully in protest at an unknown dragon being so close to her and made a truly pathetic tail swipe at us.

The Grey Ghost might have been a coward, but Stormcloud was nearly three times smaller than he, still considered a hatchling by and large, and he did not feel fear. He stomped the she-dragons tail down assertively, and bore over the younger drake with a loud snarl, smoke wafting from his mouth. The message was clear: submit or suffer.

Stormcloud let out one last croon, a truly miserable sound, before lolling her head back into the sand in submission.

"NO!" Prince Aegon screamed from behind. The maesterly assistant treating him let out a protest, and I turned to see the young prince rushing at my dragon with fear and hatred in his eye. "Don't eat her!"

"Aegon!" I called, catching his attention. I grabbed the boy at his shoulders and stopped him cold before he could do anything stupid. He turned those fearful eyes my way, and I saw no recognition. His panic had taken that away. "Aegon, it's me. Maekar. I help you with your High Valyrian, remember? We learned about dragons together. You used to bring Stormcloud with you to our lessons when she was still small enough to fit through doors."

He rubbed at his eyes, and when he looked up with those red-rimmed violet eyes, watery snot was running down his wobbly lip. "M-maekar? What- whose dragon is that?"

"Mine," I admitted. "I went out to tame him earlier today."

"He won't eat Stormcloud?"

I shook my head. "No. The Grey Ghost is a gentle dragon, all things considered. He's not trying to hurt Stormcloud, he's trying to save her. As am I. I need your help Aegon, to help your dragon."

"You can save her?!" He exclaimed, shrieking with surprised cheer.

My face must have been answer enough, for his excitement quickly waned away. "I hope to, but I must be honest with you. I do not know if it possible. Her wounds are great. But to even try, I must be able to approach her without worry. Even with my dragon calming her, Stormcloud will trust none but you. Will you help me?"

Resolution burned through him, and Aegon nodded with all of his strength.

"Good, good!" I told him, patting his silver-gold hair. I turned him towards our dragons and had him walk with me. I beckoned the assistant over as well, the chain bearing man approaching with ill-concealed fear.

"Those barrels on the sand have milk of the poppy in them. I am going to remove the harpoons from Stormcloud's side, and not only will the pain be great for her, but should she flail, the wound could grow out of control. There would be not chance at saving her then. Though she is losing blood, the harpoons will keep her alive longer in her flesh than not for now. Aegon, I need you to have Stormcloud drink the milk, so that her pain will be lessened and her mind dulled so that I may remove the spears without fear of her reaction. Can you do this?"

He did not give me an answer. Instead, he raced towards the barrels, grabbed one, and rolled it towards the muzzle of his drake. She warbled at the sight of her rider, and did not fight him when he snapped a fang from her maw. I watched, incredulous, as he then stabbed at the barrel with his makeshift dagger, until it burst open at the tip. Aegon said some words to Stormcloud, and she began to lethargically lick up the milk of the poppy from the keg as if it were a watering bowl.

Shaking my head, I turned to the assistant. "Your name?

"Tollard," the maesterly assistant said.

"Do you know surgery, Tollard?"

He shrugged nervously, eyes darting towards young Aegon. "A little. But nothing outside of the birthing bed and what books are available."

I groaned, though could not truly complain. I'd never performed a surgery either. And I'd never heard of anybody performing one on a dragon, so even had I previous experience, it likely would not help much. "It will have to do. We will be sewing the wound shut as best we can."

"Dragonflesh is thick and unwieldy, even for a drake so young," Tollard protested. "Needles will not be able to pierce her flesh."

"Hence this," I said, motioning at the blade strapped to my side. Disappointingly, that caused my ribs to flare up again.

"But the thread would break upon the flesh regardless. It is too heavy and thick to hold with so thin a material."

Damn. He was right. I'd grabbed that thread without much thought, it seemed. "Then we'll have to cauterize the wound."

He furrowed his brow. "Can dragonflesh even be cauterized?"

"Not with pure flame, no." I told him. Fire did literally nothing to a dragon in any form, even to an open wound. "But the metal of this sword should do for a binding agent. If nothing else, it will cover the puncture so that Stormcloud might have the time enough for a better planned procedure."

"Then that is what we'll do," Tollard declared. I was gladdened to see he was made of sterner stuff. Then again, any maester than was sent to Dragonstone was expected to have a strong spine. Targaryen's were fond of making threats with dragons to those that displeased them. "I must say that your sword is too light and small, though. It likely does not have enough metal in all of its make for cauterizing two holes, let alone four."

I pondered that thought and knew once again that he was right. "Your chain then. Any links of iron, black iron, and steel will be used."

"I've two iron, three black iron, and one steel link. I've also four copper chains. My readings tell me they are good for bloodless surgery."

"There's blood aplenty already, but more metal is better than less. Remove your chain and break the links off. When Stormcloud has drunk all her milk and the delirium has set in, we will make our move."

As Tolland prepared for his task, I too prepared for mine. I took my sword from my belt, brought it against a rock, and positioned both it and myself so that my boot was over its middle and the tip was snug at the rock. I exerted all the force of my body against the blade, watched it bend, and then cursed as it shoddily snapped and I fell through onto the sand, my ribs, once more, stinging fiercely.

Tollard had separated his chains cleverly. His two iron links were medlied with one black iron link, and his steel link was medlied with the remaining two black iron. Black iron was a somewhat less sturdy iron, so pairing them in this manner mitigated the risk of failure as much as possible. I brought my sword pieces towards his separations, and Tollard dropped each copper link with one. Four small piles, for the four holes made from two harpoons.

"She did it!" Aegon called out. "She drank it all!"

Tollard and I locked eyes, and any nerves that held us back were secreted away to the recesses of our minds. There was no longer an opportunity for second thoughts. It was time.

We approached Stormcloud and Aegon with our materials in hand. The Grey Ghost still bore over her, an unmoving statue of scale and flame, and Aegon rested his dragons head onto his lap, ignoring the bleeding blotting his trousers.

I knelt down and held Aegon's neck gently. "Are you sure you want to be here? If we fail, Stormcloud will surely die. I would not wish you to see such a sight."

"I'm staying," Aegon said with steel in his voice.

I roughed at his hair. "You truly are the blood of the dragon, aren't you? Let us see what we can do then."

Stormcloud's eyes were muddled and milky, letting me know the poppy milk had coursed through her. I stood and positioned myself before the back end of the harpoon at her neck, thankful that it was not piercing through her throat proper.

"You're going for the neck first?" Tollard queried. "Would it not be simpler to begin with the one in her side?"

"Milk of the poppy works quickly, but I've no idea how long it stays in the body of a dragon," I grunted, placing my hand on the fishing spear wet with near boiling blood. My hands were beginning to blister, but I forced myself to ignore the pain. "Better to deal with the most sensitive and dangerous wound before anything unexpected can happen."

I slapped the side of the Grey Ghost's wing. My mount turned away from Stormcloud and pointed his snarl towards myself.

"I need you to bite and break this spear," I told him, pointing my finger towards the hilt. "Right here."

Growling, my dragon quickly snatched his fangs down onto the iron spike. With an ease that should have been expected, he twisted his neck and broke the harpoon like a boy would a dried stick. Stormcloud warbled at the movement but did nothing else.

I walked on the other side of the young she-dragon, and grabbed the harpoon below the speartip. Tollard approached where the hilt was, his hands filled with some rag cloth, the bottom half of my broken sword, and a link of copper.

We shared a look, and I then began to pull.

It was almost instantaneous. Stormcloud howled at the movement, and Aegon struggled to calm his dragon. When the harpoon was a third of the way out, I motioned Tollard towards the wound. The maesterly assistant first used his rags to wipe away what blood he could, hissing at the hotness of the flowing blood. Then, he shoved the sword into the wound, causing Stormcloud to cry out more, before lining the blade tip with his copper link.

Smartly, Tollard then backed away, grabbing my empty bag and rushing towards the ocean. I motioned for the Grey Ghost to point his maw at the flowing blood, and cried out, "Dracarys!"

A steady stream of white-hot fire spewed forth from his muzzle towards the wound. As the metal hold it down melted, Stormcloud buckled once more, whining and struggling at the feeling. Tollard returned, the bag wet and filled with sea water, and when the Grey Ghost stopped spewing fire, he began to pour water onto the wound. Steam hissed with the meeting of water on molten metal, and as it cooled, so too did Stormcloud's temperament.

We gave her a few minutes to settle herself, rubbing herbs along the ridges of cooled metal, then craned her neck so that the harpoon was facing skyward. Heaving, I pulled the harpoon out in one stroke, and Tollard quickly covered the wound with rags once more whilst Stormcloud raged anew, the remaining sword piece and copper link taking their place once the rags had been too soaked with blood. The Grey Ghost melted the metal again, and Tollard dumped the remainder of sea water onto the metal.

I knew that this was not an appropriate surgery. This procedure of cauterizing was incorrect and would likely add further trauma to the body had the recipient been a human. Hells, had this been performed on a human, they would surely die from infection regardless of their wounds being mitigated. But I had a theory. Though it had never been studied, I was of the belief that dragons could not die from traditional infections. Their blood and body temperatures were so hot that they would burn away any miasma intent on making trouble in their flesh before any damage could be done. I prayed that I was proven right, just as I prayed any further trauma added to Stormcloud would settle itself by the time the metal could be removed.

We moved onto the harpoon piercing her belly, the Grey Ghost once more biting through the hilt of the spear. Repeating the routine as before, I was gladdened to see Aegon was able to settle Stormcloud with better ease.

Within ten minutes, the procedure had been complete.

And immediately after the procedure had been completed, the dragonseeds returned.

The Grey Ghost hissed with horrible anger at their intrusion, hunkering down with wariness. Vermithor, Silverwing, Seasmoke and Sheepstealer all returned to the courtyard of Dragonstone. I stared at the sky with great attention, hoping to see that last, final dragon.

Vermax never came.

Sorrow filled me, as too did it fill Aegon. We held one another and tears fell from our eyes, for this day that was meant to be my victory had truly been mottled with tragedy.

Jacaerys Velaryon was dead.