The Princess and the Queen 32: The Bastard
It was almost daybreak by the time the Blues had departed Dragonstone. Joffrey silently watched their enormous carrack sail off, the sun behind them, as they returned to King's Landing.
The Blue Dragon sailed off into the horizon, leaving a wake of ripples in the dark sea until it was out of sight. Shortly after, Joffrey's mother and siblings all returned to the warmth of the castle, where they could finally get some rest.
"Are you not coming in, Joff?" Mother gently asked, putting her soft hands on his shoulder and giving it a little squeeze.
"A while longer," he curtly said, continuing to stare out at the sea.
"It is looking to be a cold day, and you need some rest after that long night," she replied.
"I said a while longer," Joffrey said again, still not turning to look at his mother or siblings.
"Very well," conceded Mother. "Have this, then," she said, and draped her ermine cloak over him before leaving for the castle.
Joffrey turned to watch them go until it was just him standing at the tower's balcony, with only Ser Lorent Marbrand for company, whom Mother left to guard him.
He turned back to stare out at the Blackwater, watching the waves gently slosh against each other, and gulls caw in the dim morning light. For a moment, he was going to Ser Lorent to leave, too, but thought better of it.
Mother left him here to watch over me, and anyway, Ser Lorent is nice.
After what felt like anything between a few minutes and a few hours, Joffrey finally had enough of watching the nothingness of the sea. And his nose was beginning to feel a bit numb, and it wasn't due to the fight with his vicious uncle some hours ago.
Everyone knows.
Was that true, or was that another of Joffrey's uncle's cruel japes? He hoped it was the latter but knew it was most likely the former.
Look at him.
It was so clear now. How did he not realise until now? Joffrey kicked himself for being such a fool. All those times, he stared into a looking glass, and a brown-haired and brown-eyed boy would stare back at him.
Maester Gerardys would tell me the gods work in mysterious ways… no… they work very simply.
Joffrey wondered why his mother or the maester or Ser Lorent would never answer him truthfully. Were they ashamed of him? Did they think him an abomination? Were they just as foolish?
It is an abomination; I am an abomination.
All that time reading about the legendary Argos Sevenstar, dreaming about the brave Knights of the West, and pretending to be a chivalrous knight from the south. All that time was for nought. How could he truly be chivalrous, honourable, or brave if he was a bastard?
Who would follow a bastard into battle?
It wasn't just that. Maybe his bastardry was the reason his eggs would never hatch. All of them, cooling and turning to petrified stone. The Valyrians followed different gods, Prince Daemon included, but they still had a concept of illegitimate children.
He was filthy and impure on both sides of his family. He would never ride a dragon, let alone hatch one like Mother's family was renowned for. Nor would he ever be a legendary warrior that maids would sing about decades in the future like his father's family was.
No, my father was not a Lannister.
He was a Strong. The son of the late Ser Harwin Strong, the one who died in a horrific fire at Harrenhal so many years ago.
I never met my real father or my false father.
Joffrey had remembered some old tale the servants would pass around of how Ser Harwin had a bastard sister who dabbled in the dark arts. The whispers even blamed her for the mysterious fire at Harrenhal, which claimed the life of Joffrey's father all those years ago.
Is that what I am destined to be? A kinslayer, accursed by all the gods?
"Joff," a calm voice said, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Joffrey whirled around to see Ser Lorent, who was offering him a small cloth. Only then did Joffrey realise the salty tears clung onto his cheeks, with some dribbling down onto his black cloak. He accepted it and wiped them off, before handing it back to the white knight.
"Come, let's go inside," Ser Lorent smiled, accepting the tear-soaked cloth.
They went back into the Sea Dragon Tower and were greeted by the strange warmth the entire castle seemed to have. Ser Lorent gestured for Joffrey to follow him, and he did, going up the winding stairs to the second-highest floor of the tower.
"Your mother wished to speak with you," the white knight said calmly.
Upon reaching Mother's chambers, Joffrey glimpsed her, having some tender words with Viserys, her hands on his shoulders. She whispered one final thing into his ears and gave him a kiss on the forehead, before sending him off with Ser Erryk Cargyll.
Mother then gestured for Joffrey to go forth into her quarters, and Ser Lorent encouraged him forward. Before entering, however, Joffrey went over to Viserys and embraced him.
Viserys gripped him tightly in return as Joffrey softly stroked his little brother's silvery gold hair. Joffrey could hear small sobs coming from his brother, so he continued to hug him until the cries finally subsided.
Eventually, Viserys went off with Ser Erryk down to the common room at the base of the tower, where Baelon, Visenya, and Prince Daemon likely were, and Joffrey entered his mother's quarters.
She closed the door behind them and, first and foremost, pulled Joffrey in for a long embrace. Joffrey, for all the anger he felt at his mother and everyone else, had never felt safer in her arms and held on as if it was the last time he ever would hug her.
When the embrace ended, it felt like it had gone on forever, but still not long enough for Joffrey. He wiped his eyes with his sleeves and took a seat opposite Mother's usual seat, on the other side of the desk.
She instead dragged her chair across the table that was wrought into a sleeping stone dragon, and directly next to Joffrey. She took a seat, too, and softly sighed, looking for a moment at the curved balcony and the Blackwater beyond that, before turning her purple eyes to Joffrey.
"How are you feeling, dear?" Mother asked, brushing her pale hands across Joffrey's cut and bruised face, looking at his broken nose with pity.
Joffrey had to almost restrain himself from bursting into tears but kept his head held high. He hadn't gotten to truly speak with his mother after the whole altercation with his uncle, until now. After the fight, they were taken into the great hall, where everyone was present.
And everyone's eyes were staring at me.
When Aemon said to just "look at him", the room obeyed, like a crowd of sheep. Every pair of eyes in the room turned to face him, each of them feeling like an arrow piercing his skin. Queen Laena's smug lilac eyes, Baelon's sorry green eyes, and Aemon's dark purple eyes filled with hatred. And all the other eyes, too.
All of them knew…
After that, Joffrey was attended to by one of the maesters, who doused his cuts with a stinging liquid, and stuffed little balls of cotton up his bloodied nose. Then, the servants provided him with food and drink, which he could barely stomach. Still, Maester Gerardys said he had to, so Joffrey forced himself to have as many as possible. By then, the Blue Dragon departed the island.
I had a hundred questions for her, yet now all I wish to do is bury my head deep into her dress.
"Joff?" she asked again, her eyes worried.
Joffrey took a breath and stared back at her mother. She was frowning, and it almost seemed her eyes were beginning to water. She moved ever so slightly closer to him, where he could smell her usual fragrance of lavender and smell.
"What was said about you earlier, by my half-brother-" she began.
"It's true, isn't it?" snapped Joffrey, pulling away from his mother, not realising what he did. "I am the son of Harwin Strong, and not an actual Lannister! Please, Mother, be honest with me! Maester Gerardys always told me the gods work in strange ways, and you never would answer me too when I asked why my hair is like this! It's… it's…"
I already know the answer; I just want Mother to confirm it, too.
Just as quickly as Joffrey began his spiel of words, it ended, with him bursting into tears and returning into his mother's arms. She hugged him and stroked his curly brown hair until it ended, gently rocking him back and forth.
"Aye, it is," Mother whispered.
Those three words made something wash over Joffrey. It was almost like a weight was lifted off his back. It was quaint, in that the confirmation that he was, in fact, someone he thought he never was, was a relief.
She's the first person to be honest with me.
"Thank you," Joffrey whimpered, pulling back to look at Mother. Her smile was weak yet still welcoming, and her eyes looked weary.
"I shall be truthful for you, Joff. It is the least I can afford you as my son," she sighed. "And do not forget that you are of my blood, and my son," Mother reaffirmed. "And that shall never change, my sweet boy," she said, ruffling his hair.
I knew that already, but it is still relieving to hear.
"And for everyone else, you are still Lord Joffrey Lannister," she continued. "Is that clear? To the whole world, your father was the late Jason Lannister."
"B-but…" replied Joffrey, confused. "That isn't fair…"
"Not fair?" she asked.
"Not fair for the Lannisters," said Joffrey, prompting Mother to frown. "Since my real father was not Lord Jason, that would mean I should not be the lord. It should be my uncle."
"Aye…" Mother nodded, her eyes seeming distant. "But you should not fret about that. Your uncle has recognised you as the Lord of Casterly Rock."
"He… he knows, too? Ser Tyland?" asked Joffrey. "But why, though? I am taking his rightful place, yet he still brought gifts for Baelon as well as me when he visited here."
"He recognised you as his lord because his brother did too," she explained. "Before he passed, your fa- Lord Jason, acknowledged you as his true son. To contest that, Ser Tyland would be desecrating all over his brother's legacy," Mother said, slightly smiling and gently rubbing Joffrey's arm.
It would be desecrating over Lord Jason's legacy because of how everyone sees bastards like me.
"Which is why, in the eyes of the realm, your father was Lord Jason," she repeated.
"Is that why Grandfather told people that he would cut the tongues of people who say otherwise, even if it is true?"
"Aye," Mother replied sadly. "And your grandfather has good reason to do so. Should this get repeated across court and the realm, your life could be at risk, as well as mine, as well as all of your siblings. It protects us from the war that Queen Laena has waged upon our family."
Joffrey nodded along silently, realising why the King had made such a decree. Still, a big part of him felt uneasy about it all.
Why should people lose their tongues over repeating a truth, even if it is a bitter one?
He also didn't like how he would deprive Ser Tyland of what was truly his. But since his mother explained that the Lannisters accepted Joffrey as his lord, it shouldn't become an issue. At least, that is what he hoped.
And I am to be warded there in just a few years.
Joffrey gulped at the thought of that. Even if the Lannisters did accept him, and that he would marry Ser Tyland's daughter, surely they would still have some bitterness over Joffrey being their place.
Anyone would.
It was all well with Ser Tyland's less-than-annual visits to Dragonstone giving gifts to a boy he hardly knew, but that was a big difference to Joffrey entering the den of lions and living under their tutelage.
Will they ever welcome me, let alone accept me?
"Thank you, Mother," he smiled, somewhat reassured but not fully satisfied.
"Shall we head back down to the common hall, where your siblings are, or do you wish to remain with me a while longer?" Mother warmly asked.
"We shall head back down," nodded Joffrey with half a smile.
"Very well," she replied, giving him a small embrace before they headed down the Sea Dragon Tower.
They walked through the corridors, passing by tapestries of dragonlords, dragons, and half-men, half-dragon monstrosities. The sheer amount of dragons on display reminded Joffrey of another matter.
"Is the reason why I could never hatch an egg also because of… this?" he nervously asked, looking up at Mother.
She looked back at him, frowning and pity in her eyes. She then put an arm around him and pulled him closer to her as they reached the spiral stone staircase.
"No, truly," replied Mother. "The reason why… I honestly do not have an answer why, but I assure you, it is not due to what we discussed earlier, I assure you of that," she said. "It may just be what the gods will, and have you fated to get another dragon at a later time… or the eggs were never all so great to begin with."
"When will I get a dragon, then?" Joffrey asked her, almost petulantly. For a moment, his voice reminded him of his uncle Aemon, so he shook his head and exhaled. "If I have failed to hatch ten eggs, how likely shall it be that I hatch the eleventh?" he asked, calmer this time.
"It doesn't need to be an egg," Mother slowly said, looking at Joffrey. "There are unclaimed dragons here."
Joffrey's eyes widened at that. At first, he wanted to profusely reject the notion out of fear of becoming dragon food, but he realised what his mother told him just before.
You are my blood, and my son.
"Th-that… yes, I could," nodded Joffrey intently. "We can do that. On the morrow."
"On the morrow?" repeated Mother, shocked. "It needn't be on the morrow. It is only whenever you feel ready. The dragons are not like to disappear," she chuckled.
"Aye, but it will stop people whispering, won't it?" said Joffrey. "If I claim a dragon now, people would not talk about that."
"I would not want you to rush into something, Joff," warned Mother. "As I said, whenever you feel ready to claim one."
"I feel ready now," confidently replied Joffrey.
"Very well," she smiled. "If you so insist, my dear. On the morrow, it shall be. Dreamfyre and Tyraxes are both familiar to the keepers on the island and unclaimed; it shall be one of those."
Joffrey thought of which dragon he would prefer. Dreamfyre was larger and older, as well as more docile, whilst Tyraxes was young and swift, full of energy. Whichever it was, however, didn't matter. What mattered was that he would finally have a dragon.
Once they had reached the bottom of the staircase and were about to enter the common hall, Mother stopped Joffrey one more time and crouched beside him. She put both hands on his shoulders and pulled him close, keeping her voice low.
"Despite all of this, Joff," began Mother. "As I have said countless times, you are my son, always and forever. Whatever people say about you shall not change the love I bear you. Let people prattle on about you, but ignore them," she said, her voice firm but also warm. "You are Joffrey Lannister, and you are half Targaryen and half Lannister. You are part dragon and part lion. Do dragons and lions care about the opinions of the sheep? No, they eat the sheep."
Joffrey smiled and nodded, albeit was taken aback. He wouldn't want to burn his enemies, but realised that the best way to ignore everyone that would call him a bastard was to ignore it, even if it was true. He laughed bitterly at the thought, but promised himself he would do that, no matter how difficult it would be.
It is much easier to say it than to do it.
They then walked up to the door of the common hall, made of cool grey stone with depictions of dancing dragons engraved into it. Two guards, draped in black and maroon surcoats and plate, stood guard.
Upon seeing Joffrey and his mother, along with Ser Lorent trailing behind them, one of the guards unlocked the doors, letting them swing open into the large hall at the tower's base. A gust of wind greeted them from the large windows, as well as some quiet yet serious-sounding chatter between Baelon and Prince Daemon.
"-and how would I know that Aemon would encounter them in the yard?" was what Joffrey heard Baelon say, his voice tired. He then swung around, his green eyes bloodshot and his cheeks rosy, but a small smile appeared on his face when he saw Mother.
"You shouldn't have been with the enemy, at least," snapped Prince Daemon, who also turned to see Mother and Joffrey enter. The prince's demeanour then eased somewhat, and his hands moved away from Dark Sister at his hip.
Prince Daemon seemed as if he was about to say something else but quickly paused and smiled when he saw Mother. His smile instantly turned into a frown when he saw Mother's cold glare.
"Seven hells," Mother whispered to herself, walking towards the group. Prince Daemon and Baelon were the only ones standing, with Visenya sitting on a chair, her face angry, and Viserys next to her, staring blankly at the ground.
"Mother! Joff!" Baelon said, relieved, walking towards them.
"Baelon, Viserys, Visenya," Mother replied, addressing Joffrey's siblings, her voice calm. "Daemon," she said, much colder. "We have some more to discuss."
"Very well," Prince Daemon replied, glancing at his two children before turning to head to Mother.
"The hour is late," Mother said to the four of them. "Feel free to head to your bedchambers."
"We're not sleepy," sighed Baelon as Visenya muttered something too low for Joffrey to hear. Baelon didn't reply to whatever was said, but his face dropped upon hearing it.
"Very well," she smiled. "If you have urgent need of me, let Ser Lorent know, and he shall fetch me instantly."
Prince Daemon offered his arm out to Mother to take, but she ignored it, choosing to whirl around, her red skirts fluttering around. She exited the hall, with Prince Daemon following right behind her, a scowl on his face.
The two guards posted at the door shut it after they exited, the sounds reverberating around the hall. The only people in the hall with Joffrey now were two household guards, Ser Lorent, Baelon, Viserys, and Visenya.
Before going over to his siblings, Joffrey looked around the hall. It was three-sided, with the largest being curved and dotted with windows, allowing wind and rain in. The other two stone walls met at an angle, and both had engravings of dragons etched into them.
Leaning on either wall were long stone tables shaped into slender dragons, littered with ornaments, cutlery, and glassware. Torches were placed sporadically along all three walls, making the room feel cold and dim.
Or is that just how I am feeling?
The room wasn't particularly large or small, nor was it too cramped or empty, yet it felt like all of these things for Joffrey. As he slowly walked to his siblings, each step echoed against the ground, which made the walk feel like an eternity.
He was relieved to finally reach the dragon-shaped table in the centre and pulled out a wooden chair, intricately carved to resemble a dragon spreading its wings along the back. Joffrey sat down, feeling the warmth of the purple velvet cushions.
"If any of you are tired, I can accompany you to your rooms," Baelon said, breaking the silence, his voice bouncing off the walls.
"We can do that ourselves if we were," sighed Visenya, not looking at her older brother.
"Very well," shrugged Baelon, before heading across the table. He grabbed a rusty pitcher and poured the golden liquid into a golden goblet. He looked at the cup's contents with a look that resembled disgust, before swirling it around and drinking it all in one gulp.
Visenya looked up at him, her face blank, whilst Viserys kept his purple eyes fixed on the ground. Baelon stared long and hard at his empty goblet before pouring himself another cup of the wine and trundling over to one of the chairs, slumping down on it and sighing loudly.
"I'm sorry for it all," Visenya said to Joffrey, half smiling, putting a hand on his arm.
"Thank you," Joffrey whispered, squeezing her hand.
"Me too," added Viserys, his gaze not leaving the ground. "This wouldn't have happened if I listened to you both about the pig," he sighed.
"Don't say that!" Visenya replied quickly.
"You cannot blame yourself for what Aemon did to you," agreed Joffrey.
"I know that he wouldn't have scaled the Dragonmont in search of Vermithor if we never led him to the pig," Viserys shrugged.
"You cannot blame yourself again," explained his twin sister. "It wasn't even your idea to do that."
Is she blaming Baelon?
Joffrey gulped at that. He slowly looked at Baelon, who didn't seem fazed by what she said. He continued to stare at nothing in particular, spinning his empty goblet in his hand.
Did he even hear her?
"It may have been Baelon who suggested it, but I still encouraged you all," Viserys said.
"What?" asked Baelon, finally reacting to the sound of his name.
"It-" Joffrey began to say but stopped himself.
"Are you talking about what your father was talking about earlier?" he grumbled. "Aye, I know, it was all my fault," he spat bitterly.
This is unlike him; he must be very deep in his cups.
"It wasn't all your fault," Joffrey reassured him, just as quickly as Visenya reassured Viserys moments earlier.
"Aye, mayhaps not all," smiled Baelon. "But most of it. You both agree with your father, anyways," he said, nodding at Viserys and Visenya.
"It's not-" groaned Visenya. "I just think you should have been there that night, instead of-"
"How was I supposed to know our half-uncle would be prowling around the castle with a damned knife?" Baelon spluttered. "I tried telling your father that, but he didn't listen."
Had Prince Daemon managed to finally get through to both of his children? Joffrey dreaded it if that had truly happened. He was all too familiar with the Rogue Prince's distaste of Baelon, as well as the small spat they had a while ago.
"I'm not saying that you would know that Aemon would be in the yard," she said, shaking her head. "You should have been in your quarters, not drinking and laughing with Aemon's siblings!" Visenya said, her voice raised to almost a shout. "That way, you would have accompanied us, and Aemon wouldn't have taken Viserys' eye!"
Joffrey didn't know what to think or say. He knew that Visenya was hurting because her twin had lost an eye, but also that she had been influenced by her father's whispers.
She isn't entirely wrong - Baelon shouldn't have been with Daeron and Baela.
Joffrey was inclined to agree with Baelon, however. He didn't deserve to be culpable for Aemon cutting out Viserys' eye and calling Joffrey a bastard. Maybe it was because Baelon was Joffrey's full brother, and Visenya was merely his half-sister, even if Joffrey never saw her as such.
Actually, Baelon is my half-brother too.
The thought brought back the events of the night, as well as yesterday's feast, to the back of his throat. Joffrey quickly stopped himself from retching and continued to watch his brother and sister argue.
This is even worse to see. I would rather do anything else than watch my siblings fight.
"I was there every night; nothing else happ-" countered Baelon, before Visenya cut him off.
"You shouldn't have been there any of the nights! It wasn't even my father who told you so; it was Mother too," Visenya said. "You disobeyed her instructions, like you do with everyone," she added, the last part a whisper.
"Can we stop?" demanded Viserys, finally looking up. His singular purple eye was glassy with tears, and his pale brows were furrowed in anger. "I don't want to talk about who is to blame anymore," he said quietly.
"Very well," said both Baelon and Visenya, sighing.
"Sorry," Baelon said sheepishly. "And sorry to you both, too, Joff and Visenya. You are correct."
"Aye. I am sorry too," she said, looking at the ground.
After that, the room stayed in a tense silence, intercut with the distant sounds of waves crashing, birding calling, and, occasionally, the even more distant roar of dragons. The room gradually lit up, with the sun getting higher and higher, yet Joffrey felt just as chilly as before.
Nobody spoke for a while, nor left to their bedchambers, just preferring to sit and stare at the stone ground or stone wall or stone table. Baelon refilled his cup once but only took one sip of it before leaving it on the table and sighing.
"If Grandfather said he would take people's tongues for calling me a bastard, he should have done so to Aemon," Joffrey mused, only wondering why the thought came to his mind after saying it.
"That would have been better," scoffed Visenya. "It would be amusing to see him try and command Vermithor without any words to say."
"Dragons are still linked by a bond. I would wager that he still would be able to," said Baelon, shrugging. "Unfortunately," he made sure to add.
If I actually had a dragon, I would know.
"Maybe if I asked then, Grandfather would have obliged," said Joffrey.
Part of him wished to see his cruel uncle lose his tongue for his insults, but he also didn't wish to have someone's tongue cut out due to an insult. Cutting a man's tongue was a sign of cruelty, but it also shows that you fear what the man has to say.
What he had to say is true.
"He was about to take Aemon's eye," noted Visenya. "Mother convinced him."
"Why did you tell Grandfather not to do it?" Joffrey asked. "It would have been fair. Or if not his eye, mayhaps his hand, which he used to take your eye."
"He didn't deserve your mercy," Visenya bluntly said as Joffrey nodded in agreement.
"Maybe," sighed Viserys. "But how would he have reacted if I did take his eye. He would never forgive me…"
Viserys looked up from the ground and at both of them. Joffrey could see the red stitches up close and the purple and black protruding bulge where his eye should have been. The sight was sickening, and made Joffrey grimace. His little brother seemed to notice it, and frowned at him, before continuing.
"If he wanted to kill us because of a damn pig, what would he do if he blames us for Grandfather taking his eye or hand or tongue?" Viserys explained. "And I said I do not wish to talk about this matter," he said, crossing his arms.
"Very well," Joffrey said. "We're sorry."
"Aye," smiled Visenya kindly.
They remained sitting in silence for barely a few minutes, and by then, Mother and Prince Daemon had returned. She promptly told them all that they needed to sleep, and the four of them obliged.
The walk back to their quarters was done in a silence that teetered the edge between uneasy and comforting. Once they reached their bedchambers, Mother gave them all a soft embrace before she left, as Prince Daemon did so to his two children.
Joffrey didn't even bother changing into his nightclothes and just collapsed onto the bed, engulfed by the large cloak Mother gave him earlier. Sleep came to him quickly, with the early morning light streaming in from the window, not stopping him.
When he awoke some hours later, he could barely remember what he had dreamed about. All he could recall was a dragon attacking a war camp without warning, with Joffrey being helpless to stop his family and people being slaughtered.
He shook away the bad dream and splashed cold water on his face to fully wake him up. By his judgement, it was already mid-afternoon, the sun beginning to dip from its zenith but was still beaming down on Dragonstone.
Once he had changed into a comfortable red doublet, along with black breeches and boots, he made his way to the hall to break his fast. There, he was greeted by his mother, who was alone in the hall, save for some ladies in waiting who were about to depart and Ser Lorent and Ser Erryk, who both stood guard over her.
"Are you prepared for today?" she asked, reassuringly smiling at Joffrey.
"I suppose," he chuckled. In truth, he didn't know how prepared one could be. Whether he would successfully claim a dragon was up to the dragon. All Joffrey had to do was climb onto the dragon, surely.
"The keepers shall brief you on what to expect. You will not be in danger; I assure you of that," Mother smiled. "We will have ten guards, as well as twenty of the keepers with us up on the Dragonmont. And if the dragon refuses you, it shall be clear well before anything untoward happens."
"Aye," nodded Joffrey, putting on a brave face, which made Mother laugh and pull him in for a hug.
Sometime later, the dragonkeepers told him the words to use when trying to claim a dragon, which he knew from the books he had read prior to this, as well as watching his siblings. One of the older keepers even rubbed his hair and smiled at him before they ascended the Dragonmont.
While they climbed up, the same friendly keeper spoke to Mother in High Valyrian. Joffrey could understand only some of the words, and the rest sounded unintelligible to him.
The keeper said some words in her harsh, guttural voice before Mother replied, her Valyrian much silkier and smoother. The keeper then nodded, before Mother turned to Joffrey.
"Dreamfyre is said to be in one of her month-long slumber, so you are to attempt to mount Tyraxes today," she explained.
The smaller dragon.
"Very well," smiled Joffrey, knowing that Tyraxes was only just large enough to ride.
"I know you may have hoped to claim the larger of the two," Mother said.
"A dragon is a dragon," Joffrey replied. "Maybe little Aegon can claim her when he grows."
"Maybe," she agreed, grinning.
The old keeper then said something else to Mother, before nodding at Joffrey, smiling. Another keeper chirped in, his tone jovial, and patted Joffrey on the shoulder.
"They are saying that Tyraxes is the better mount to claim," Mother said. "Dreamfyre has supposedly grown old and lazy in the past few years, whilst Tyraxes remains eager and friendly around people, despite never having a rider bonded to him before. The dragon is also said to be growing quickly, and has the makings of a good dragon to use in battle."
It was definitely reassuring, apart from the battle part. The only time in which a dragon's size and speed mattered was in a battle against another dragon. And that meant…
No, I shall remain focused on claiming Tyraxes right now!
When they reached the clearing the dragonkeepers had found for the claiming, Joffrey noticed Baelon, Viserys, and Visenya watching them from another clearing some hundred yards away. The three of them were accompanied by the portly Ser Robert Quince and a score of dragonkeepers.
The actual area where Joffrey would attempt to claim his dragon was wide, at least sixty yards across, and covered with lush green grass, and the sun was at Joffrey's back. Four more dragonkeepers were already there, using their staves to keep a flock of around two dozen sheep organised.
"That will be used to attract the dragon to the clearing," Mother whispered, nudging him.
Once the lead dragonkeeper had organised everyone into their desired places, he whistled, and one of the younger keepers brought forward one sheep. The younger keeper then prodded the sheep, which made it bleat once or twice.
The dragon had heard the bait, and a deep roar was heard approaching from the other side of the mountain. In almost an instant, it flew over the Dragonmont, its shadow momentarily engulfing the clearing before the dragon decided to circle it, gradually descending.
Joffrey decided to glimpse up at the dragon. It was much larger than he expected, but slender and almost bony.
Wait… It's the wrong colour!
The dragon wasn't the marvellous purple and red, but a muddy brown with a lighter brown underside. It didn't glow in the sun, and had pointed horns across its head and body.
Mother moved her hand to her mouth as the dragonkeepers began barking orders at each other. Shouts in High Valyrian were made at each other, interlaced with foul curses in the Common Tongue. Mother quickly grabbed Joffrey's arm and pulled him close whilst chaos began to unfold on the clearing.
"We attracted the sheep stealer," Mother whispered to him as the sheep began to disperse from the flock, heavily bleating.
The Sheepstealer landed on the clearing, letting out another roar, its voice deep and guttural, a bit like High Valyrian. It set its eyes on the six remaining sheep, and were directly behind Joffrey and Mother.
"It is said to not be aggressive to people… come, quickly," Mother said, but Joffrey hardly heard her. He had frozen in his place, staring into the pale pink eyes of the wild dragon. Suddenly, he remembered something he had read in a book so many years ago.
Looking into a dragon's eyes is seen as a provocation.
He gulped and felt his stomach drop but still kept his eyes locked with the muddy dragon. He wondered what he would do, how he would escape, how the dragon would kill him, all whilst his mother watched helplessly.
Joffrey then closed his eyes, accepting his fate, but nothing happened. He opened them again, expecting to see the inside of the Sheepstealer's jaws. Instead, the dragon stared at him curiously, smoke blowing out of its nostrils.
Why is it not attacking me?
The dragon cocked its head as if it were asking the same question to Joffrey. Then, he realised something. A flush of joy came over him, and he finally exhaled. Joffrey turned to his mother, whose face was pale with fear. He simply grinned at her, and turned his eyes back to the dragon.
Lions and dragons eat the sheep.
They eat the sheep.
Slowly, Joffrey took a few steps backwards and pivoted his body, pointing towards the sheep near the edge. A few of them scurried away whilst one was cornered, frozen in terror. Joffrey calmly walked over to the sheep and stroked it before pushing it over to the dragon.
The Sheepstealer clumsily walked over to Joffrey, somehow avoiding trampling on anyone on the clearing. It stopped some yards away from Joffrey, its teeth bared, which looked a bit like a childlike grin.
Once the sheep was directly under the Sheepstealer, the dragon opened its mouth, and the glow of brown and red fire began to glow at the back of its throat, like a single torch at the bottom of a mine.
"No!" Joffrey said before shaking his head. Remember the words! "Dohaeragon!"
Serve!
To everyone's surprise, the Sheepstealer obeyed, and the dragon closed its mouth. It then cocked its head again as if it were waiting for a command.
It listened!
"Sheepstealer, dracarys!" he shouted again, and the dragon obeyed again. It opened its mouth again and let out a blast of brown fire, engulfing the poor sheep in its flame. The sheep burned, and the dragon sunk its jaws into the animal, enjoying the taste of fresh mutton.
Once the sheep was well and truly devoured, the dragon belched, before walking slightly closer to Joffrey. He did the same, reaching out an arm at the mud-brown beast.
It lowered its head at Joffrey, allowing him to place his hands on its rough scales. Joffrey ran his small hands across it, feeling the Sheepstealer's rough skin and warm breath. The dragon then made a rumbling sound, which reminded Joffrey of a kitten. He suppressed a chuckle and instead continued to stroke the dragon's scales, his smile wider than the Blackwater.
Finally, I am a dragonrider. After all this time!