Maegor I
Maegor was miserable. The early morning cold always bit bone deep, yet there was nothing to do but press onward, teeth gritted. Dawn hadn't come to Dragonstone, but the inky blackness of night had receded somewhat, leaving the sky painted in a deep purple that gradually grew lighter as the morning approached. His father and brothers had yet to wake, as they were still sleeping off the effects of last night's ale.
His father had decided the night before was a time for celebration, as there was now "a chance for me and mine to prove our blood!" The blood that he was referring to, of course, was that of Maegor's own namesake, the king known to many as The Cruel.
To the people of Dragonstone, the former king was a complicated matter. From what stories he'd heard from his own father and other villagers, the first Prince of Dragonstone had spent most of his youth on the island with his mother, the Queen Visenya, sister-wife to King Aegon. According to the bards' tales, King Maegor was a tyrant and brute who caused great suffering throughout the realm before both the people and the Seven finally saw fit to end his reign of terror. On Dragonstone however, King Maegor was spoken about in fearful tones to be sure, but also those of awe and pride. Before he was a King, Maegor Targaryen had been a Prince, and was well-respected by the people of the island he ruled over for many years before his exile and kingship.
Silver Denys certainly took pride in his heritage. He claimed that his own grandsire was a bastard son of the famously childless king, and that his blood still flowed strongly through the veins of his descendants. Whenever pressed about the fact that King Maegor's only trueborn children were stillborn monstrosities, and that any bastard of his would likely have been so as well, Denys would scoff, before pointing at his own strongly Valyrian features.
"The seed of dragons is strongest where they roost", he would say, "and King Maegor's true home was always this island." Most arguments would end there, and if they didn't, Silver Denys had three strong sons along with his own fists if needed to defend his honor. Upon learning of the call for new dragonriders, Maegor's father was ecstatic. Not long after Gaemon had left, Denys had ordered a round of drinks for all in the common room. As he put it, "I won't need to pinch coppers when my sons and I sup at the Queen's table!"
After hearing the guards' announcement, Maegor's mind had immediately begun to race with thoughts. He had hardly considered his tankard of ale or bowl of pottage after learning the news. As the others in the room drank and made merry, Maegor let his thoughts wander, a habit of his that his father and brothers certainly felt was not ideal in a fisherman. Dragging in nets for hours at a time was as dull as it was backbreaking, and Maegor had gotten more than a few clouts in the ear for slip-ups he made whilst paying more attention to his thoughts than the world around him.
"I need your eyes on the sea, not the clouds", his father would grunt, and Maegor would apologize sheepishly before getting back to work. Theirs was not an easy life, but Maegor never went hungry, and was experienced in a trade that would always be necessary on an island like Dragonstone.
Maegor found himself along the edge of a sloped bluff that overlooked a portion of Dragonstone's large rocky shoreline. Two boats sat on this bluff, at the bottom of a dusty footpath that led back up to the thatch-roofed stone hut that Maegor shared with his father and brothers. The larger of the two boats was a deep-bellied skiff that he and his family used when fishing, with room enough for its four occupants, as well as the nets and barrels necessary for catching fish. The smaller of the two was a much smaller rowboat, much more convenient for navigating shallow inlets along the shoreline, or for greater speed and mobility on the open water. It was this smaller rowboat that Maegor began to push down the bluff with a grunt, after grabbing a fishing net from the skiff and tossing it into the rowboat.
The boat alternated between sliding on the sand of the shore and bumping on the numerous dark rocks jutting from the ground, though nearly all were worn completely smooth by the endless persistence of seawater that flowed in on the high tide. Maegor kept his eyes open for any particularly large or jagged rocks that could damage the boat on his way to the surf. After the stormy seas of the day before, Maegor was relieved to find that the waters were significantly calmer. And let them stay that way, Maegor thought as he pushed the rowboat deeper into the water. He quickly clambered in, steadying the boat and grabbing its oars. Leaning his back into the strokes, Maegor quickly drifted away from the shoreline, watching it become enveloped in the early morning fog.
Though he was experienced on the water, Maegor felt tendrils of apprehension beginning to twist in his belly as the fog closed around him much more tightly than he expected. Any other time, and I would turn back for shore right away. It was only a foolhardy sailor that would continuously test his luck against an ocean with hidden dangers that could be lurking in the fog mere paces away. But this is no normal day. Maegor needed these fish for a plan he had concocted the night before in the inn. He had no assurance that it would work, but he had been unable to sleep throughout the night as he lay alone with his thoughts, listening to his father and brothers toss and turn in their sleep, and as Aenys' increasingly loud snores threatened to bring the thatch roof down upon their heads.
Pulling the oars back into the boat, Maegor grabbed the net from where it sat pooled at his feet. Securing it to the rowboat, he dropped the end weighted with stones into the water, allowing it to spread open beneath the water's surface. Opening a small, foul-smelling pouch, Maegor began throwing some of the bits of fish viscera he'd taken as chum from the village refuse pile into the water. He watched the water underneath the boat patiently, waiting for his chance. Seeing a small group of fish nearing his boat, Maegor grinned and waited for them to start nibbling at the bait. Then, he took one of his oars and began to vigorously beat the surface of the water, causing as great a disturbance and fright to the fish as he could. He then quickly sat the oar back down and began hauling in the net. Just as he'd hoped, many of the frightened and confused fish had swum right into it, and were now flopping vainly from within its sodden confines as Maegor returned the net to the bottom of the rowboat.
It was at that moment that Maegor saw slight ripples beginning to form on the water's surface. He's hungry. Digging through the net, Maegor found the fattest fish that he could, and gripped it tightly as it continued to weakly thrash against his grasp. Steadying himself so as not to accidentally use his size against himself and capsize the rowboat, Maegor threw the fish as hard as he could into the air. The rowboat shook slightly and several locks of hair fluttered against Maegor's forehead as something large passed above him in the thick mist, remaining unseen. The fish had vanished in the mist, and did not come hurtling back down to Maegor's boat or the sea. It seems that the Ghost has accepted my offering, Maegor thought with a grin. As the sun continued to rise above the island of Dragonstone, the mist quickly melted away. Gaining his bearings, Maegor turned the rowboat back towards the shore and began rowing.
As he pulled the rowboat back up the slope of the bluff, grunting from the exertion of it, Maegor thought about the visit he'd received out on the open water. That was the first time in a long while. The Grey Ghost never made his presence known to Maegor on the open water if he was accompanied by anyone else, and there always needed to be enough fog to ensure that Maegor was unable to actually see the dragon. Despite his vehement claims as a child, Maegor's father and brothers had never believed Maegor's story about catching a glimpse of the Ghost on Dragonmont. They chalked it up to that "imagination" of mine, and spoke no more of it. At first, Maegor had been very frustrated, and eventually began to think that mayhaps his memory was simply an embellishment that he'd built up within his head. And then I received another visit. It had been a morning much like the one he was currently trudging back to his family's hut through. I had no chores that day, and it was the first time da let me take a boat out on the water by myself. From that point on, everytime Maegor nearly began to lose track of his last encounter with the elusive dragon, the Ghost would visit him early in the morning when Maegor would sail out alone to catch fish and be alone with his thoughts. He'd be hidden in his shroud of fog, and I'd toss him some breakfast. Maegor had reached the door of his family's hut, and he opened it and stepped inside.
A savory smell filled Maegor's nose as soon as he entered. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the shadowed interior of the hut, and the slight smoky haze that hung throughout the room as a cookfire burned. His father and brothers were awake and sitting at the old wooden table situated in the center of their hut. They were eating rashers of bacon, which was a rare occasion. Meat from the pigs raised and slaughtered on Dragonstone was expensive, so Maegor would only break his fast on bacon for truly special occasions. The table and benches they were sitting at had been a gift from Maegor's grandsire to his daughter the day she and Denys became one in the eyes of the Seven. Some of Maegor's strongest memories of his mother were tied to that table. If he sat at it and closed his eyes, he could envision her cooking the evening meal while his father and brothers were out at sea. She would give him little bits of said meal as she worked, and laugh when Maegor would beg for more. Her answer was the same every time. Peace child, she'd say with a twinkle in her eye, sometimes we must needs wait for what we want.
Maegor made his way over to the hearth with his net of fish. The ash that had been spread over the fire to smoke the rashers still covered the fire crackling within, but Maegor scooped some more ashes off of the dirt floor outside the hearth and sprinkled them over the crackling flame. As he opened the net and grabbed a fish from within, the fresh ashes added to the flames deepened the smoky haze that filled the room. Maegor speared the fish on black iron rungs high within the hearth to smoke them, while squinting his eyes as they watered from the smoke. The heat of the flames and the hot iron rungs within the hearth didn't bother him, however. The blood of the dragon burns hotter in our veins than any cookfire, his father would say, and Maegor had found that fact to be true more than once.
Once he was finished hanging up his catch to smoke, Maegor sat down next to Aenys on one of the wooden benches, facing his father and Aegon. Grabbing a rasher of bacon that had clearly been placed out for him, he bit into it. It tasted as good as it smelled, and Maegor enjoyed the feel of the warm bacon grease dribbling down his chin. His father grinned across the table at him, his violet eyes flashing through the haze in the cottage.
"Starting early today, are we?"
Maegor nodded back at him as his teeth tore another chunk from the rasher. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and pointed at the hearth. "I believe that I'll have need of every fish that I caught this morning."
Aegon raised an eyebrow at that before speaking. "Why's that? Ya got an even bigger appetite than usual?"
Maegor grinned at him, for his brother spoke truly. It seemed that the taller Maegor grew, the larger his stomach did as well. His father and brothers were quick to jokingly remind him that he needed to leave enough fish in the sea for the rest of the island to eat.
"Not I, but I fear that the Ghost will have an appetite that rivals even my own. I plan on returning to his home with offerings of fish. That dragon seems to love fish as much as a lord loves his gold."
Maegor's other brother was quick to join the conversation. Elbowing him, Aenys shot a look across the table at Aegon and their father. "Would ya listen to that! Little Maegor is telling tales about his friend the dragon again."
He simply laughed as Maegor shoved a retaliatory elbow into his side, which due to Maegor's size nearly knocked his brother off his perch on the bench. Smiling, Maegor crossed his arms. "I'm not so little anymore, and the lot of you will eat your words when I fly down from the Dragonmont to light a fire under your sorry arse, Aenys."
The four of them laughed at that, but Maegor's father waved a hand in the air after a few seconds to get the attention of his sons. Maegor took note of his father's expression as it became more serious, but mirth still burned brightly in his eyes.
"The Ghost would be quite a prize if you can find him, but I plan on taming a less elusive mount."
Maegor raised an eyebrow. He had no doubts that his father would try to tame a dragon, but he hadn't expected him to set out so soon. Then again, who would sit and wait when an opportunity like this appears? There are many more people on this island than dragons, and from the sounds of it, many have already begun trying to tame them, though few have succeeded. Maegor wondered about Gaemon in that moment. His friend had wasted no time in setting out from the inn the night before, and Maegor knew exactly which dragon he would seek out. Only the largest and most fearsome dragon would do for the bastard of a prince. Seven hells Gaemon, haven't you heard the stories? The Cannibal was a nearly legendary creature on the island, a dragon that was feared by wise men and sought out by fools. But Gaemon is no fool. There is no middle ground when his mind latches on to an idea. By now he'll either be riding that beast, or his bones will litter the floor of his cave.
It was then that Maegor realized that his father was waiting for a response to a question that Maegor hadn't heard. Seeing that his son hadn't been paying attention, Silver Denys merely rolled his eyes before repeating himself.
"Most smallfolk on the island know where the Sheepstealer roosts. I plan to claim that beast before any others try to. The people will see once and for all that the blood of King Maegor flows as strongly in our veins as my da before me, and my grandsire before him! Will you join me and your brothers as I go to tame the Sheepstealer?"
Maegor felt his mouth dry out. His father and brothers were all watching him intently. "I-" Maegor began, but then looked down, feeling ashamed. I feel I must needs seek out the Grey Ghost now, but what man would I be to abandon my father and brothers at a time like this?
Looking back up at his father and brothers, Maegor was surprised to see them all smiling. Denys sat up straight, then nodded. "You'd rather seek out the Ghost right now, wouldn't ya? There's no shame in that, boy."
Standing, his father moved across the room, grabbing his traveling cloak. Aegon and Aenys did the same. The three walked through the door of the hut, with Maegor scrambling from his seat and tailing close behind. When he made it to the dirt path that led up to the village, and beyond it, the foothills under the Dragonmont, Silver Denys turned back to face Maegor. Clapping a strong and calloused hand on his shoulder, he smiled widely.
"The next time I see ya, we'll both be on dragonback. A great honor that'll be." With that, he turned and began walking up the path.
Aegon smiled, and pulled Maegor into a strong embrace. "Do us proud," was all he said, before he continued up the path.
Aenys smirked before pulling him into an embrace that was no less fierce than Aegon's. "I'll see soon enough whether or not you've been lying about seeing the Ghost. And if ya were, I'll give ya a good enough clout on the ear that it'll ring even that thick head of yours."
Maegor laughed at that, and soon Aenys was walking up the path as well. Maegor stood rooted in place, watching the cloaked backs of his father and brothers until they vanished over the crest of the hill at the edge of the village. Maegor felt an odd sense of melancholy as the last of them disappeared, that didn't dissipate even after he returned to the cottage to finish his rasher of bacon.
"I'll see them soon enough," he muttered to himself, taking another bite. The feeling slowly faded away, replaced by a growing anxiety as he considered the journey that now lay ahead of him.
Climbing the Dragonmont had been no easy task as a child, and Maegor found that it was even harder now due to his size. Clutching the ledge tightly, he hoisted himself up onto it, rolling away from it and leaning against a rock to catch his breath. Sweat was pouring down his face and back, and his muscles were clenching and unclenching wildly from the exertion of his first real ascent up the mountainside off of the sheer goat paths that lead a short ways up the Dragonmont from the surrounding hills. As he caught his breath, his thoughts wandered back to the circumstances that led him to this mountain so long ago in his life.
His father had tried to explain to him that birthing was never easy on a mother, and that there was always a possibility that she could die while bringing a child into the world. The death of his mother in the birthing bed had devastated Maegor, but he hadn't cried until he learned that his baby sister had not taken long in following their mother from the world of the living.
"The Stranger guides their way now," his father had said, his voice cracking. Denys had buried them not far from the cottage, under a small gnarled tree that offered some shelter from the rain.
Maegor stood, adjusting the musty rope that secured the sack of smoked fish to his back. He had set out as soon as the fish were done smoking. He'd put out the fire, and placed the fish in a large burlap sack before using a short length of fraying rope to sling it securely over his shoulder. He still had much of the late morning and afternoon to complete his ascent, if he moved with as much haste as possible. Running his fingers along the rock face ahead of him, Maegor found a hand hold. Grunting, he continued his climb.
Maegor didn't want to stay at the almshouse for orphans in the shadow of Dragonstone's castle. But there were no other choices for him. He was too young to go out to sea with his father and brothers, and he wasn't capable of doing mother's old chores either. His father had brought him there early one morning, and entrusted him to the kindly septons that ran the almshouse. As Maegor had cried and begged his father to take him back home that first day, Denys had hugged him fiercely.
"You know that I can't," he'd whispered, tears in his eyes. "Work hard and listen well, and you may have a better life than your da and your brothers yet."
Over the following weeks, Maegor did as his father asked. He worked hard at his chores, and did as he was told. When he noticed Maegor looking intently through a copy of the Seven Pointed Star, Septon Bennard had immediately begun teaching Maegor letters, and when Maegor took to learning them like "a fish took to swimming", Septon Bennard had Maegor begin reading and writing as well. Maegor read whatever he could find in his free time, for it was only while he was reading that he could truly escape the world around him. Septon Bennard was very pleased, and oft claimed that Maegor had it in him to be a Septon himself one day. While the other children played, Maegor read, and practiced scrawling out sentences from the Seven Pointed Star on whatever scraps of parchment that Septon Bennard gave him with bits of charcoal. Try as he might to befriend them, most of the other children oft ignored Maegor, while others called him names and hit him. Maegor's life continued in this manner for well over a year, before the dragon came to his dreams.
Maegor was getting close to his destination. The sulfurous air burned inside his nose, and white smoke poured from numerous cracks and vents that seemed to grow in amount and size the further he climbed. His ascent took on an almost dream-like quality, as half-seen shapes swirled in and out of existence within the fog. He breathed deep of the air around him that shimmered and smelled like fire, and a smoldering warmth grew in Maegor's chest, spreading throughout his tired body, lending his muscles a newfound strength that drove him onward. I'm nearly there. He could feel it. A small ledge gave way under his right foot, and Maegor felt terror bloom within him. Legs dangling in open air, Maegor clutched his shallow handholds tightly. The smoke swirled about him, its silvery tendrils wrapping around him as though they were tentacles of a kraken trying to pull him to his doom. The strength that he had felt was fading rapidly, and he knew that he would soon lose his grip. Gritting his teeth, Maegor hoisted himself up as far as he could, and blindly reached his right hand into the mist, praying for another handhold.
He hadn't dreamed of home that night, but he felt a familiar warm and comforting feeling throughout himself that started in his fingertips and toes and flowed into his heart as he took in his surroundings. He was surrounded by a swirling mist that revealed none and hid all. Stepping forward, he began to see a dim light, distorted by the mist and flickering tremulously. The closer he walked, the brighter it burned. Tall shadows began to dance within the mist, illuminated by the brightness of the hidden fire. Maegor felt no fear, even as the light seemed to burn brighter than the sun, searing Maegor's eyes and burning away the world around him. When he finally closed his eyes against the light's intensity, he stopped walking forward. Opening his eyes, Maegor found himself staring out over the island of Dragonstone to the sea. He was on its desolate eastern side, where the island's castle and many of its villages were hidden from view. Looking behind him, he was surprised that he didn't even need to squint to see the volcano's glowing mouth looming further above him. Turning back towards the sea, he took notice of a massive gash in the slope, billowing smoke that glowed with the unnatural light of the Dragonmont's fiery heart. Moving over to it, he dropped to his knees and peered inside of it. Seeing nothing, and continuing to feel no fear, Maegor crawled into the billowing vent. He began to fall, and as he fell further and further, flames began to envelop him, cloaking him in a robe of crackling reds, oranges, and blues. Looking through the flames burning all around him, Maegor saw the face of a dragon. Its features were indistinct, but Maegor could tell it was aware of him. It began to move towards him through the pillars of white-hot flame, and its visage was clear enough that Maegor could see its eyes were closed. And then, they weren't. Pale white orbs seemed to bore into his soul, and Maegor sat up with a start, sweating and breathing heavily within the darkness of the almshouse.
Maegor never wanted to climb this thrice-damned mountain again. Taking gasping breaths to fill his lungs with air, he slowly inched away from the ledge he had managed to scramble over. He knew he was in the right place. Collecting his strength as well as his thoughts, Maegor staggered to his feet and surveyed his surroundings. There was a small stone ledge leading up from the landing he was on to the upper reaches of the Dragonmont's eastern slopes. He remembered walking along that same ledge a long time ago, as a significantly smaller and scrawnier lad. Walking on to the ledge, Maegor pressed his stomach and face to the sheer rock, and began to inch his way upwards. Thankfully, nothing gave way, and after a slow but mercifully uneventful ascent, Maegor found himself looking up a less steep portion of slope, broken up by a large vent that billowed an eerie glowing smoke, owing its glow to the fires that burned deep within it.
After seeing the dragon within his dreams, Maegor could hardly think of anything else over the next week. He found himself frequently staring up at the Dragonmont, and it sometimes felt as though the imposing volcano was in some way calling out to him. Maegor made his decision quickly. Despite the great kindness of Septon Bennard, Maegor was tired of his life in the almshouse, and began planning his escape. Over the next several days, Maegor would wrap up small bits of his morning and evening meals in strips of cloth from a torn-up shirt and store them behind an old barrel at the rear of the almshouse positioned so that it could collect rainwater running off of the building's sloped roof. In addition, he'd filled and tucked away a large leather water skin. Exactly a week after he'd dreamt of the dragon, Maegor settled in for the evening, acting as though he was sleeping while he waited for the other orphans and Septons to turn in for the night. When the light of the last candle was extinguished in another room, Maegor fought the urge within himself to immediately begin moving.
In the darkness, he waited for what felt like an agonizingly long time, and to keep from growing tired, he practiced reciting his letters in his head. Eventually, he sat up silently, squinting to see within the darkness of the room he shared with several other orphans. He was already wearing his warmest clothes, and carried his blanket under his arm. Silent as a shadow, he crept across the room and out into the hallway. Placing his feet carefully to avoid stepping on any of the creaky floorboards that he'd memorized the location of, Maegor made his way to the carved stone steps leading down to the almshouse's common room. At the top of the steps, he hesitated one last time. Looking back, Maegor could see the outline of the doorway to Septon Bennard's quarters. Maegor knew that the man would worry about him, and for a moment considered forgetting about escaping and returning to his room. But the moment passed, and with it Maegor's indecision. Down the steps he went, as quiet as a mouse. In the common room, Maegor stopped to pet the guard dog of the almshouse, scratching it behind its ears. The large mutt wagged its tail silently, then licked his hand. Out the back door Maegor went, closing it slowly so that it wouldn't creak on its old hinges. Collecting his hidden food in a small sack that he'd brought with him, he wrapped it and the waterskin up into his blanket, before wrapping the blanket around his waist and tying it off tightly. Escaping the town beneath Dragonstone's castle proved much easier than escaping the almshouse, and as the moon reached its zenith in the night sky, Maegor had begun to trek around the base of the Dragonmont towards its eastern side.
Looking at the vent, Maegor hoped that he'd see some sign of the dragon that lived within it. Several minutes passed, and nothing happened. If the Grey Ghost was roosting in it at the moment, he had no intention of informing Maegor of his presence. Turning back to look out at the sea, Maegor marveled at how far he had climbed throughout the day. The setting sun was hidden in the western skies behind Dragonmont's peak, but the evening sky was a vibrant red and pink. Maegor was suddenly quite aware of how tired he was. Opening the burlap sack, Maegor retrieved two smoked fish from within. Creeping up as close as he dared to the massive vent's edge, Maegor placed the larger of the two fish on the ground. Maegor then made a meal of the other fish that he'd grabbed, providing some nourishment to his growling stomach. As he licked the grease from his fingers and tossed the bones aside, the moon had just begun to rise over the island. In stark contrast to the blackness of the night, the vent glowed redly, looking much more sinister than it did when the light of the sun still touched the world. Like some entrance to the Seven Hells, Maegor thought. Nestling beneath his cloak against a large rock sitting on the slope, Maegor decided to try and get some sleep. He closed his eyes, and sleep came quickly.
It had taken him two days to find the vent that he'd seen in his dreams. Climbing mountains was hungry work, and before he knew it, Maegor had eaten nearly all of the food that he'd brought with him from the almshouse. When he finally had found the vent, Maegor had been as excited as he was scared. He'd spent an entire day watching it from behind a rock, but nothing had happened. Disappointed, Maegor had gone foraging along the sparse slopes of the Dragonmont, and was pleased to find a small amount of bright red berries. Picking them, he'd eaten them along with the last of his food, forcing himself to only drink a small amount of water. The more of that he drank, the less time that he could spend on the Dragonmont looking for the Dragon. It wasn't until much later that night that he'd woken up with his stomach twisting in agonizing knots, and began vomiting.
Maegor woke early the next morning, and shook the moisture off his cloak that had collected throughout the night. He shivered, pulling his cloak tighter about himself. The mornings were less cold on the slopes of the Dragonmont, thanks to the warm mists constantly rising from vents and cracks in the mountainside, but the chill in the air had not completely vanished. That was when Maegor noticed that the fish he had left out had vanished. Gods be good! Is the Grey Ghost here after all? Grabbing another fish, he crawled on hands and knees to the edge of the vent. The steam rising from it was searingly hot, and Maegor did not risk injury by attempting to peer inside of it. He simply left the fish and hid behind a rock, watching. An hour passed, and nothing had happened.
Maegor decided on a new strategy, shimmying back down the ledge to the lower landing that he'd climbed to the day before. After watching the sun rise higher in the eastern sky for a good amount of time, Maegor climbed the ledge again. This time, the fish had vanished. Ha! My ploy worked! Maegor was very confident that no bird would brave the heated mist and air smelling of brimstone on the Dragonmont to steal the fish he was setting out, and felt that it could be none other than the Grey Ghost taking them. For the better part of the day, Maegor set out a fish, then climbed down to the lower landing. Each time, however, he waited a shorter amount of time before shimmying back up to see whether the fish remained where he had left it. Maegor was pleased each time to see that the fish had been taken, but grew increasingly frustrated that there was no sign of the Ghost himself. Maegor figured that he had only enough fish to see him through the rest of the day at the rate that he was using them. By evenfall, he was completely discouraged. The Grey Ghost clearly likes my fish, but he will not come for them if I remain too close. It was maddening, to know how close he was to the dragon he sought, but at the same time seemingly unable to reach it.
Eating another fish as the evening fell, Maegor found that he only had one left. My last chance. Staring at the fish in his hands, Maegor grimaced. All of this effort for naught. I guess I'll be getting that clout in the ear from Aenys after all. Maegor could only hope that his father had had better luck than him. This was a fool's errand from the start. Ever since I first came to this place, the Ghost has shown an interest in me, but kept his distance. It was arrogant to think that this would end any other way. Frustrated, hungry, and tired, Maegor fell asleep for a second night on the slopes of the Dragonmont, still tightly clutching his last smoked fish.
After spending half of the night vomiting and descending into delirium, Maegor found himself too weak to stand as the sun rose. The berries that he had eaten clearly were not safe to consume, but he had done just that. Now, as he lay ill and exhausted, his stomach empty from how sick he'd been, Maegor feared that he wouldn't be able to climb back down the Dragonmont, much less stand. More than anything, he just felt tired. Drifting in and out of consciousness for much of the day, his senses finally seemed to fully return to him as the evening sun glowed redly over the island. Maegor needed food, but he still lacked the strength to do anything more than crawl on his hands and knees. He then smelled charred meat. Looking in the direction of the glowing vent, Maegor could see several charred fish lying around it, as though they'd been haphazardly dropped and forgotten. Scrabbling over towards the vent, he grabbed one of the fish. Grimacing at how hot to the touch it was, Maegor blew on it desperately and waved it in the air, hoping it would cool enough to eat. Then, he tore into the fish with a starved desperation. He did the same with two other fish that he found scattered nearby. With a full belly, Maegor had lain down to sleep, resolving to descend the mountain the next day.
Opening his eyes, Maegor thought he was still dreaming as he began to take in the sight before him. Morning sunlight shone gently across the upper eastern face of the Dragonmont, sluicing through the plumes of white smoke to reveal a slender grey-white dragon sitting beyond the large vent's ledge, regarding Maegor silently with pearl-white eyes. Due to the color of his scales, it looked almost as though the smoke swirling around the dragon was in some way part of it.
"Grey Ghost", Maegor whispered, afraid that by speaking the image before him would melt away like morning mist.
When that didn't happen, Maegor rose slowly to his feet, legs shaking in anticipation and fear. Picking up his last smoked fish from the ground, Maegor slowly approached the dragon, terrified that he'd startle it and make it fly away, or retreat into the vent it roosted in.
The Ghost seemed tense to Maegor, and Maegor spent what felt to be a lifetime slowly crossing the small distance of slope between himself and the dragon. Stopping a few feet in front of it, Maegor hesitated. Shaking his head, he steeled his nerves and tossed the fish into the air in front of the Grey Ghost. Quick as a bolt of lightning, the fish was snatched out of the air by the dragon's large jaws. After consuming the fish in what seemed to be the blink of an eye, the Grey Ghost went back to silently watching Maegor. Taking the last few steps forward, Maegor found himself a mere span or so from where the dragon sat. With a tentative hand, Maegor reached out, praying to the Seven that the creature would not lash out at him. It didn't, and Maegor sucked in a breath as his hand came into contact with the smooth grey-white scales along the dragon's snout. The Grey Ghost's head shrunk back slightly at Maegor's touch, but the dragon made no attempt to flee. This will take some time. Smiling, Maegor took another step forward, continuing to run his hand along the dragon's snout. Sometimes we must needs wait for what we want. Maegor would take as long as the Grey Ghost needed to become acclimated to Maegor and his touch.
After his meal of charred fish the night before, Maegor had awoken the next morning feeling much better. Though he hadn't seen the dragon from his dream, Maegor wasn't completely discouraged. He had still found the place on the Dragonmont that he'd seen while sleeping, and that discovery alone filled him with a sense of pride, as well as wonder. Why had he dreamed of this place? Maegor wasn't sure, but he did know that his time on the Dragonmont had come to an end. As he began his descent, Maegor was surprised to hear loud wingbeats close by. Craning his neck and staring at the sky, Maegor was awestruck as a grey-white dragon flew over him, close enough that he realized it had the same look of the dragon from his dream. When he'd reached the foothills below the Dragonmont, Maegor had taken the path towards the village and home where his father and brothers lived, resolving to not live another day beneath the roof of the almshouse below Dragonstone's castle.
It had taken Maegor nearly the entire day to get the Grey Ghost comfortable enough with his presence and touch to allow Maegor to clamber up onto his back. The dragon had then taken flight, and Maegor had understood for the first time in his life how beautiful the island of Dragonstone and ocean surrounding it looked from high above as both passed by far below him. It was early evening when Maegor guided the Grey Ghost down into the largest courtyard of Dragonstone's castle, and as he slid from the Grey Ghost's back to the ground, he looked hopefully for a familiar face amongst the people gathering to watch his arrival, largely with expressions of extreme shock. Hardly any people on the island could truly claim that they had seen the Grey Ghost with their own eyes, and even then it was from a great distance. Now the dragon stood before them all in the castle courtyard, silently regarding them with its milk-white eyes.
Maegor hoped to see his father and brothers already amongst the faces, there to greet and congratulate him. How proud father will be that we both ride dragons in the Queen's name! They weren't there, however. He did see one of the soldiers from the inn on that rainy evening not so long ago, when Maegor had decided to try to tame the Grey Ghost. He was pale, and staring at Maegor as though he were the one more deserving of the epithet "ghost". Stepping towards the guardsman, Maegor called out to him with a friendly smile.
"Greetings friend!" Maegor said, before his gnawing curiosity brought a question from his lips. "My father intended to claim the Sheepstealer, and left several days ago with my brothers to do so. Have you heard any news?" The blood of King Maegor flows even more strongly in his veins than mine, and he looks as much a Dragonlord as any member of the smallfolk on this island. Has he truly not succeeded yet in taming the Sheepstealer?
Seemingly trying to compose himself, the guard stepped forward, his face still ashen. "We thought you was dead with the rest of 'em," he stuttered.
The murmurs of the crowd died down as Maegor stopped in his tracks as though he'd been slapped across the face. He was so stunned that he barely recognized the grinning face of Gaemon having just appeared at the back of the crowd.
"What?", Maegor whispered, though he felt that he already knew what dreadful answer he'd receive. "Some of the village folk followed your da and brothers out to the lair of the Sheepstealer to watch him try an' tame the dragon. They say that the evil bugger tore Silver Denys' arm off, then burned him an' his boys as they tried ta' stop the bleedin'."
It can't be. Maegor suddenly thought of a time as a boy when he'd fallen from his family's skiff and nearly drowned. The same feeling of constricting tightness clenched his lungs as he stared in disbelief at the shaken guardsman. The joy that had been filling Maegor had crumbled to ash within him, and he felt as though he couldn't move. Why? Gods be good, Why? There was no answer but a silent breeze blowing across the courtyard.