Chapter 1

Roughly ten years prior

There was a biceps tendon strewn across his face.

Why that particular thought was the one his mind latched onto was a mystery. Probably shock, but really, who was to say?

As he was very quickly coming to realize, with life-or-death situations, most people got it wrong. In fight or flight, there was no deliberate thought but simply reaction. His mind simply honed in on whatever was directly in front of him, which in this case, happened to be the spattered remnants of a former kingsguard.

He felt another wave of heat close to his back, punctuated with the screams of dying men, and Maelys' muscles burned with a renewed vigor in his frenzied retreat.

Those around him had lost all sense of order. No longer was he a royal to protect but simply another fleeing body in a rapidly diminishing crowd of people.

The thunder of cracking rock resonated around him, and a black, twisting mass of teeth and scales snapped up another of the guards to his right. Gore flew out in all directions like someone had broken a pinata and shaken out all the hidden treasures.

The incessant growling cut off for an instant – probably to swallow – before a mind-numbing shriek split the air again, and Maelys could feel every hair on his body shoot up.

Pure terror coursed through his mind at this point without coherent thought. A jet of flame washed over the mountainside in front of him, carving through the stone with dismaying ease. Those he was with dispersed in all directions. More screaming to his rear indicated that he'd chosen the luckier path.

His boots skittered across volcanic rock nearly making him lose balance as he tore down the incline. Cuts and scrapes accumulated like flies to light but he didn't dare slow down. Ahead of him, some of the few trees which dotted Dragonstone's otherwise hellish landscape beckoned him forward. He ran all the harder.

Unfortunately, nearly every member of his guard had the same idea. Leave the open, sloped terrain of the Dragonmont and run to the only available cover. Or at least try to.

A sudden shadow enveloped the prince, and sheer instincts took over as he threw himself onto the rocky ground to his left.

Tree trunks shattered and the world shook like God herself made landfall. For all intents and purposes, the Cannibal may as well have been.

Ahead of him, a knight draped in the colors of House Darke found himself without the upper half of his torso. Another, Ser Marq, managed to actually thrust his spear towards the creature.

He missed.

The black dragon barked out a burst of flame as if laughing at the now burning man. Maelys, however, had already taken the opportunity to resume his mad scramble.

The copse of trees became slightly thicker the closer he got to sea-level though the ground beneath him had yet to flatten. He felt the briefest sensation of water at his ankle before the world summersaulted around him. A quick scream burst from his lips.

The mountainside did not seem to part for his landing like it did the dragon, and Maelys felt every square centimeter of his back scream in protest as his sudden tumble came to an abrupt halt against cold, wet stone.

The young boy's vision swam as he pushed himself up. He might've broken a rib.

A small stream of water spilled over the jagged opening of a cavern which had been hidden from his vantage farther up the mountainside. His filthy, sweat-soaked locks moved with the gentle breeze of warm air emanating from the maw of the cave.

Another high-pitched screech split the air from farther up the Dragonmont which was all the motivation Maelys needed.

Running blindly into the caverns of an active volcano wasn't high on the prince's list of priorities, but he was out of options. He was also acutely aware this may be a dead end.

In another life, he may have tried to signal others about the safety of the cave, but fuck that. Ser Marq was the perfect example of courage and what it brought you.

The cave carved a tortuous but short path through the mountain's interior. If he'd been able to take his time and examine his surroundings, Maelys may have noticed how the rock below his feet had been worn smooth or that the ceiling never dropped closer to the floor.

The prince simply ran until he ricocheted off a wall, or perhaps not quite a wall.

To his credit, the lighting in the cave had gotten quite dim by the time he'd made it the 50 meters or so into the cavern, especially with all of the twists and turns.

A sheet of shimmering, dark silver rippled in front of him as a prone Maelys found himself looking up into a pair of cool orbs.

They blinked once, almost lethargically.

And then again more quickly as the eyes seemed to focus on the young royal's sprawled-out form. The wyrm's head recoiled.

Rude, the prince noted, dazed.

Jaws large enough to swallow a mutt, but certainly not the largest Maelys had seen that day, stretched open above him.

And then snapped shut when an inhuman scream split the air, echoing through the cavern.

Maelys would never claim to be a mind-reader, much less for that of a dragon, but from the widening of the icy blue eyes above him, the prince had a pretty good idea.

Something along the lines of: are you fucking kidding me?

The dragon's head snapped towards the cave entrance; her mouth forming into what looked like a hiss without actually making the noise. A beat of silence passed, and then another before the sound of scrambling against stone drew the beast's attention back towards the human laying beside her.

Or where the human had been laying beside her.

The grey beast bucked once in the cramped interior as Maelys scrambled over her great bulk. This time, the Grey Ghost actually did hiss.

The prince surprised even himself by immediately shushing her.

Jagged fangs glistened dangerously in the low light, but whatever the wyrm's response would have been was cut off by the sound of shattering rock filtering through the cave opening. The grey dragon froze, and Maelys used the opportunity to stretch himself across her broad shoulders, finding a few decent spikes along her armored exterior to act as impromptu handholds.

"Yeah, well you weren't my first pick either," the boy found himself whispering in response to the quiet rumbling now emanating from deep within the Grey Ghost's chest.

The cacophony of violence and destruction slowly gave wave to a rhythmic pattern of bending metal and snapping bones. Apparently, the Cannibal's game of cat and mouse had concluded.

Resigning himself to an afternoon stuck in a cave, Maelys stretched out atop his impromptu roommate. Below, he could feel the grey beast shift uncomfortably whether that be due to his weight or mere presence.

Time passed slowly in the dark confines of the underground.

His let his thoughts wander to anything that might drown out the sound of the Cannibal feasting.

Daemon, he concluded. Daemon caused this – and had nearly succeeded.

It wasn't the first time Maelys thought his uncle might have tried to off him or his family, but it was the most deliberate and certainly the deadliest.

Whereas Sunfyre had hatched for his older borther, Maelys had considered himself lucky, at least before this fiasco, in that he had the opportunity to claim one of the older, more powerful Targaryen mounts.

Vermithor, he'd begged the King. Or perhaps Silverwing if the…vibe felt right? He honestly wasn't quite sure how dragon taming was supposed to work. His twin had described the connection as instinctual, but Aegon and his mount had practically imprinted upon each other since birth, so Maelys was less convinced.

On the upside, it had allowed him to bond more closely with Aemond who was similarly disadvantaged when compared to Aegon, or to the Strong bastards. It also set the precedent of being allowed to claim a mount at age of ten, which was how this particularly unfortunate series of events had unfolded.

Daemon had volunteered to survey the land atop Caraxes and claimed to have seen the bronze and silver pair roosting on the eastern face of the Dragonmont. The fact that his uncle was 'helping' immediately set off warning alarms in Maelys' mind, but, alas, who would listen to the protests of a child?

Thus, the prince and his guard began their trek up the mountainside to a rather inglorious end. Death by fang and flame was rather depressing after all.

A quiet sigh from the great beast below him pulled the prince from his thoughts and indicated the wyrm had accepted their shared and hopefully temporary fate.

Maelys errantly ran a hand across the scales at the base of her neck. Muscles tensed and then, very slowly, began to loosen.

Maybe the Grey Ghost has the right of it, he thought idly. A majestic beast content to glut herself on fish and sleep away the days in her secluded abode.

It certainly sounded simpler than trying to survive another decade without his uncle putting him in the ground.

Present

Morning rays streamed through the open widow, lighting up the wine-red tapestries decorating the interior, and bringing with them the smell of…fish.

Sighing deeply, Maelys let his head fall back within the wash bin. He had experienced perhaps three months without the foul stench of the city between finishing the sewers and the opening of the first of the new canneries.

Sure, the new and 'improved' odor of Kings Landing was Maelys' own doing, but he should have at least planned for an overlap so as to remain ignorant of a city which didn't reek.

Maybe Aerys II had been onto something with the whole wildfire plot.

The silver-haired prince stood despite protesting limbs and allowed the servants to dry him. Their constant attentions had been one of the oddest adjustments to a medieval lifestyle. Sure, it was privileged, but having someone to perform all of life's most mundane chores such as opening doors was truly world-shattering.

It also felt invasive. No wonder everyone in-universe had behaved like a paranoid loon.

The prince's ears perked at the sound of arguing outside the molded, wooden doors before his squire burst in, wearing an expression of controlled rage. Maelys had a moment to shoot the guards one disappointed look before they quickly shut themselves outside the doors.

Cowards.

"Six hours," the boy hissed, drawing out the last syllable. He stood in front of the prince with knit eyebrows and arms crossed. "Six hours, and you couldn't be bothered to even let us know you'd survived."

The prince turned to face Taelerys fully, who, to his credit, barely flinched at Maelys' bare form. A jerk of the royal's head and the servants resumed spreading an analgesic on the bruises traced across his back.

"To my credit," Maelys began, "I passed out for four of those." The bastard's expression only became flatter. "But for what it's worth, I'm sorry for worrying you longer need be."

A knowing grin flitted across the prince's face as he continued, "and for losing Meleys."

The boy's wide-eyed, gaping expression only lasted a moment before he looked away with genuine shame.

"It was never just about the dragon," he mumbled.

Maelys barked a laugh as he turned and shrugged on a wine-colored robe. "Never just about the dragon," he chuckled, drawing out the word. He placed a hand on his squire's shoulder. "At least pretend to hold some affection for your older brother."

The boy looked at him with narrowed brows. "Is that what you're after? My affection in the Targaryen sense?" A teasing smile crept onto his features. "My, how war has changed you."

The prince snorted and smacked his younger brother upside the back the head. "Keep it up, and your next mount will be Mushroom with wings strapped on."

Maelys leaned out of the way of Taelerys' own swipe and danced over to the window. "Don't make me drag you out to the yard," the bastard warned. "It would be poor form to beat up the infirm."

They shared a laugh, and the teen came over to join his brother at the window, staring out at the bustling city below. The banter died down as they stood watch over the buildings sprawling beyond the castle walls.

"You realize," Taelerys began in a more serious tone, "everything would have turned out for the better if I'd been the one riding Meleys to Duskendale." Maelys followed his bastard brother's gaze towards the Dragonpit.

"We could have stayed out there," he continued. "The King-" Maelys shot him a disapproving look, making the boy falter. He sighed. "Fine. Aegon and Aemond could have continued on north to take the claw while we brought the Riverlands to heel."

Maelys hummed noncommittally, but his squire pressed on, now lost in the fantasy. "We'd have demanded fealty from the traitor lords and added their strength to ours by surrender or force."

"And when our half-sister and her husband decided to strike at our backs?" Maelys asked. "I'm fairly certain the Conqueror never had to worry about dragons nipping at his heels."

Taelerys shot him a dirty look. "If I had a dragon of my own, a fight would be guaranteed to end in our favor," he countered.

Maelys sighed but the teen's gaze never wavered.

"You said I was one of you when you picked me out of the filth of Flea Bottom. When you gave me a new name." The boys head dropped, and he leaned his forehead into Maelys' shoulder. "You even said Helaena had dreamed about me," Taelerys mumbled, voice dropping lower.

And she had. Their sister had stumbled upon them in the servants quarters the very evening Maelys had dragged the then six-year-old child to the Red Keep. The boy had been terrified and quivering while Maelys had been scrubbing the filth off with enough force to turn the skin pink.

You found the dragon in the mud, Helaena had said without inflection as if commenting on the weather of a particularly ordinary day.

And thus, Maelys gained a constant shadow and future squire. And perhaps a first trial at parenthood before Jaehaerys and Jaehaera came along years later.

Not that Maelys deserved to be called a stand-in father for the boy. Taelerys was a shield before all else no matter how much the lines between emotional manipulation and genuine affection had blurred over the years.

Alicent, of course, had been furious when she first discovered the boy. Actually, that was much too benign. The Queen was likely contemplating murder and probably would have taken all of her pent-up rage and fear over Rhaenyra out on the bastard child.

Otto, of all people, had been the one to intervene on Trystane-turned-Taelerys' behalf. The Lord Hand was the only one short of Viserys himself with the ability to pacify Maelys' mother – a fact of which the prince had been acutely aware. Which was why he had approached his grandfather immediately after dropping the still soaked and now crying child at Helaena's door.

The Hand of the King was many things, proud and vengeful among them. But the old man was also practical and heeded sound logic.

Better for a bastard dragonrider to fight to the death against Rhaenyra's ilk rather than Taelerys' trueborn siblings. An investment of sorts for the inevitable war to come.

Thus, the boy became the best kept secret in the Red Keep, or at least secret from the King and the public eye. Otto kept his daughter in line so long as Maelys did the same for his new 'pet project.'

Two, steady hands slowly wrapped their way around Taelery's shoulders, pulling him back slightly, so that Maelys could look his squire in the eyes.

"You've always been one of us," Maelys affirmed. "And I've never once broken a promise to you. You have a place beside me in this war that I can guarantee."

The prince glanced out at Kings Landing before continuing. "But first I need you to do something very important, something I can only trust you with. No one else."

His bastard brother nodded earnestly.

"I have business to attend to tonight, but later," the prince's eyes flickered towards the maids in the background "after I've prepared things, we'll find a quiet place, and I'll let you know exactly how you fit into this war."

Maelys' stomach roiled at how the boy's face lit up as he nodded. The teen was much too good for this world, and certainly deserved better than his older brother's schemes.

Taelerys opened his mouth to reply when he was cut off by the sound of shuffling guards and opening doors. A poised figure strode through the doorway.

Maelys felt his squire inhaled sharply.

The sharp gaze of Alicent Hightower pinned the teen against the far wall. To his credit, Taelerys bowed deeply without flinching. Neither spoke. Then the tension broke with a startled screech.

"Maelys!" a hurtling ball of silver hair and green fabric screamed as it tore itself from the Dowager Queen's grasp and launched itself at the prince. With practiced ease, Maelys caught his younger sister, spinning her around twice to bleed to momentum.

"Mother says you fought a dragon." Daenys muffled voice rang through the fabric, her face buried in his robe.

Thank the gods you didn't come five minutes earlier.

"Mother says a lot of things," the prince replied, "I spent significantly more time on a beach." He winced slightly as he shifted her to a bridal carry.

"You're much too heavy, my dear. Perhaps your dragon would be bigger if you didn't eat all of her food," he joked.

The young princess whined in protest as he carried the girl towards their mother, breaking the Queen's line of sight to Taelerys.

"We came to wish you a full and expedient recovery," Alicent intoned, lifting her gaze to Maelys. Tired lines and sagging skin etched her face with the look of chronic fatigue. A constant reminder of the painful toll of having seven living children when medieval medical practice was just as much superstition as legitimate doctrine.

In his previous life, Maelys would have been ashamed of his part in pushing the queen to conceive again and again. Now, even the births of Aelora and then Daenys didn't seem like enough for all the marriage alliances he wished to pursue.

A life of practiced poise was all that prevented Maelys from running the maester through when the aged man announced Alicent would not survive another birth.

The prince flashed a smile as he stepped close his mother until Daenys form in his arms was all that separated them. The princess giggled at the proximity, but Maelys could see the faint flicker of uncertainty cross the Dowager Queen's features.

Shifting Daenys weight onto one arm, he wrapped his other around his mother's shoulders as he leaned in to leave a kiss on her forehead, lingering until he felt her shift uncomfortably.

Good.

Without letting her go from his embrace, Maelys gave her another wide smile as he leaned back.

"It was surely your prayers to the seven that protected me," he finally replied. A quick glance down revealed Alicent had resorted to picking at her fingers, a nasty habit the 41-year-old woman had never truly broken. He smiled all the wider.

Keeping his mother on the backfoot wasn't something he was particularly proud of but was an unfortunate necessity. Alicent's affections came in the form of smothering and restriction as if to protect against Daemon's machinations and make up for Visery's failings as a father all in one.

Perhaps, with all of Daemon's attempts over the years, her suffocating nature wasn't unwarranted.

Thankfully, to protect his own agency, all it took was the hint of certain practices of his father's lineage, and the Dowager Queen would back off.

Maelys was well aware that wandering eyes and double meanings would come across as a creep to anyone in the modern world, but he needed her to stay an arm's length away.

After all, few could adequately prepare for a war with one hand held firmly by their own mother.