The royal couple had abolished the right of the first night throughout the realm, yet here on Dragonstone they upheld it with blatant double standards, even expecting Aemon to inherit and maintain the practice after his marriage.
Rhaegar felt nothing but contempt for the pair of white-haired monarchs.
Aemon, however, still could not accept it.
"Isn't that a betrayal of marriage?" he protested to Jaehaerys.
"Look at the Dragonkeepers around you," the king replied, his voice rising as he swept his gaze across them. "Who taught them to speak fluent Valyrian? Why can they approach dragons without being devoured?"
He paused, then declared loudly:
"Because they are all descendants of House Targaryen."
The Dragonkeepers' blood was far from pure, none of them bore the silver-gold hair or purple eyes of true Valyrians.
Yet to be acknowledged by the Dragonlords as kin filled them with pride. They straightened their backs, chests swelling with honor, and those whom Jaehaerys looked upon even bowed respectfully.
"What about Baelon then?" Aemon asked, still searching for a way to refuse. "When he rides a dragon someday, will he have to do the same?"
Jaehaerys answered calmly.
"The blood of House Targaryen is not particularly resilient. If we marry families without Valyrian ancestry, the ability to approach dragons will fade in one generation, two at most. That is why every male member capable of riding a dragon must uphold this tradition."
Before young nobles married, maids would discreetly teach them about the matters of intimacy.
By bringing Aemon and Baelon here today, under the pretext of celebrating Aemon's betrothal, Jaehaerys was passing down a family custom that had endured for generations.
"Dragons are the foundation of our rule," the king continued. "In the days of the Old Valyrian Empire, every dragonlord family kept dozens, even hundreds, of dragons. During the Second Spice War eight hundred years ago, the dragonlords deployed three hundred dragons in a single campaign."
"You know how much dragons eat. Do you truly believe our direct family alone could care for so many?"
Three hundred dragons?
Rhaegar wasn't sure whether the king was exaggerating.
It sounded suspiciously like he was pinning the origin of the first-night custom on their ancestors, invoking the glory of Old Valyria to force Aemon and Baelon into submission.
Jaehaerys noticed the change in Rhaegar's expression.
"Rhaegar, you need not doubt it. Your own surname comes from Volon, the site of one of that war's ancient battlefields. If you ever have the chance, you may visit the ruins yourself."
Rhaegar fell silent.
His knowledge of history extended only to the era after Aegon's Conquest. The deeper history of the Valyrian Freehold remained unfamiliar territory to him.
"Aemon, Baelon," Jaehaerys continued, "once you are married, both of you will share this responsibility. As for Jocelyn, the queen will explain matters to her. She should understand."
After saying this, the king glanced briefly at Rhaegar but said nothing further.
A Kingsguard, Ser Lyonel Redwyne, stepped forward carrying a stack of towels.
Jaehaerys took one and handed it to Aemon.
"You still have two years before your wedding. You and Jocelyn have plenty of time to prepare yourselves. Take the towel and head up the Dragonmont to search for dragon eggs."
"Baelon- yours."
He handed another towel to his second son.
Aemon accepted it, then quickly asked:
"What about Rhaegar?"
Rhaegar himself didn't understand.
Jaehaerys had just delivered a long lecture about dragon blood and ancient traditions—and now he was sending them up Dragonmont to look for dragon eggs.
So why had he brought Rhaegar along?
Just to hear a Targaryen family secret?
Jaehaerys frowned slightly and thought for a moment.
"Aemon, I took you to Dragonmont once last year. The mountain is full of jagged rocks—you must keep an eye on Baelon and make sure he doesn't wander off."
Then he looked at Rhaegar.
"Rhaegar- you may go with them."
"Alright."
Rhaegar accepted the towel with a cheerful grin on his face, though inwardly he felt extremely uneasy.
Counting his previous life, Rhaegar was nearly the same age as Jaehaerys. The king's earlier manner had made something obvious: he had been waiting for Aemon to ask about Rhaegar first.
The old white-haired king spent his days issuing commands in the Red Keep, surrounded by flatterers. Now that he stood above everyone, he had become so unused to deception that he could barely lie smoothly even to his own sons.
You know I'm a bastard and still send me up Dragonmont? Hoping a dragon eats me?
Then another thought struck him.
Rhaena still lived in Dragonstone Castle.
Surely Jaehaerys wouldn't dare kill him so openly.
So why did he deliberately talk about the origins of the Dragonkeepers in front of me today?
Was he testing whether Rhaegar truly possessed the blood of the dragon?
Had he heard some rumor?
Or was there some other scheme at work?
Rhaegar's mind spun without answers.
Of course, sending three half-grown boys alone up Dragonmont would be impossible.
Jaehaerys himself was about to exercise his "first-night" privilege, and the Kingsguard could not accompany the boys up the mountain.
So before departing, the king assigned two experienced Dragonkeepers to escort them.
The villagers' wedding contained no complicated ceremonies.
The families of the bride and groom simply hosted a feast for the villagers. Everyone drank, sang, and danced together.
That was enough.
Rhaegar watched as the bride linked arms with Jaehaerys and happily led him into the house, the villagers cheering loudly.
Their celebration echoed all the way up the mountainside.
On the Path to Dragonmont
Rhaegar walked at the front of the group.
He had folded the white towel into a crude hat and placed it on his head.
As he strolled along the mountain path, he sang lazily:
"♫ The great king sent me out to patrol the mountains-
Yo-he-ho, yo-he-ho.
First I patrolled the southern hills, now I patrol the north-
Yo-he-ho, yo-he-ho. ♫"
"Rhaegar! Could you stop singing?" Aemon snapped irritably. "If you keep howling like that, you might summon a wild dragon from the mountains!"
His father's earlier words had left him in a foul mood. No matter how pleasant the song, he couldn't appreciate it.
Baelon, on the other hand, enjoyed it.
"You've only sung the same two lines over and over. What comes next?"
Rhaegar laughed.
"Haven't written the rest yet."
Rhaena kept herself far from politics, and Rhaegar had no way of learning Jaehaerys's true intentions. For now, all he could do was take things one step at a time.
Besides, the dragon-claw brand on his shoulder offered some protection.
As long as he didn't do anything suicidal, like challenging a dragon, stealing its food, or snatching eggs from its nest, no dragon should attack him on its own.
The five of them climbed the winding path toward a coastal peak.
Youth had its advantages. Though the two Dragonkeepers were already leaning on their staffs and panting, Rhaegar and the princes still chatted and laughed easily.
"Your Highnesses," one of the middle-aged Dragonkeepers said with a bow, pointing his wooden staff toward a smoking volcano in the distance.
"That mountain is where the dragons live."
"That far away?" Aemon groaned.
The last time he had come here, he and Jaehaerys had flown on dragonback. Now the endless rows of black volcanic hills seemed to stretch forever.
And horses were useless on Dragonstone's rocky terrain.
His legs already felt weak.
The two Dragonkeepers exchanged a smile.
The older one explained:
"Ever since the Black Dread, Balerion, left Dragonstone more than ten years ago, the hottest northern peak has belonged to Vhagar. The other dragons dare not challenge her and have been driven down to the lower slopes."
"So the largest dragon on Dragonstone now is Vhagar," Aemon said.
"After Balerion returned to King's Landing, he has lived inside the Dragonpit ever since."
At that point he paused and glanced at Rhaegar.
Years ago, Rhaegar's mother Aerea had returned from her mysterious journey on the Black Dread, gravely wounded.
Her death had been so horrifying that few dared speak of it even now.
Balerion himself, once her mount, had grown violently temperamental after returning to the Dragonpit's deepest cavern.
Whenever Aemon and Baelon tried to visit the dragon as children, the Dragonkeepers had done everything they could to keep them away.
"It's alright, Aemon," Rhaegar said calmly. "My mother's story is long past. She's been watching over me from the winds all these years."
The emotion Rhaegar felt toward Aerea Targaryen was mostly guilt.
If she had not carried him back to King's Landing, the infant Rhaegar, who had fallen into the ruins of Valyria, would have starved to death.
Even if fate had strangely made her his "mother," the title was not undeserved.
She truly had been the woman who gave him a second life.
Rhaegar suddenly realized that it had been more than ten years since he last saw the Black Dread.
Every year he traveled with Rhaena to Oldtown to visit his mother's twin sister Rhaella, and they had attended many feasts at the Red Keep.
Yet because of his status as a bastard, he had never been allowed inside the Dragonpit.
Not once had he been able to see Balerion again.
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