[13] Can I See Your Dragon?
Chapter 13: Can I See Your Dragon?
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The air in the Old Palace thrummed with anticipation, cheers swelling and fading like waves crashing against the ancient stone. Slanted sunlight poured through narrow windows high above, casting golden lines across the gathering.
In the courtyard’s center, a ring of castle guards stood watch, eyes sharp and fixed on the open ground that would serve as the arena.
On the raised platform, Prince Doran Martell sat, his expression calm as his gaze swept over the crowd of Dornishmen below. Beside him, Oberyn lounged, his eyes falling on his daughters—the Sand Snakes—scattered in the crowd below. When they caught his eye, they nodded with a smile, their glances carrying the same fiery spirit as their father.
Near them, Ellaria watched with quiet amusement, her eyes warm as she soaked in the lively, charged energy of the crowd. “This is going to be interesting,” she said.
“I agree,” Kinvara wanted over. She strided to the platform with that peculiar smile of hers, the flames of excitement reflected in her gaze. She inclined her head to the two princes, who nodded back and settled beside them.
“Quite the lively start to the day,” she murmured, her gaze sweeping the arena with a flicker of curiosity. “But are you sure about this, Prince Oberyn? You’ve seen what he can do.”
“Ah, well,” Oberyn chuckled, though Doran frowned, a hint of curiosity in his expression. “I did request Prince Viserys to go easy. Hopefully, he’ll listen.”
Doran was about to ask what was going on, when the crowd’s focus shifted as Princess Arianne made her entrance. Murmurs followed her like ripples, voices low and filled with admiration. They cheered for her, and she waved at them. She moved through the assembly with the graceful ease of one born to be the center of attention, her dark hair catching the sunlight, her gaze steady and sure as she met their eyes.
“Father. Uncle.” She greeted the Princes, bowing a little, as the crowd’s energy seemed to gather around her, rising higher as she took her place beside her father.
Kinvara’s gaze flicked to Arianne, her smile deepening slightly as she inclined her head. Arianne’s response was polite, her nod restrained, though a faint tension edged her lips. Her distaste for the priestess was subtle but not unnoticeable. She didn’t like the religion of the God of Light, as a follower of the Faith of the Seven.
“Now that the princess is here, begin,” Prince Doran said, nudging his chin. Then, a man in dark red robes, a bright sash slung across his chest, stepped forward—the announcer.
He raised his hands, and the crowd fell silent, anticipation settling over them like a drawn breath. “Today!” he proclaimed, his voice echoing across the courtyard, “we gather in love of our dear Princess Arianne Martell, whose honor shall be defended in this sacred Duel of Honor!”
He paused, letting the crowd’s cheers rise once more, then continued. “First, we have Ser Andrey Dalt! He’ll be fighting for our Princess!” At his words, Ser Andrey strode into the circle, his light armor polished, his form imposing with a broad shield in one hand and a long sword in the other. The crowd’s roar surged, raised fists, and shouts of support filled the courtyard.
“Ser Andrey, the pride of Lemonwood!” the announcer continued, his voice booming with pride. “Champion of our princess, who stands to uphold her honor!”
The cheers intensified, and Ser Andrey raised his sword in acknowledgment, his gaze hard and ready. Arianne caught his eye, offering him a nod, her lips curving in a confident smile as she watched him step into position.
Drey is a powerful knight, she noted. I can’t wait to see that bastard’s face when he’s thoroughly humiliated.
The announcer’s tone shifted, an edge of intrigue coloring his voice. “And today, he faces a warrior from beyond our shores. A man from Volantis here to challenge those who walk the path of blood and sand. He, who has the Second Sons at his beck’s call, a warrior known as… Vis!”
A figure emerged from the shadows, face half-hidden beneath a wrapped cloth. Viserys stepped forward, moving with a casual, almost dismissive grace. Clad in dark clothing, his Targaryen features concealed by a simple wig, he held nothing but a spear. It was an arrogant contrast to Ser Andrey’s armored form. His stance relaxed, his gaze unflinching.
The crowd’s murmurs grew, rippling through the courtyard, surprise flashing in their eyes at the sight of this “outsider.” This man, who was he to question their princess’ honor?!
But as he stood there, calm and assured, those murmurs shifted, turning into enraged and curious cheers as they adjusted to his unbothered confidence.
Arianne’s gaze narrowed, her irritation tempered by something else—a hint of fear. Here wasn’t someone awed by the crowd or the spectacle. No, he moved like he’d already won. How could a coward be so arrogant? Was she reading him wrong since his face was hidden?
“Now!” The announcer’s voice rose over the crowd. “Let the duel begin!”
The courtyard held its breath as Ser Andrey settled into a solid stance, shield up, sword ready. Across from him, Viserys twirled his spear, his grip so loose it seemed careless, his lips curving in a smirk under the cloth mask.
The tension thickened, drawn tight as Andrey launched forward, his blade slicing down toward Viserys’s chest. Viserys sidestepped with ease, letting the sword pass by inches, and flicked his spear lightly against Andrey’s shield—a playful tap, more a taunt than an attack.
“Get him for me, Drey!” Arianne called, a teasing lilt to her voice, her grin widening as she watched her chosen knight advance.
Ser Andrey’s every step was heavy and deliberate, each swing of his sword powerful and precise. He was a knight that made his allies feel safe, and enemies scared. But… Viserys was a shadow, slipping around him, his spear weaving through the air with a smooth elegance that seemed almost mocking. Andrey’s force was met with nothing but swift, effortless evasion, Viserys darting away each time as if barely invested in the fight.
“Slippery rat!” Frustration flashed in Andrey’s eyes, his strikes coming harder, his breaths growing rough as he fought to corner his elusive foe.
Viserys’s expression remained untouched, his eyes looking almost amused. His dodges were a clear taunt, as of mocking and shouting that Andrey’s strength held no threat here.
He was like a spark of lightning dancing on earth.
The crowd watched, spellbound, the tension thick as they took in the clash of styles—the brute strength of Ser Andrey against Viserys’s calm, unbothered agility. Each parry, every fluid sidestep, seemed to underscore the difference between them, and a ripple of realization passed through the spectators as it became obvious who held control.
“Boring fight,” Viserys said when Sir Andrey started to pant and slow down. Then, with a swift, calculated sweep, he brought his spear down in a powerful arc, meeting Andrey’s blade with precise force. Metal rang out, sharp in the silent courtyard, and Andrey’s sword shattered under the blow, pieces clattering to the ground.
Stunned, Ser Andrey faltered, his grip slipping as he took a step back, momentarily defenseless. Viserys had already moved, appearing behind him with a swift kick to Andrey’s back.
The knight flew forward, his armored form crashing to the ground as he coughed blood. His weapon lay in pieces beside him as he lay still, dazed in the dust.
Viserys rolled his shoulders, a smirk on his lips, his gaze finding Arianne’s. He tilted his head, his voice rising over the silence. “So, Princess,” he called out, his tone filled with mock innocence, “what does it mean… to lose a Duel of Honor?”
Arianne’s eyes burned with pride wounded, anger simmering beneath her gaze as she met his challenge. Around them, whispers grew, the crowd murmuring in disbelief.
She wished she could see his head on a spike.
****
I hadn’t expected the spoiled princess to feel so insulted she’d demand an Honor Duel. She was what, twenty-two, and yet so thoroughly coddled. How could someone so thin-skinned hope to rule a land like Dorne?
Now I walked beside Prince Oberyn, who was guiding his older brother with one hand. And on the other side of me, with her head dipped low, walked the princess herself, her proud gaze dulled, her expression a tight, stubborn silence. I’d embarrassed her, and it was fun doing so. At least she was quiet now.
“Ah, children fighting,” Prince Doran said, his voice soft with laughter as he tried to ease the tension with a casual observation.
The old Viserys might have taken deep offense at being called a child, but I let it roll off. Doran was simply trying to settle the matter with minimal fuss. “But that aside,” he added, his tone warming, “you certainly fight well, Prince.”
I gave a nod, catching his gaze with a faint smile. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that I fight best when there’s something on the line. And it’s hard not to enjoy a Dornish duel.”
Oberyn chuckled, giving his brother a glance. “You’ve got an instinct for the spear,” he said, looking at me with something close to approval. “Your movements are so impressive that it’s rare for men not born here.”
I shrugged, keeping my expression smooth. “I admire the freedom, that’s all. Spears are more fun than swords.”
We walked on, Doran occasionally turning to ask me a question or offer some casual comment. His words were calculated, his tone deceptively mild. He didn’t say it directly like Oberyn, but he too was impressed by my spearmanship. It was the reason I hadn’t just defeated Ser Andrey in the first ten seconds. Arianne kept to her silence, though I could feel her tension, like the sharp edge of a blade waiting for its chance to strike.
After a while, Doran’s tone softened into something more curious.
“I heard about your dragon, Prince Viserys,” he said, his voice laced with a cautious intrigue. “It’s been a long time since Dorne has seen such a creature. Too long, I’d say.” He offered a faint smile, a sign of his interest.
I glanced at him, a flicker of amusement passing through me. “She’s a ravenous one, and she’s hungry,” I replied. “If I bring her out, she’ll likely dart off to hunt. Unless, of course, you happen to have fresh meat at hand.”
Oberyn laughed, his eyes glinting with understanding. “Fresh meat is easy enough to find here.”
Doran nodded, his gaze considering. “You’re in luck, then. I had some sheep butchered earlier today. They’re waiting just nearby, if you would like to show us this dragon of yours.”
I inclined my head, following the two princes down a narrow passage until we emerged into a courtyard. Several sheep carcasses hung suspended on ropes, their bodies limp and lifeless. Behind them, there was a farm where live sheep were eating grass. It was a sad scene if one thought about it. The air was quiet, tinged with the scent of blood, and the sky above was darkening, casting long shadows over the scene.
“Should be enough,” I said and stopped before the bodies, glancing between Doran, Oberyn, and Arianne, her gaze fixed ahead. I raised a hand, snapping my fingers.
They all watched as the air cracked, splitting open with a shiver as space itself seemed to tear apart. From that rift, a dog-sized figure sprang forward, a flash of glistening scales and sharp talons. My Viserion landed with a quick, silent grace, her eyes bright and hungry as they locked onto the hanging meat.
However, she didn’t rush to eat that.
Instead, she rushed toward the living sheep on the farm behind. She lunged forward, latching onto one of the white furballs with her sharp teeth, tearing into the flesh.
A low growl escaped her throat, and a burst of flame followed, charring the sheep with a crisp sizzle before it could even scream. The flames also caught on half a dozen other ships, burning them alive. Arianne gasped as the scent of burning meat filled the courtyard as she tore into her meal, her growls a deep, satisfying rumble.
[Your dragon, Viserion, has killed a sheep.]
[You’ve received experience points.]
[Your dragon, Viserion, has killed a sheep.]
[You’ve received experience points.]
[Your dragon, Viserion, has killed a sheep.]
….
[You’ve received experience points.]
[You’ve leveled up.]
[Level 11]
All three of them watched the scene with wide eyes, mouths agape, and faces a mix of awe and fascination. But it was Arianne’s expression that caught my eye.
Her initial anger melted into something deeper, her gaze wide and transfixed, a look of reverence overtaking her features as she took in the sight of Viserion devouring the meal. The anger that had hardened her gaze softened, replaced by something like reverence, as though she was seeing herself ride the dragon in the future. Her kids doing the same…
This was no mere show, no carnival creature on display. It was a dragon—and everyone understood the implication of it. They also understood the fact that it was mine.
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