Aboard a cart laden with goods, a young silver-haired man silently lifted his head, gazing upon the open plains before him.
Time had changed too much. The summer wind rustled the fields along the riverbank, bringing forth wheat and wild grass, completely erasing the traces of past bloodshed.
This was once the battlefield where the Riverlands' army clashed against the forces of the Westerlands. The brutal battle had reached its climax as two dragons dueled fiercely in the skies, only to end abruptly when the oldest and largest dragon in the world came crashing down.
Every man of the Riverlands knew the songs of that battle. Though often exaggerated, The Fall of the Dragon, The War of the Dragon Kings, and The Ballad of the Red Fork had become some of the most popular choices among the region's bards in recent years—especially for the lords who had fought in that war.
Take Benjicot Blackwood, for example. During his coming-of-age ceremony, he had musicians play The Fall of the Dragon, The Ballad of the Red Fork, and Bloodthirsty Ban, even going so far as to pull Lord Frey into reenacting the events of that fateful day.
Speaking of Lord Forrest Frey—he had managed to earn the respect of the Riverlords and even many of the older noble houses through his remarkable battlefield achievements. When King Jacaerys held court at the Twins, he personally acknowledged Frey's bravery, bestowing upon him the titles of Valiant Frey and Knight Frey. Even Draezell himself had praised his courage on the battlefield before departing.
From that day on, no one dared to call him Fool Frey again.
He was now Frey the Valiant and Frey the Knight. The Frey family was no longer mocked as mere upstart lords; they had proven their mettle in war. Songs of his deeds, such as The Knight of the Twins, had begun to circulate widely.
The clearest sign of this newfound respect was evident when Lord Frey's eldest son, Walder Frey, was born. The neighboring houses of Seagard, the Mallisters, along with the Pipers, the Darrys, and the Brackens—all of whom had once fought alongside House Frey—quickly sent marriage proposals. Even lords from the North and the Westerlands extended offers.
From that point forward, Lord Forrest Frey and Lady Sabitha became unwavering loyalists to the Targaryens and House Vaelarys—though they were undoubtedly closer to Vaelarys.
The silver-haired man surveyed the land. No traces of the great dragon battle remained. Even the site where the mighty beast had fallen was nowhere to be found.
"Master, we questioned the local peasants," reported a silver-haired warrior, looking disheartened as he rode closer. "It's been over ten years. No one remembers exactly where Vhagar crashed."
The young man's gaze turned cold as he looked at his slave warrior. He had come all this way for more than just sightseeing.
If they couldn't even find the place where Vhagar had fallen, let alone anything else…
"Forget it. It's not your fault." The young man sighed. After spending years in Westeros, they had grown less harsh toward their slaves. In this distant foreign land, these men had remained loyal, serving him unwaveringly.
They had all come here for one reason.
Dragons.
Whether by claiming one for themselves or by aiding a lord who could, their goal was the same.
Volantis needed a dragonrider to prove its legitimacy as the rightful heir of Valyria. With a dragon, the Tiger Party could shift the political balance and restore Volantis to greatness.
Ben Ulnar and Hoegon had failed.
But they had not.
The young man clenched his fist.
"We'll take the goods to Golden Tooth, then head south," he declared. "Is the route that Ulnar's men mentioned still viable?"
The slave warrior answered respectfully, "Master, the Silver Fleet's patrols have blocked that route for a long time. But recently, there have been rumors that the Stormlands' stag is preparing to strike at the Stepstones. The Silver Fleet's surveillance has loosened."
"I see." A bold idea took shape in the young man's mind.
---
Elsewhere.
Having purchased breastplates and shields for only two gold dragons, Rhaegor couldn't help but feel that it did not fit his initial expectations.
Still, when traveling, frugality was a virtue.
Especially since—who said that low-quality gold dragons weren't still gold dragons?
Rhaegor found this perspective quite reasonable.
He discussed with Rhaegon and Elarion the designs they wanted to paint on their shields.
In the end, they settled on three symbols.
"A hunter, a crown, and a star?" The blacksmith looked at Rhaegor with some confusion after seeing his design proposal. The shield would feature a tripartite heraldic pattern: on a white field, an archer drawing his bow; on a purple field, a silver crown; and on a black field, a silver-golden star.
"Well, ser... I don't have any purple dye," the blacksmith admitted awkwardly, scratching his head.
"No problem," Rhaegor said, pulling out a small vial. "I have some here, though the quality isn't great. I bought it from the south."
Indeed, it was from the south. In addition to purchasing horses at the Steedmarket, they had also picked up various small trinkets, including this purple dye.
It was a specialty of Silvercrown city, though the high-quality purple dye treasured by noble families was never made available for sale. The ones they had acquired in a marketplace were merely low-grade imitations, incapable of producing the regal shade associated with nobility.
The blacksmith took a whiff of the dye and immediately recognized its origin. He also began to form his own assumptions about Rhaegor's identity.
A Tarly bastard, perhaps? Or maybe a legitimate son traveling under a different name?
The blacksmith felt a surge of excitement over his own keen observation skills. The Tarly family's offspring were valuable customers—especially now, with House Tarly at the peak of its influence. After the war, the Tarlys had not only expanded their lands but had also strengthened their power through strategic marriages. Lord Alan was a renowned warrior and had now risen to become one of the most powerful lords in the south.
More importantly, the Tarlys were closely aligned with House Vaelarys.
Only a blacksmith serving a ducal household would have such insights, the man thought with pride before shifting his gaze to the other two sigils.
Rhaegon had chosen a crowned falcon as his emblem. That made sense—after all, his nickname was Falcon.
Elarion, however, had opted for a pair of pure white swords, though they differed slightly from those of House Hoth.
House Hoteh bore a single longsword on their sigil.
Ah, well—House Hoth wasn't particularly famous anyway.
"Alright, it should be ready in about three days," the blacksmith estimated. He intended to complete the task as swiftly as possible.
This was a golden opportunity to make a name for himself.