THALOR
The morning sun glinted off Nightfury's sleek scales as Thalor made final adjustments to the riding harness, double-checking each strap and reinforcement with methodical precision. Though they had returned to King's Landing over a year and a half ago, the prince still found himself appreciating the freedom of the Red Keep's open spaces after their months of self-imposed exile on Dragonstone.
That difficult time seemed distant now—the tension that had driven them from the capital had gradually dissipated as King Aerys's mercurial attention shifted to other matters, his rage over his son's defiance eventually cooling enough for Queen Rhaella to negotiate their return. Thalor had been ten then, spending nearly eight months on the ancestral Targaryen stronghold while his father's temper stabilized. Now, at twelve, he had regained much of his previous position at court, though he maintained a careful distance from situations that might trigger his father's unpredictable wrath.
"The new straps are holding perfectly," he murmured to Nightfury, running his fingers along the reinforced leather. "And the weight distribution is much better with this saddle design."
The dragon rumbled in agreement, shifting slightly to test the feel of the modified riding gear. In the two years since their return from Dragonstone, Nightfury had grown considerably, his wingspan had expanded to nearly thirty feet when fully extended, his midnight scales hardened into natural armor, and his plasma blasts had developed enough power to shatter stone with precision.
Most importantly, his increased size and strength now made extended flight possible—journeys far beyond the immediate vicinity of King's Landing that had previously been beyond their reach.
"Today's the day, bud," Thalor said, excitement evident in his voice despite his attempt at casual confidence. "The weather's perfect, the winds are favorable, and we've got royal permission for 'extended training exercises.'" He rolled his eyes slightly at the euphemism his mother had used to secure approval from the king.
In truth, their planned expedition was far more ambitious than mere training. After years spent developing his cartography skills and collecting existing maps of the Seven Kingdoms, Thalor had designed a project that would revolutionize geographical knowledge of Westeros—a comprehensive aerial survey to create the most accurate maps ever produced.
"We'll start with the Crownlands," he explained, securing his specialized equipment in the saddlebags. "Then expand outward in stages—the Riverlands, the Reach, the Stormlands. Eventually we'll map the entire continent."
The political implications weren't lost on him, even at twelve. Their flight to Dragonstone during his father's rage had demonstrated both Nightfury's capabilities and the strategic advantage a dragon provided. Though positioned as a temporary retreat rather than a permanent separation, that episode had established Thalor's ability to operate independently when necessary—a fact not forgotten by the court or the great lords of the realm.
This mapping project would further expand their operational range and visibility, reminding the Seven Kingdoms that dragons once again flew the skies of Westeros. His father would undoubtedly see propaganda value in such demonstrations of renewed Targaryen might, while lords throughout the realm would be reminded that distance no longer guaranteed isolation from royal attention.
But Thalor's motivations were more practical than political. Accurate maps would improve trade, enhance disaster response, and provide invaluable data for his various infrastructure projects. The existing charts were riddled with errors—coastlines misshapen, mountain ranges oversimplified, river systems inaccurately traced. From dragonback, he could correct these flaws and add details never before recorded.
"All set," he declared, climbing into the saddle with practiced ease. His frame had grown taller and stronger during his time on Dragonstone, the volcanic island's harsh conditions and increased responsibilities accelerating his physical development. His silver-gold hair was tied back in a simple leather cord, and his riding leathers—designed for both protection and freedom of movement—bore subtle Targaryen insignia worked into the material.
Nightfury tensed beneath him, powerful muscles coiling in preparation for flight. With a single fluid motion, the dragon launched them skyward from the platform atop the Broken Tower, wings beating powerfully as they climbed into the clear morning air.
The sensation never grew old—the rush of wind, the incredible feeling of freedom, the world falling away beneath them as they soared higher and higher above the Red Keep. Thalor felt the familiar surge of joy that had defined his relationship with flight across two lifetimes. Here, above the political intrigues and constraints of court, he was truly himself—a dragon rider, a surveyor of horizons, unbound by the limitations of ground-bound existence.
When they reached a comfortable altitude, Thalor directed Nightfury northward with gentle pressure from his knees—part of the sophisticated non-verbal communication system they had developed over years of partnership. The plan was to follow the kingsroad north to the crossroads, documenting landmarks and geographical features along the way. From there, they would turn west toward the riverlands, mapping the course of the Trident and its tributaries before returning to King's Landing via a southern route.
"Let's show them what we can do, bud," Thalor called over the rush of wind, extracting his specialized drawing board from its case and securing it against his knee.
Nightfury responded with a joyful aerial maneuver—a perfectly executed barrel roll that would have unseated a less experienced rider. Thalor laughed, entirely comfortable with his dragon's exuberance. Their months on Dragonstone had provided unprecedented freedom to develop their aerial capabilities away from the restrictive oversight of the capital. There, with only the open sea as witness, they had pushed the boundaries of what dragon and rider could accomplish together—skills they now brought back to their expanded operations over the mainland.
For hours, they flew northward, Thalor alternating between sketching landscapes and simply marveling at the unprecedented perspective their altitude afforded. The kingsroad stretched below them like a pale ribbon, winding through forests and fields, connecting settlements that appeared from above as collections of miniature buildings clustered around crossroads or riverbanks.
By midday, they had reached the great fork where the kingsroad split—one branch continuing north toward Winterfell and the Wall, the other turning west toward Riverrun and the westerlands. Thalor guided Nightfury to land on a hilltop overlooking the crossroads inn, a famous landmark where travelers from across the Seven Kingdoms converged.
They touched down well away from the inn itself, not wanting to cause panic among the travelers with the sudden appearance of a dragon. Thalor dismounted, stretching his legs and consulting his maps while Nightfury drank from a nearby stream.
"We're making excellent progress," he told the dragon when he returned, offering a fish oil treat that Nightfury accepted with evident appreciation. "Let's continue westward along the Trident. The river system is particularly poorly documented on existing maps."
Their brief rest complete, they took to the skies once more, following the glittering course of the Trident as it wound through the heart of the riverlands. Thalor filled page after page with detailed sketches, noting discrepancies between the actual landscape and the maps he had studied.
It wasn't their first combat intervention, he reflected as they soared over the countryside. During their time on Dragonstone, they had once intercepted pirates attacking a trading vessel near Driftmark—their first taste of using Nightfury's capabilities against human opponents. That incident had been relatively contained, witnessed only by the grateful merchants and the few pirates who had escaped to spread tales of a dragon's wrath.
This mapping expedition would inevitably place them in position to encounter similar situations across a much broader territory. The question wasn't if they would face another opportunity to intervene, but when—and how they would respond when it occurred.
As if summoned by his thoughts, a disturbance below caught Thalor's attention—movement on a secondary road that branched from the river highway toward a cluster of small farming communities. From their altitude, he could see a group of mounted men surrounding what appeared to be a party of traveling smallfolk—farmers, perhaps, or craftspeople moving between settlements.
"Nightfury, lower," he commanded, setting aside his drawing implements. "Let's get a closer look."
The dragon complied immediately, descending in a spiral that brought them within better observation range while maintaining enough distance to avoid immediate detection. The situation below was grim—the mounted men, clearly bandits by their mismatched equipment and aggressive postures, had encircled a group of perhaps twenty travelers, including women and children. Several bodies already lay motionless on the ground, while the surviving smallfolk huddled together in evident terror.
Thalor's decision was immediate and instinctive. Unlike their first combat encounter near Dragonstone, which had occurred in relative isolation, this situation would have significant visibility within the riverlands. Intervening would reinforce the message sent by their previous rescue—that dragons once again protected the innocent in the Seven Kingdoms. It would be a second public demonstration of Nightfury's capabilities, this time witnessed by common smallfolk rather than merchants.
"We're going to help them," he decided, patting Nightfury's neck. "Quick and decisive, bud. Intimidation first—let's try to avoid actually harming anyone if possible."
The dragon rumbled in agreement, already anticipating Thalor's strategy. With a powerful beat of his wings, Nightfury plunged downward, accelerating toward the scene below with breathtaking speed. At the last moment, he pulled up sharply, creating a thunderous downdraft that sent loose objects flying and horses rearing in panic.
The bandits' reaction was immediate and chaotic. Several were thrown from their mounts as the animals bolted in terror. Others fell to the ground, covering their heads as the impossible sight of a dragon materialized above them. Their leader, a burly man with a crude iron helm, staggered backward, his sword hanging uselessly at his side as he stared upward in disbelief.
"RELEASE THEM AND WITHDRAW," Thalor commanded, his young voice nevertheless carrying authority as Nightfury hovered menacingly overhead. "OR FACE THE CONSEQUENCES."
For a moment, the tableau below froze—bandits paralyzed with fear, smallfolk clutching each other in confusion, the bandit leader visibly struggling to process this unexpected development. Then, with a snarl of desperate defiance, the leader raised his crossbow and fired at the hovering dragon.
The bolt fell well short of its target, but the hostile intent was unmistakable.
"Wrong choice," Thalor muttered. He patted Nightfury's neck. "Precision strike, bud. That dead tree beside the road—show them what we can do without harming anyone."
Nightfury's response was immediate and impressive. A bolt of concentrated plasma—not the sustained stream of conventional dragonfire, but a focused blast of blue-white energy—shot from his mouth, striking the withered oak with pinpoint accuracy. The tree exploded in a shower of flaming splinters, the concussive force knocking the nearest bandits off their feet.
"THE NEXT BLAST WON'T MISS YOU," Thalor called down, maintaining his commanding tone despite the adrenaline coursing through his system. "DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND LEAVE. NOW."
This time, there was no hesitation. The bandits threw down their weapons and fled, some on foot, others scrambling to reclaim their scattered horses. Within moments, only the smallfolk remained on the road, staring up at their unexpected savior with expressions of awe and disbelief.
Thalor guided Nightfury to land at a respectful distance, not wanting to terrify the very people they had just rescued. He dismounted smoothly, keeping one hand on Nightfury's neck both for reassurance and to maintain control of the situation.
"Is anyone badly injured?" he called out, approaching the group cautiously.
An older man—gray-bearded, with the weathered face of a farmer who had spent decades working the land—stepped forward hesitantly. "Thanks to your timely arrival, m'lord, most of us are just bruised and frightened. But they killed Johan and Willen before you came." He gestured toward two bodies lying in the road—young men who had apparently tried to defend the group.
"I'm sorry we couldn't arrive sooner," Thalor said with genuine regret. "Where are you all bound?"
"To the harvest fair at Fairmarket, m'lord," the man replied, still keeping a wary eye on Nightfury. "Bringing our goods to trade—vegetables, some weavings the women made, carved toys." He gestured to the scattered bundles that had fallen from their mules during the attack. "We're from a small village two days' walk from here."
As the initial shock wore off, recognition began to dawn in some of the smallfolk's expressions. A middle-aged woman whispered urgently to those around her, pointing discretely at Thalor's silver-gold hair and the Targaryen symbols on his riding gear.
"It's him," Thalor heard her say in an awed voice that carried despite her attempt at quietness. "The Dragon Prince from the songs—the one who saved the merchants from Gulltown!"
The reference caught Thalor by surprise. Somehow, the story had spread, grown, and transformed into song—reaching even these simple farmers from a remote village.
"You're Prince Thalor Targaryen," the older man said, realization spreading across his features. He immediately dropped to one knee, the others quickly following suit. "Your Highness, we don't deserve such honor."
"Please, rise," Thalor said, uncomfortable with their prostration. "No one should kneel on a dusty road. And you deserve protection as much as any in the realm."
The spontaneous cheering that erupted from the group took him aback—these were simple people who had just lost friends and faced terrifying violence, yet their joy at being rescued by a figure straight from recent legend seemed to temporarily overshadow their trauma.
"The Dragon Prince protects the smallfolk!" someone called out. "Just like the songs say!"
Thalor managed to calm the situation, helping them gather their scattered belongings and organize to continue their journey. He insisted on assisting with the solemn task of preparing their dead companions for transport back to their village, working alongside them with a lack of pretension that clearly impressed the farmers as much as his dramatic rescue had.
"Fairmarket is still many hours away," he told them when these preparations were complete. "And those bandits might return with reinforcements once we've gone. Is there a closer settlement where you could find shelter for the night?"
"There's a sept with a small hospice about a league ahead," one of the women volunteered. "Brother Allar takes in travelers."
"We'll escort you there," Thalor decided. "To ensure you arrive safely."
He remounted Nightfury, directing the dragon to maintain a position above and slightly ahead as the smallfolk gathered their courage and resumed their journey. For the next hour, they accompanied the group, Nightfury's imposing presence ensuring no further threats materialized.
The sept, when they reached it, proved to be a modest stone building with several outbuildings nestled in a small valley. A stream provided fresh water, and vegetable gardens suggested the brothers who maintained it were largely self-sufficient. As they approached, a brown-robed figure emerged from the main building, his initial shock at seeing a dragon giving way to practical hospitality as the situation was explained.
"Of course we can shelter them," Brother Allar assured Thalor, recovering admirably from his surprise at addressing a Targaryen prince astride a dragon. "We have room in the dormitory, and food enough to share."
"Thank you," Thalor replied. "They've experienced a terrible shock, and lost friends to violence. They'll need kindness and rest before continuing their journey."
As he prepared to depart, the gray-bearded farmer approached once more, joined now by several other members of their group.
"How can we ever repay you, Your Highness?" he asked, genuine emotion thickening his voice.
Thalor considered for a moment. "Spread the word that the roads of the Seven Kingdoms are not beyond the reach of justice," he said finally. "Let travelers know they need not fear bandits quite so much as before."
"It will be done, Your Highness," the man promised fervently. "Every village and hamlet from here to the Neck will know that the Dragon Prince protects those who cannot protect themselves."
With that title—"Dragon Prince"—ringing in his ears for the second time, Thalor took his leave, guiding Nightfury eastward to resume their mapping expedition. The afternoon was well advanced now, limiting how much additional territory they could survey before needing to find their own shelter for the night.
As they soared above the riverlands once more, Thalor reflected on the unexpected turn their mapping project had taken. What had begun as a cartographic mission had evolved into a reinforcement of the heroic narrative that had apparently begun with their first combat intervention near Dragonstone.
"The Dragon Prince," he murmured thoughtfully as they glided above the countryside. "It seems our reputation has spread further than I realized."
Nightfury rumbled in response, a sound that seemed to combine amusement with satisfaction.
"Don't get too pleased with yourself," Thalor admonished, though a smile tugged at his lips. "This complicates matters considerably. Father already has strong opinions about how Targaryen power should be projected. If he hears common smallfolk are singing songs about his second son protecting the innocent..."
The political implications were significant. During their months on Dragonstone, Thalor had carefully managed the narrative of their presence there—positioning it as a temporary assignment to oversee island projects rather than the exile it had actually been. Their return to King's Landing had been negotiated by his mother when the king's rage had cooled, but the underlying tension remained: Aerys viewed dragons primarily as instruments of fear and dominance, while Thalor saw Nightfury as a partner in creating a different kind of Targaryen legacy.
Now, with a second public intervention—this time directly witnessed by common smallfolk in the riverlands—they had taken another step toward reshaping public perception of dragons and their riders. The songs mentioned by the villagers suggested the process had already begun after their first rescue. This incident would only accelerate it.
For the remainder of the day, they focused on their original mission, Thalor documenting the landscape with meticulous precision while keeping alert for additional disturbances below. As sunset approached, they found a secluded hilltop to make camp, far enough from settlements to avoid causing alarm but providing excellent visibility in all directions.
"We've expanded our range considerably," Thalor observed as he established their small camp, building a fire while Nightfury hunted in nearby woods. "Both physically and politically."
When Nightfury returned, settling comfortably around the perimeter of the camp, Thalor continued his analysis. "Our first combat intervention seemed contained at the time, but clearly the story spread further than we realized. Now we've reinforced that narrative with a second rescue, this time witnessed by simple farmers rather than merchants." He fed small branches into the fire, watching sparks rise toward the darkening sky. "The tale will spread differently this time—through village gatherings and rural communities rather than trading companies and merchant guilds."
Nightfury made a soft sound of agreement, his green eyes reflecting the firelight as he listened attentively to his rider's thoughts.
"By the time we return to King's Landing, word of this incident will likely have preceded us," Thalor continued. "The question is how Father will react. Will he see the political advantage in common people celebrating Targaryen protection? Or will he view my independent action as a challenge to his authority?"
Their time on Dragonstone had taught Thalor valuable lessons about navigating his father's mercurial moods from a distance. Queen Rhaella had served as intermediary, carefully managing the king's perceptions until his rage subsided enough for reconciliation. But direct confrontation remained dangerous—Aerys's paranoia had only deepened in the years since their exile and return.
"We need to frame this correctly," Thalor decided, leaning back against Nightfury's warm side. "Emphasize that we were acting as instruments of the king's justice, extending royal protection to his loyal subjects. The mapping project remains our primary mission, with these interventions presented as incidental demonstrations of Targaryen commitment to maintaining order."
As night settled fully over the riverlands, stars appearing in brilliant profusion above them, Thalor continued refining this strategy. By the time he finally sought sleep, wrapped in a bedroll against Nightfury's comforting warmth, he had developed a clear approach for their return to King's Landing.
The Dragon Prince. The title would follow him now, reinforced by this second public demonstration of Nightfury's capabilities. But unlike titles granted by birth or formal ceremony, this one had been earned through action—through the choice to intervene when intervention was needed, to use power for protection rather than domination.
That, Thalor decided as sleep claimed him, was a name worth bearing, regardless of the political complications it might create.
---
Their return to King's Landing three days later caused considerably more commotion than their departure had. As Thalor had anticipated, word of their intervention in the riverlands had somehow preceded them—likely via merchants traveling the river highways or messengers dispatched by local lords who had heard the rapidly spreading tale.
As they soared over the city, Thalor could hear cheers rising from the streets below, common folk pointing skyward and calling to one another in excitement. The reception was markedly different from the fear that had initially greeted Nightfury's appearances over the capital in earlier years.
When they landed on their platform atop the Broken Tower, Ser Willem Darry was waiting with a carefully neutral expression that didn't quite mask his concern.
"Prince Thalor," he greeted with a formal bow. "Your safe return is most welcome. The king requests your immediate presence in his private solar."
Thalor suppressed a sigh as he dismounted, patting Nightfury's neck reassuringly. "I expected as much. Has he received the full story, or merely rumors?"
"Reports vary," Ser Willem replied diplomatically. "Some claim you single-handedly defeated fifty bandits while rescuing a hundred peasants. Others suggest you've started collecting oaths of fealty from riverlands villages in your own name." His mouth twitched slightly. "The truth, I suspect, lies somewhere between these extremes."
"Considerably closer to the former than the latter," Thalor confirmed, gathering his maps and equipment. "Though with significant reductions in both numbers and dramatics."
As they descended the tower stairs, Ser Willem—who had been one of Thalor's primary combat instructors both before and after his time on Dragonstone—offered a more candid assessment.
"Your flying range has increased significantly," he observed. "The riverlands are well beyond your previous exercises."
"Nightfury has reached sufficient size and strength for extended journeys," Thalor explained. "We're mapping the Seven Kingdoms, starting with the territories closest to King's Landing."
"An ambitious project," Ser Willem noted. "And one with obvious strategic value."
"The practical benefits are considerable," Thalor agreed. "Accurate maps improve everything from trade to defense planning. The smallfolk incident was... unplanned. We intervened because lives were at stake, not to make some grand political statement."
They had reached the base of the tower, where two Kingsguard knights awaited to escort Thalor to his father. The conversation necessarily ended, but Ser Willem's parting nod conveyed understanding of Thalor's position, if not explicit approval.
The walk to the king's private solar gave Thalor time to organize his thoughts. King Aerys had grown increasingly unpredictable in recent years, his moods shifting rapidly from benevolence to rage with little apparent trigger. How he would react to his second son's adventure—as a glorious demonstration of Targaryen power or as an unauthorized exercise of royal prerogative—was impossible to predict.
When Thalor was announced and admitted to the solar, he found not only his father awaiting him, but also his mother Queen Rhaella, his brother Prince Rhaegar, and somewhat surprisingly, Lord Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King.
"The wandering prince returns," King Aerys said, his tone giving no immediate indication of his mood. "With quite a tale spreading through my kingdom."
Thalor bowed formally. "Father. I've completed the first stage of the mapping project mother authorized. The cartographic data we've gathered will significantly improve our understanding of the riverlands' geography."
"And in the process, you appointed yourself protector of the king's highways?" Aerys raised an eyebrow. "Dispensing royal justice without royal sanction? A return to your... independent tendencies?"
The reference to Thalor's time on Dragonstone hung in the air, an implied threat that everyone in the room recognized. Before Thalor could respond, Rhaegar intervened smoothly.
"Perhaps Prince Thalor could share the exact circumstances of the incident, Father. The reports reaching court have been... colorfully contradictory."
Thalor shot his brother a grateful glance before providing a concise, factual account of the bandit attack and their intervention. He emphasized the immediate danger to the smallfolk lives, the precision of Nightfury's response, and the minimal force employed to resolve the situation. Deliberately, he made no mention of the "Dragon Prince" title or the songs that apparently already celebrated their previous intervention near Dragonstone.
When he finished, a brief silence fell over the solar. Lord Tywin was the first to break it.
"The prince's actions, while perhaps unplanned, demonstrate the crown's capacity to enforce order throughout the realm," he observed in his measured way. "A timely reminder to all that the king's justice reaches even remote roadways."
It was a diplomatic framing that presented Thalor's intervention as an extension of royal authority rather than an independent action. Queen Rhaella picked up this thread skillfully.
"Indeed, the smallfolk are already speaking of it as proof that House Targaryen continues its ancient tradition of protecting the realm," she added. "That dragons once again safeguard the king's peace, even in distant corners of his domains."
Aerys's expression shifted, calculation replacing his initial suspicion. "Yes," he said slowly, testing the concept. "My son and his dragon as instruments of royal justice, extending the king's reach where ordinary men-at-arms cannot." He tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair, considering. "And what territories do you plan to survey next with your... mapping project?"
Recognizing the shift in his father's mood, Thalor responded with appropriate enthusiasm. "The crownlands are nearly complete. I thought perhaps the stormlands next, followed by the reach. Each region will require multiple flights to document properly."
"Yes," Aerys nodded, warming to the concept now that he had been persuaded to view it as an extension of royal power rather than a challenge to it. "Let the realm see dragons flying over their keeps and holdings once more. Let them remember who rules them, and why." A sly smile crossed his features. "And if you happen upon more... situations... requiring intervention, well, the dragon's fire has always been the ultimate arbiter of the king's justice."
The phrasing made Thalor uncomfortable—there was something dangerously unhinged in his father's growing fixation with fire as punishment—but he merely bowed in acknowledgment, relieved that the confrontation had taken a positive turn.
"With your permission, then, I'll continue the project as planned," he said. "The maps themselves will provide valuable data for governance and development."
"Yes, yes," Aerys waved dismissively, his interest in the cartographic aspects clearly minimal compared to the symbolic impact of dragons returning to prominence. "Carry on. But inform the Small Council of your flight plans in advance. We wouldn't want any... misunderstandings... about your activities."
The implied warning was clear—another unannounced absence like his flight to Dragonstone would not be tolerated. "Of course, Father."
The audience concluded shortly thereafter, with Aerys dismissing everyone save Lord Tywin, with whom he apparently had other business to discuss. As Thalor left the solar with his mother and brother, he felt relief that the confrontation had gone better than expected, thanks largely to the diplomatic interventions of Rhaegar and Rhaella.
"That went rather well," Rhaegar observed quietly as they walked. "Father has been in a particularly volatile mood since yesterday's council meeting. I feared he might view your actions as some sort of challenge, especially given your... history of independent initiative."
"Lord Tywin's framing was quite effective," Queen Rhaella noted. "Presenting your intervention as an extension of royal justice rather than an independent action."
"It's exactly what we need the lords to believe," Thalor agreed. "That dragons serve the realm's stability rather than threatening it. The last thing we want is for the great houses to begin viewing Nightfury's increased range as a potential threat to their autonomy."
They paused at a junction in the corridor where their paths would diverge—Rhaella to her chambers, Rhaegar to the training yard, and Thalor to the Broken Tower where Nightfury awaited.
"I understand songs about your previous rescue near Dragonstone have spread quite widely," Rhaegar mentioned with a hint of amusement. "The court musicians have been pestering me for details to incorporate into new verses about this latest adventure."
"I had no idea the story of that first intervention had traveled so far," Thalor admitted. "It was a relatively isolated incident—bandits attacking a merchant vessel. Nothing like this more public event in the riverlands."
"Stories grow in the telling," Queen Rhaella observed, her expression thoughtful. "Especially when they feature elements that captivate the imagination—a young prince on dragonback, swooping down to deliver justice, protecting the innocent from harm. Such tales touch something deep in the public consciousness, something that remembers when Targaryen power meant not just conquest but also protection."
"The smallfolk called me 'the Dragon Prince' again," Thalor revealed, deciding transparency with his mother and brother was wisest. "Apparently it's what the songs call me now."
Rhaegar smiled slightly. "It suits you. And creates a useful distinction—I am the Crown Prince, heir to the Iron Throne. You are the Dragon Prince, protector of the realm from dragonback. Different roles, complementary purposes."
The political sophistication of this framing impressed Thalor. At seventeen, Rhaegar already demonstrated the strategic thinking that would make him an effective king when the time came.
"It's a role I'm comfortable with," Thalor assured him. "Infrastructure improvements, practical protection, preparation for the threats we've discussed from the North. The mapping project serves all these ends, while incidentally providing the capability to respond to situations like yesterday's attack."
As they parted ways, Queen Rhaella embraced her second son briefly. "I'm proud of you," she said softly. "For using your unique abilities to protect those who needed protection. Whatever complications it creates, you acted honorably."
Her approval warmed him more than he expected. Despite his memories of another life and family, Rhaella had been an unwavering source of support and guidance in this existence—the one who had arranged his safe harbor on Dragonstone during his father's rage, who had negotiated his return when tempers cooled, who continued to navigate the treacherous waters of court politics with quiet strength and wisdom.
Returning to the Broken Tower, Thalor found Nightfury resting comfortably on his platform, clearly having eaten well in his rider's absence. The dragon raised his head inquiringly as Thalor approached.
"It went better than expected," Thalor reported, settling beside his friend and absently stroking the warm scales of his neck. "Father's viewing our actions as an extension of royal authority rather than independent initiative. Which is... convenient, if not entirely accurate."
Nightfury rumbled thoughtfully, his expressive eyes conveying understanding of the nuanced political situation.
"The mapping project continues," Thalor continued. "Though now with more official oversight. We'll need to submit flight plans to the Small Council, but that's a small price to pay for freedom to extend our range across the Seven Kingdoms." He smiled slightly. "And apparently, I'm officially 'the Dragon Prince' now."
The dragon made a sound that seemed suspiciously like laughter, earning a mock glare from his rider.
"Yes, yes, very amusing," Thalor said dryly.
As evening settled over King's Landing, Thalor spread his maps across a workbench, transferring his field sketches to more formal cartographic renderings. The riverlands took shape beneath his skilled hands—rivers and tributaries precisely placed, settlements accurately located, terrain features detailed with unprecedented accuracy.
It was satisfying work, tangible progress toward goals that would benefit the realm regardless of political currents. Yet even as he focused on these practical outcomes, Thalor couldn't help but reflect on how dramatically their position had changed in just three days.
Their operational range had exponentially expanded. Their public profile had transformed from curiosity to legendary figure in the making. Their relationship with the crown, the court, and the commonfolk had shifted in ways that would continue to evolve with each flight beyond the capital's immediate vicinity.
The wings of change were spreading—not just Nightfury's physical wings covering greater distances than ever before, but metaphorical wings that carried new possibilities, new responsibilities, and new challenges.
Whatever lay ahead, one thing was certain: they could never return to the relative anonymity of their previous existence. For better or worse, the Dragon Prince had taken flight across the Seven Kingdoms. And the realm would never be the same again.