Chapter Text
Prince Jacaerys’ plan was a simple one. With several dragons still unclaimed, he sent out a call for riders. If the person in question managed to claim one, they would be rewarded with titles, land, marriages and anything else he could think of. As suspected, there were many takers. Foolishly, these included people like the Kingsguard knight Ser Steffon Darklyn.
In the end, Jacaerys would get his dragonseeds. Silverwing, Sheepstealer and Seasmoke would all be claimed. Though it must be said that at least one of the seeds was a brown-skinned girl with unkempt black hair called Nettles.
Remember this girl. Remember her name. It shall be crucial going forward.
Dragonstone
When the call had gone out for riders, it seemed like everyone on Dragonston was going to try their luck with claiming a dragon. When even knights of the Kingsguard had failed, most people seemed scared off. Those that didn;t and were not judged worthy by the dragons were themselves burnt to ashes. The only one who hadn’t been torched was a man called Ulf, and even so, he had attached himself to a man called Hugh Hammer, a blacksmith who had seemingly fled King’s Landing in the aftermath of Blood and Cheese.
All this was lost on Nettles. Six-and-ten as she was, she had been homeless all her life, and she still had an ugly scar on her nose from when she had been caught trying to steal a loaf of bread for herself from a baker on Dragonstone. All she had heard on the streets growing up was how special the Targaryens were, and how the dragons had been the symbol of their power. They had of course been on Dragonstone longer than the rest of Westeros, but that still didn;t change what had happened to them now.
The House of the Dragon was at war with itself.
To Nettles, the whole thing was rather clear-cut. King Viserys had named Rhaenyra heir, and that made the Greens usurpers. After Rook’s Rest, she had been expecting to see Vhagar landing on the island at any moment. Instead Prince Jacaerys had called for riders for the unclaimed dragons.
They had laughed at her at first when she had put herself forward. A low, common girl without a speck of Valyrian ancestry could not claim a dragon, they all said. That mocking had made her all the more determined to prove them wrong, and given that most of the mocking had come from Ulf, she was even more determined. Without any Valyrian heritage-that she knew of, at least-she had to get crafty.
The dragon Sheepstealer had been one that had baffled nearly everyone. People had tried to claim him the way Targaryens claimed their dragons, with predictable enough results. Privately, Nettles mocked their stupidity; claiming a dragon the Targaryen way was not going to work. If someone like her was going to claim a dragon, it would have to be done in a way no one had thought to before, which is how she stumbled on her plan to win the dragon over. She knew why Sheepstealer had gotten his name; the dragon had a taste for the farm animals apparently, so she had taken it upon herself to deliver slaughtered sheep to him every morning.
It wasn’t easy to say the least; sneaking around the few farms that were on Dragonstone to find sheep, slaughter them without the farmers knowing, and then delivering them to the Dragonmont, but she had managed it thanks to a dagger in her belt. Today had been easier than usual; there were fewer farmhands around. She had thought it suspicious at first, but nonetheless had set about slaughtering a sheep and carrying it over her back to the place where Sheepstealer had made his lair.
Where Prince Jacaerys was waiting for her.
“Hello there.” The Prince said with a small smile on his face. “So you’re the one who’s been stealing all the sheep.” He added. It was an acknowledgement, not a question. Nettles had been caught, and she knew it. Even if the Prince had no guards with him, there was little doubt in her mind that the heir to the Iron Throne could cut her down without much effort.
“Y-yes.” She answered. She was not used to addressing royalty. “My Prince, I would ask your mercy-”
“Mercy?” The Prince replied, arching an eyebrow. “My Lady, there’s no need to ask for mercy. You’re the one who’s been feeding Sheepstealer, correct?” He asked. Nettles could only nod.
“That prick Ulf said only people with Valyrian blood could claim dragons.” She replied. “I’ve been trying to prove him wrong after he failed with Silverwing.”
“She misses Vermithor.” The Prince replied. Yes, Nettles was aware that Silverwing and Vermithor had mated, and now the damned Bronze King had claimed Vermithor and flown off. Fitting, she supposed.
“Hugh managed to claim her though.”
“She likes Hugh. She didn’t like Ulf.” He replied. Nettles grunted her agreement. Hugh at least seemed to have some redeeming qualities-his wife, chiefly-but Ulf had none. If the rumours about the Green King were to be believed, Ulf was even worse than he was around the various servant girls. Even worse in this case because he had attached himself to Hugh and largely stuck by the man's side no matter what.
“Well, I think I can claim Sheepstealer.” Nettles replied. “Gods know I’ve been doing enough to win the beast’s trust.”
“I’m just impressed he hasn’t tried to torch you yet.” The Prince said. Nettles briefly thought it was an insult, but then she remembered the countless others who had been lit up by the dragons or come close to it. As well as the handful of idiots who’d gone out looking for the Cannibal . . . even if they had managed to claim the beast, then it was likely that he would just end up being more hindrance than help.
“He knows who feeds him.” Nettles replied with a grin before heading into the section of the Dragonmont she knew where Sheepstealer was.
Sheepstealer was not a pretty dragon like the Green King’s Sunfyre; he was massive, ugly mud brown dragon that nonetheless had a skinny frame that seemed at odds with his size. She dropped the sheep in front of him as his eyes opened. THey were the same yellow with black slits as every other dragon in history. Job done, she moved back, preparing for the blast of heat that always came whenever he roasted the sheep.
The brilliant orange flame burst from Sheepstealer’s maw, roasting the dead sheep before he gulped it down in one bite. Dragons were ravenous beasts, and this one sheep had barely satisfied his hunger. Nonetheless, this skinny brown girl seemed to be alright; she had been bringing him juicy sheep after all. Nothing like those other two fools who had so easily approached him without thinking twice.
They had learnt their lessons. One had died, the other had fled. But they had not brought him sheep; she had. He had hoped that she'd brought another one with her, but he could make do with what he had for now. He would need another one later of course, and doubtless she would bring him one.
Nettles approached Sheepstealer slowly; the dragons interest in her was seemingly piqued by the fact that she hadn’t left yet. “Lik-ri, Sheepstealer.” She said. Nettles knew that her Valyrian was nowhere near good, but she was hoping it would be just passable enough for the dragon not to roast her alive when she tried to mount him. Hand held out in front of her, she moved closer, and the dragon seemed more curious than anything from the way he followed her movements.
Sheepstealer chose not to burn her, and evidently trusted her enough to let her climb up behind him. The fact that he didn’t lash out when she pressed her hand to his brown scales seemed to be another indicator of the trust the dragon had for her. So this is what bringing food a dragon gives you , she thought. It had long been thought that no one who did not have Valyrian blood could not claim a dragon.
Here she was, proving that theory wrong.
The dragon was used to her now. She would have to have a saddle made up of course, but the hard work was done. She could have the saddle made in the meantime.
The next day
Rhaena sighed as she watched the dragons fly. Jace’s idea for additional riders had not been one that was greeted with universal enthusiasm, but three dragons had been claimed nonetheless. Addam of Hull now rode Seasmoke while the blacksmith Hugh rode Silverwing. Then there was the girl, Nettles . . . the one who had no discernable Valyrian blood who had yet managed to claim Sheepstealer.
Rhaena had almost cried when she heard the news of it.
All her life, she had wanted a dragon. Just one, to prove to her father that she really was his daughter. Day and night she had been praying to the Seven for her egg to finally hatch and give her a dragon, but it had simply not happened. And now Sheepstealer had been claimed by someone with no Valyrian blood. Someone who should not have been able to claim a dragon now flew one of the largest dragons alive.
She dropped her gaze to the floor. Rhaena had been tempted to lash out over it, but then the words of her uncle had kept returning to her head. Had they been lying to themselves this whole time? The Targaryens had always told themselves that only they could ride dragons. They had conquered a continent. They were immune to heat, to disease, to all of it. Yet here was living proof that they were not the only ones who could claim dragons; the muddy brown Sheepstealer flying past her window.
She had tried to claim Sheepstealer herself, but the dragon had nearly burnt her alive. Had the beast not trusted her? What exactly did this Nettles girl have that she didn’t? She had tried asking herself these questions, but she had received no answer. She had once heard her father say that her brother was no Targaryen, and yet he had managed to claim the second-largest dragon alive. Yet he refuses to ride Vermithor . Why he didn’t, she could not answer.
Sighing to herself, she returned to the embroidery at hand. Pointless as it seemed with everything happening around her, she had to focus on something or else she would end up going mad. With Baela now readying herself for the fight, Rhaena had few people she could speak with. The Queen was still mourning the death of Lucerys, and Jace had taken over the war with Daemon now gone to Harrenhal. Oh, Luke . . .
True, she might not have mourned him the way that a betrothed might mourn their dead husband-to-be, but she never wanted him to die. He was still her brother by marriage, and perhaps she could’ve fallen in love with him one day. But he was dead now, and they were in a war for Rhaenyra’s claim to the Iron Throne. A war that involved dragons and thus, riders, and she still hadn’t managed to claim one.
She sighed again. Now my father will never think me a true dragon . He already was angry with Baela for some reason, and if he was angry with her, what chance did she have of getting on his good side?
The Dragonseeds are something that must have seemed like a good idea at the time; find riders for the dragons that were yet unclaimed. However, in time, this would lead to the destruction of the Blacks. For now, they were still united with the goal of taking King’s Landing, but that would eventually disappear.
Prince Jacaerys has long been said by near everyone-including my mother and father- to have been a suitable heir to the Iron Throne. I fear that I must disagree; his actions here show a lack of foresight and would play more in the eventual annihilation of his mother’s cause than my own father’s victories in the field.