"A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct."

―"The Manual of Muad'Dib" by the Princess Irulan.

…

The faint hum of the tide brushing against the pier echoed in Nettles' ears as she tightened the last strap of Sheepstealer's saddle. The dragon shifted beneath her touch, his scales hot and rough like volcanic rock left too long in the sun. His low growl rumbled, more a protest than a warning, and she patted the scaly ridge of his neck to soothe him.

"Easy now, you big brute," she murmured, her voice barely rising above the sound of the waves. Sheepstealer snorted but stilled, his glowing amber eyes fixed on the horizon where the Narrow Sea met the grey morning sky.

Behind them, the fishing village whose pier the prince had commandeered for his ends, was little more than a scattering of low stone cottages and weathered shacks. It seemed to huddle against the eastern edge of Massey's Hook, as if bracing itself against the elements. Thin wisps of smoke rose from chimneys, carrying the tang of brine and damp wood into the cold morning air.

Prince Aemond stood beside her, a stark contrast to the roughness of the village and the primitiveness of their task. His silver hair caught the pale light of dawn, and his violet eye narrowed as he assessed the saddle.

"The girth is too loose," he said flatly, adjusting the strap until it creaked under the pressure. "A dragon's movements are not as forgiving as those of a horse. Don't forget next time."

Nettles bit back a quip, her lips twitching with the effort. "Aye, my prince," she said in the end. "Wouldn't want to tumble into the sea, now, would I?"

Aemond didn't smile. He finished his adjustments and stepped back, the wind catching the edges of his dark green cloak. Beyond him, further inland, Vhagar rested on a hillock, her colossal frame stretched out in a display of indifference. Her massive wings were sprawled out by her sides, and her tail flicked idly, the tip gouging trenches into the earth. She might have been sleeping, were it not for the occasional shift of her head as she scanned the horizon indifferently.

Nearby, the merchant vessel that had brought the dragon saddles to Massey's Hook sat moored, its weathered sails furled and its deck bustling with activity. Red Cloaks moved between the ship and the pier, their crimson capes muted by the salt-streaked air. Dragonkeepers worked among them, their black leather armour distinct against the greys and browns of the fishing village. The second saddle, a twin to the one Nettles had just secured, was being hauled from the ship's hold with great care.

Nettles cast a sideways glance at the vessel. The saddles had been smuggled here days ago, seemingly long before she or Addam had even known they were claiming dragons. The prince had been so certain they would succeed. How, she did not know, but Nettles knew better than to ask.

Just as she was about to step back and inspect her work, a sharp whistle cut through the air. One of the men unloading the ship was pointing toward the eastern sky, his voice rising in alarm.

"Dragon!" he shouted.

Sheepstealer growled low, his muscles coiling, but Nettles tutted, pressing her palms against the underside of his neck. His growl subsided into a throaty rumble as he shifted uneasily on his haunches.

Prince Aemond, by contrast, showed no reaction. He merely looked toward the sky, his expression unreadable. Nettles followed his gaze and soon understood his lack of concern.

The dragon circling above was pale and silver-grey, its form sleek and agile as it glided effortlessly through the air. It let out a piercing cry before banking downward, aiming for the beach some distance from the pier. The beast landed with a grace belying its size, claws sinking into the soft sand. Seasmoke.

A figure dismounted, boots crunching against the sand as he approached. Addam, his face flushed with exertion, strode toward the pier with the confidence of a man triumphant.

"My Prince," he greeted, his voice breathless. "I have completed the task you set for me."

Nettles crossed her arms, a smirk tugging at her lips. "None of us are blind, Addam. We can see the dragon."

Addam's jaw clenched as he shot her a strained smile. "And you're as charming as ever, I see."

Aemond chuckled, a rare sound from the prince. He clapped Addam on the shoulder, his grip firm. "Well done. Seasmoke is a worthy mount. But this is only the beginning. There is still much to do."

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Turning toward the men on the pier, Aemond raised his voice, switching effortlessly to High Valyrian. "Nazoro!"

A dragonkeeper stepped forward, bowing his head. "Yes, my prince?"

"Assist Addam," Aemond instructed. "Prepare Seasmoke for his saddle, and ensure it is done properly. I trust you to see to this personally."

Nazoro inclined his head again. "It will be done, my prince."

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The sun had climbed higher by the time Seasmoke's saddle was secured. The silver dragon's saddle—similar to Sheepstealer's in design but narrower and more streamline—had been carefully hoisted onto the dragon's back under Nazoro's watchful eye. Addam stayed close, listening intently as the keeper explained the intricacies of the straps and buckles, the techniques to ensure the saddle wouldn't shift during flight.

Nettles observed from where she leaned against Sheepstealer's flank, her arms crossed. It was then Prince Aemond reemerged from the merchant vessel, his movements unhurried but purposeful. A leather rucksack was strapped across his shoulders, its weight barely noticeable against his tall frame.

reaching them, he unslung the rucksack and knelt, unfastening its straps. From within, he withdrew two objects, each no larger than a small book and polished to a metallic sheen. The sunlight caught on their surfaces, making them glint like freshly forged steel.

"What are those?" Addam asked, stepping closer to inspect the objects.

"Radio telegraphs," Aemond said. "Modified and miniaturized for use on dragonback."

Nettles frowned, her curiosity piqued. "Like the ones the bean-counters at the bank use?"

"In principle, yes," Aemond said, passing one to Nettles. The device was light but felt sturdy, its surface etched with intricate designs that seemed more functional than decorative. "But these have a fifth as many functions and are far simpler. Compact. Portable. They also lack a full-sized keyboard as you might have noticed, relying instead on this for inputting messages in Morse code." He demonstrated, pressing a small spring-actuated lever that clicked with each press.

Nettles frowned as she examined the device. "And what happens if it falls? Or if Sheepstealer decides he doesn't like it and breathes fire on it?"

Aemond arched an unamused brow in response. "If you are careless enough to drop it, or to expose it to fire, you will find yourself without a means of communication. You don't want to find yourself without a means of communication."

"They are sturdy enough for flight," the prince continued, turning his gaze to Addam. "But they are not impervious. The batteries that power them are extremely volatile; avoid dropping them or exposing them to water. The rotary press mechanisms that print the output are also delicate—A few grains of sand could render them useless. Treat them as you would a babe—fragile."

The prince tossed the device he held to Addam who caught it in panic. "The range on these are good, but nowhere near good enough to reach King's Landing from the Eyrie or Riverrun. Luckily for you, I had the foresight to have a few relay stations secretly installed along the Trident. So long as you remain within range, you should be able to communicate with the rest of us."

The mention of their destinations drew both riders' attention. Nettles was the first to speak. "The Eyrie? And Riverrun? What are we meant to do there?"

Aemond's gaze settled on her. "Your task is twofold: dissuade the Blacks from striking at our allies and bolster the confidence of those who stand with us. Lady Jeyne Arryn is already sworn to our cause, but the sight of a dragon will reaffirm her decision. Oscar Tully has pledged himself to the Greens, but Riverrun lies dangerously close within reach of Dragonstone. Addam, your task is to ensure the Tullys' resolve does not falter."

"And if someone asks what a bastard is doing riding a dragon for the Greens?" Nettles asked.

"You will speak only of your loyalty to the crown and will not reveal nothing more," Aemond said simply. "If questioned, offer no more than that. Your names and your pasts are irrelevant. Your dragons are your banners, and their presence should, for the most part, silence any inquiries."

Nettles glanced at Addam, her lips curving into a faint smirk. "Sounds simple enough."

"It rarely is," said Aemond, his tone dry. He straightened, his gaze moving between them before he spoke. "Fly safe, you two. Your Prince is counting on you."