"Laenor Velaryon's Seasmoke was a splendid creature, pale silver-grey in colour, swift and gracious in the air."
―Archmaester Gyldayn
…
The moon hung low and swollen in the sky, its pale light casting a ghostly sheen on the churning waters of Blackwater Bay. Addam Velaryon stood at the helm of a tiny fishing sloop, his calloused hands steady on the tiller as he guided the craft through the treacherous currents. The island of Dragonstone loomed ahead, its jagged silhouette a dark, brooding presence against the starlit sky. Beyond the crags and steep cliffs lay the distorted, ancient castle, a monument of Valyrian stone and fire, but Addam's course led him far from the fortress and its guarded harbour.
He aimed for the northern crags, where the waves lashed against the rocks with relentless fury. The journey had been planned with meticulous care—Prince Aemond had ensured that no detail was left to chance. Addam's instructions had been clear: avoid the castle, avoid detection, and approach from the unguarded side. The small sloop creaked and groaned as it weathered the surf, but it held steady, its shallow keel skimming over the churning waters. Addam tightened his grip on the tiller, his face grim with concentration.
At last, the craggy shoreline came into view, a tangle of jagged rocks and salt-streaked cliffs. Addam let the sloop drift closer before leaping onto a boulder, his boots crunching against the rough stone. He tied the boat loosely to a jutting rock, knowing full well that the tide would claim it before dawn. The vessel had served its purpose; it mattered little if it was lost.
Adjusting the rucksack strapped to his shoulders, Addam took one last glance at the sloop before turning inland. The sound of the waves faded behind him as he clambered over the rocks and into the dense forest beyond.
The forest was alive with the sounds of night. Branches creaked overhead as the wind swept through the canopy, and unseen creatures rustled in the underbrush. The air was thick with the scent of pine and salt, mingling with the faint tang of sulfur carried from the distant volcano. Addam moved cautiously, his boots crunching softly on the leaf-strewn ground. Shadows danced around him, cast by the flickering light of his lantern, and he felt the weight of the island's primal presence pressing down upon him.
For hours, he pressed onward, navigating by starlight alone as his prince had taught him. His path was uneven, the terrain shifting from dense forest to rocky outcroppings. Once, he paused to rest, his breath misting in the cold night air. The fire he kindled was small and brief, more for warmth than light. He crouched by the flames, his thoughts drifting to the one who had sent him on this errand. Aemond's voice echoed in his mind, calm and deliberate as he had outlined the journey before he and Nettles departed Driftmark atop Vhagar. "Follow the crags south until you find the lake. From there, follow the shore east to the river feeds it. It will guide you to the dragon."
Addam extinguished the fire with a handful of dirt and rose to his feet. The forest seemed darker now, the shadows deeper, but he pressed on. His path grew steeper as the trees began to thin, giving way to a clearing bathed in moonlight. Before him lay the lake.
It was a thing of beauty, its surface smooth as glass and reflecting the night sky in perfect clarity. The water seemed to glow faintly, its edges rimmed with pearly mist that sparkled like diamonds. Addam paused to take in the sight, his breath caught by the lake's stillness. He crouched by the water's edge, cupping his hands to drink. Somehow, the water was icy and sharp, a welcome relief from the journey's weariness.
Rising, Addam followed the shoreline eastward, his steps careful on the dew-slick rocks. The river came into view as Aemond had promised, a slender ribbon of silver snaking into the distant mountains. With a final glance at the lake, he turned to the river and followed it up.
The flow wound its way into the heart of Dragonmont, its waters growing swifter and shallower as Addam climbed higher into the mountains. The air here was thick and humid, carrying the unmistakable tang of sulfur. Steam hissed from cracks in the ground, and the earth beneath his boots was warm to the touch. Geysers erupted in the distance, sending plumes of scalding vapour skyward. The landscape felt alive, as if the mountain itself were breathing, its fiery heart beating just beneath the surface.
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Addam moved cautiously, his senses heightened by the eerie stillness that seemed to permeate the slopes. The only sounds were the rush of the river and the occasional hiss of a geyser. He kept his eyes sharp for any sign of the dragon's presence, his thoughts returning to Aemond's instructions. "You'll know you're close when you see the bones."
It was just past midnight when he stumbled upon them. The pile of charred bones lay in a shallow depression near the riverbank, their blackened edges gleaming in the faint light of his lantern. They were old but unmistakable—ribs the length of spear shafts, skulls with teeth like needles. The remnants of an infant whale perhaps, scattered among the larger remains told a grim story of predation and fire. Addam knelt beside the pile, his gloved hand brushing against a shard of bone. It crumbled beneath his touch, the ash staining his fingers.
Rising, he scanned the area for further signs. It didn't take long to find them. A set of massive footprints, partially obscured by the shifting earth, led away from the bones and up into the crags. The tracks were unmistakably draconic, their deep impressions marked by clawed toes and the drag of a long tail. Addam swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. This was it.
Following the tracks, he ascended into the higher reaches of Dragonmont, where the air grew hotter and the ground more unstable. The terrain was treacherous, a maze of jagged rocks and steaming fissures. Addam slipped more than once, his hands scraped raw by the sharp stone, but he pressed on.
At last, he found it—a dark maw set into the rocky face of the mountain, faint wisps of smoke curling from its depths. Heat radiated from its depths, the air within shimmering like a mirage. The entrance was ringed with scorch marks, the rock blackened and cracked from countless bursts of dragonfire. Addam hesitated at the threshold, his breath catching in his throat. He could sense the being within, a presence that seemed to fill the space with its weight.
He stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. The air grew heavier with each step, and the faint scent of sulfur deepened into something sharper. The faint sound of breathing reached his ears—a low, rhythmic rumble that reverberated through the cave. He stopped just short of the shadows, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.
Seasmoke lay coiled in the darkness, its silver-grey scales glinting faintly in the light of Addam's lantern. The dragon's eyes were closed, its massive head resting on its foreclaws. Even in slumber, it was a fearsome sight, its body radiating heat and power. Addam felt a wave of awe wash over him in that moment.
He took a cautious step closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Rytsas, Embrōrbar."
Greetings, Seasmoke.
The dragon stirred, its reptilian eyes flickering open. For a moment, they fixed on Addam, their depths swirling with an intelligence that seemed to pierce straight through him. Seasmoke huffed softly, a plume of steam curling from its nostrils, before lowering its head back onto its claws.
The creature's indifference was almost more unnerving than aggression, but Addam let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"Guess you're not much for introductions," he muttered, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. He stepped back slowly, careful not to disturb, and began to set down his pack near the cave's entrance. The warmth emanating from the dragon was enough to ward off the chill of the mountain air, but he still felt the need to kindle a small fire for light and reassurance.
As he worked to gather kindling, he spoke aloud to no one in particular. "I suppose I can wait until you're done resting. Then we can talk. No rush, is there?"
The sound of his voice echoed faintly in the cave, but Seasmoke paid him no heed. Addam struck flint to steel, coaxing a small flame to life. As the fire crackled and grew, he sat back on his haunches, his gaze flickering between the dragon and the stars visible through the cave's entrance.
A sense of calm settled over him, tempered by the ever-present tension of being in the presence of such a mighty creature. For now, however, he was content to simply wait.