Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 342: The Restoration of Dragonstone

Once Robert and his party boarded the ship and departed from Dragonstone, the dark storm clouds loomed over the towers. Contrary to everyone’s expectations, the feared thunderstorm never came. Instead, a gentle drizzle began to fall.

Above the island, Viserys and Dany rode their dragons into the sky, soaring over Dragonstone. The other dragons, having never seen any others outside their own brood, were curious about the massive towers carved in the image of dragons. Some circled the towers, while others hovered beside them, drawn to the intricate stonework.

The siblings soon arrived at the site where Melisandre had recently sacrificed the statues of the Seven. The rain was light, and though it dampened the flames, the fire still smoldered. Viserys's yellow dragon, with its impressive ten-meter wingspan, flapped its wings, creating a powerful gust that extinguished what remained of the flames. Only a few glowing embers lingered, and the charred remains of the statues were beyond recognition.

Among the debris were several burnt corpses, Montford Velaryon’s included. The fire had consumed them completely, and there was no trace of the “envoy of light” Melisandre had spoken of. It seemed she had taken the body with her.

Just then, two familiar figures emerged from the shadows—Ardrian Celtigar, known as Old Ar, and his son. Ardrian, who had long since allied himself with Viserys, had hidden during the chaos. Stannis, it seemed, hadn’t bothered with him.

When they recognized Viserys and Daenerys, father and son immediately bowed.

“Congratulations, Your Grace, on the recovery of Dragonstone!” they declared in unison, their movements rehearsed and precise.

“Rise,” Viserys replied, his voice steady.

It was only then that the two men noticed Daenerys. Though they had never met her before, they could easily identify her as the Princess by her presence alongside Viserys.

“I am Lord Ardrian Celtigar of Claw Isle,” Ardrian introduced himself, bowing again. Daenerys gave a slight nod in acknowledgment, saying nothing. After years of navigating the intricacies of politics, she could easily discern what type of men stood before her. This father and son, she judged, were not to be trusted.

Ardrian then informed Viserys of Montford’s last words before he had thrown himself into the flames. Viserys knew immediately that he had a responsibility—he couldn’t let Montford’s legacy end like this. He resolved to take in Montford’s son as an adopted ward, ensuring his safety and raising him in honor of his father’s sacrifice.

Though Montford hadn’t died for Viserys in battle, his child could still be regarded as the orphaned descendant of a martyr. The boy, about five or six years old, was the perfect age to be taken in and protected.

“We will treat all nobles who gave themselves to the flames with special regard,” Viserys declared. “Ser Celtigar, go to Driftmark and fetch the boy.”

“As you command, Your Grace,” Ardrian replied eagerly, his face lighting up. This task signified acceptance from Viserys, and both father and son were overjoyed to have been given such an important errand.

Soon after, Viserys’s fleet docked, and the charred bodies of Montford and the others were carefully gathered. With the grim task completed, Viserys and Dany made their way to Dragonstone’s main stronghold, the Stone Drum Tower.

The entrance to the tower was marked by a massive stone carving of a dragon, lying on its belly with its mouth agape. To enter, one had to walk through the dragon’s gaping maw—a fitting passage for those who ruled Dragonstone.

"It's just like the one we saw in Volantis," Dany remarked, her eyes taking in the grandeur of the ancient fortress.

Viserys nodded. "These fortresses still hold their beauty. Once Shiera deciphers the Valyrian construction magic, we'll rebuild the roads of the Seven Kingdoms."

But his vision extended far beyond roads. Viserys intended to use Valyrian magic not only for infrastructure but also to construct new fortresses. These strongholds would rise near The Neck, serving as a critical third line of defense against the White Walkers when the time came.

As they entered the fortress, they found themselves in a grand hall. At its center stood a stone chair, blending seamlessly with the walls. The backrest of the chair, or rather the intricate relief carved into the wall behind it, depicted their Targaryen ancestors. Five dragons soared over a fleet of ships sailing toward Dragonstone, capturing a moment of their family's ancient glory.

The siblings sat for a while, lost in the silent echoes of their heritage, reliving the grandeur of the Targaryens who had once conquered these lands. After some time, they rose and continued their exploration, ascending the stone stairs lined with gargoyles that had withstood the wear of centuries. The craftsmanship, bolstered by Valyrian magic, had kept them pristine.

“The Valyrian magic truly is powerful,” Viserys mused. When things settled in the future, he planned to form an archaeological expedition to explore the ruins of Valyria’s Doom. Who knew what forgotten treasures lay buried beneath the ash and rubble?

Soon, they arrived at the Great Hall above the Round Table Chamber. Viserys was taken aback by its sheer size. The room was over fifty feet long, stretching sixteen or seventeen meters. It was large enough that if a troupe of dwarves performed here, they’d have more than enough space for a grand play.

In the center of the hall, a massive map table dominated the room, detailing the mountains and valleys of Westeros. The craftsmanship was remarkable, though the map extended only as far as the Narrow Sea, omitting the Stepstones entirely.

'It seems Aegon—or perhaps the 'exile' Aenar before him—had his sights solely on Westeros,' Viserys observed, running a hand across the table's smooth surface. 'I suppose after years at the bottom of the Dragonlord hierarchy, ruling the Seven Kingdoms felt like ambition enough.'

“This is the Wall, isn't it?” Dany asked, pointing to the area on the large table that represented the northern barrier.

Dragonstone.

For Dany, everything felt new and unfamiliar. She had never seen her ancestral homeland until now, and the novelty of it all stirred a sense of excitement within her. After studying the map table for a while, the two of them moved along a corridor adjacent to the room, heading toward the sea.

The corridor should have been lined with portraits of their Targaryen ancestors, but Stannis had removed them. Instead, the walls were covered with tapestries featuring flaming stags, the sigil of House Baratheon. Viserys suspected this was the doing of Stannis’s wife, who had likely sought to replace every trace of the Targaryens with Baratheon symbols. He felt a twinge of pity for her, but it didn’t matter. He and Dany would soon restore Dragonstone to its former glory, filling in the gaps left behind.

As they emerged onto a walkway overlooking the sea, Viserys took in the view. He made a mental note that if he had time, he would try to invent cameras to capture such moments. They continued walking, eventually arriving at another tower, a structure built right beside the sea. Some rooms here had been reserved for the Maesters.

To their surprise, they heard a faint coughing sound not long after entering. Following the noise, they came to a locked door. The coughing was coming from inside.

Without hesitation, Viserys drew his sword and, with one swift strike, broke the iron chain that secured the door. Inside, they found a hunched old man sitting at a desk, his back to them. The sound of the lock breaking made him turn around with great effort. He appeared frail and confused but quickly regained his composure when he saw the Targaryens standing before him.

"Are you... Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys?" the old man asked, his voice raspy with age.

"Are you Maester Cressen?" Viserys responded, unbothered by the old man’s slip in addressing their titles. Cressen was well into his eighties, and the oldest person they had encountered aside from Maester Aemon. A simple mistake like that was understandable.

Cressen nodded slowly, his gaze flickering between them. "Stannis has already left Dragonstone with Robert. Dragonstone belongs to the Targaryens again. If you're here to find Stannis, I can see you off."

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