69 Wild Ends
'They say there's no greater misfortune than what awaits the kinslayer, save perhaps the one who dares to violate guest rights. In that manner, you might say I'm doubly cursed.'
-Taken from 'A Treatise on Dragons' by Rhaenar I Targaryen.
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Rhaenyra spent the entire flight to Dragonstone gripped with worry.
Upon their arrival, she found herself confronted with more questions.
They hovered high above the island in a holding pattern. Countless makeshift towers dotted the landscape, with soldiers in their red cloaks moving to and fro. It seemed the island hadn't witnessed such activity since the days when Aegon the Conqueror called his banners.
She frantically scanned the area and cursed the futility of her efforts. If only Rhaenar had donned a cloak of royal purple as he did in his campaign against the mountain clans, he would have been easy to spot.
She glanced behind to confirm her uncle and Caraxes were still with her. Daemon shrugged at her puzzled look. Her guess was as good as his.
That's when a terrible quakeous sound erupted, and Rhaenyra saw that the eastern side of the Dragonmont had burst asunder. A shadowy cloud of rock and earth.
When that dust settled, the blackness remained, for a horrifying beast of malice sauntered out, its body covered in a mass of chain. Its roar was so loud that Rhaenyra felt Syrax stir in her saddle. She could hear the hatred and resentment the beast bore against its charge.
That's when Rhaenyra immediately figured out the situation that her brother was finally doing what he'd been hinting at for years.
'The Cannibal,' thought Rhaenyra. The stories did it no justice. Its black scales jutted like a treacherous reef, its green eyes burning with malice. 'Surely they don't intend to take on that.'
She watched as the men on the ground hurried around like a disturbed ant hill. Then a voice shouted, and at once a row of projectiles went hurtling at the beast. Like a wave of steel on the volcanic shore.
Rhaenyra noticed the ridiculously sized crossbow-like mechanisms they shot out of. She recalled her histories, how the Dornish were able to shoot Queen Rhaenys out of the sky.
'Scorpions..!'
Then her stomach churned, for the beast reacted to the futile attempt at penetrating its skin. She saw how the Cannibal flapped its wings wildly, half to shake off its bonds and half to venomously charge at its assailants.
Then she spied how the top of one tower bore a scorpion larger than the rest.
There was also a pavilion, and in her intuition, she understood the importance of that position, that the larger scorpion was some kind of contingency. Surely if that one hit from that close it would be enough.
Alas, it was not the case, for when she saw that scorpion fire, its bolt reached its mark, yes, but immediately it seemed to bounce off and was diverted, the bolt crashing heavily into the Dragonmont.
Rhaenyra could see the hatred the Cannibal bore toward its source, that no matter what happened, the Cannibal would ensure he killed the shooter of that scorpion first. And indeed, it was clear the marksman would perish.
Until suddenly, out of nowhere, another beast joined the fray, its gold scales shining in stark contrast to its obsidian opponent. It swooped down from above with the speed and precision of a hawk on its prey.
"Sundance!" Rhaenyra gasped, but her hope turned to ash at the implication of his arrival.
Sundance swooped in, seizing hold of the Cannibal's head with claws. The beast shook its head wildly in an attempt to dislodge its assailant, but Sundance clung on, flapping its wings to maintain grip and position.
In that struggle, Rhaenyra envisioned Sundance as a golden crow, dive-bombing a would-be destroyer of a nest, relentless in its pursuit of clawing at the eyes.
Indeed, the focus was on the eyes. With one clawed foot, Sundance gripped the Cannibal's neck, while the other pierced through the beast's emerald orbs with no remorse
The Cannibal screamed, fear tangling in pain. In a final surge of desperation, it thrashed its head around, spewing molten breath toward the sky. Yet Sundance held firm.
Then, with a sudden limpness, the beast crashed to the ground. The impact kicked up a dense cloud of dust that momentarily enveloped the coast in silence.
Rhaenyra and Daemon landed on a nearby hill and watched from dragonback, breathless.
Then, the silence shattered with a single, resounding ring of steel. No sound was ever more glorious.
In the midst of the settling dust, Rhaenar's figure emerged, seated proudly atop Sundance, Blackfyre held high in triumph.
Instantly, nearby soldiers erupted into cheers, spears raised high in homage. Some even exchanged hugs and kisses in sheer jubilation.
Horns sounded in succession, their echoes bouncing across the island in a triumphant chorus. Cheers resonated in every direction.
The news of victory spread around the island like wildfire. Smallfolk finally unclasped their hands, fingers no longer white from prayer. Fisherwives clung to their husbands and wailed. Children poured out of village huts and filled the muddy streets with exuberant dancing.
The celebration seemed timeless, and for that fleeting moment, Dragonstone stood as the epicenter of joy in all the land.
Amidst the joy and jubilance, however, one figure was apart from the revelry. Rhaenyra watched as her brother's heart remained untouched.
While Sundance shrieked with mad hatred, leaping about the Cannibal's body as if dancing on a grave, Rhaenar's face betrayed no joy, no relief, no accomplishment.
Instead it was marked by an unmistakable air of sadness and gloom.
Rhaenyra's feet moved as if propelled by instinct alone. Tears swelled behind her eyes as she dismounted Syrax, holding up her skirt as she ran across the field.
When Rhaenar turned and recognized her approach, a political smile lit up his face. But as she drew closer and he saw her in more detail, he faltered with guilt.
In that moment, Rhaenar realized he nearly had, quite literally, frightened his sister to death!
Rhaenyra embraced him so tightly that Rhaenar half-expected this to be his final moment, death by suffocation. Warm tears trickled down his cold breastplate, accompanied by inconsolable words barely intelligible. Yet, the emotions behind them could not be mistaken.
"Fear not, dear sister," Rhaenar said. He gently pried her fingers from their tight grip one by one. "For the worst is over now, and I'll have no more tears spill on account of that beast."
And so, the wild dragon known as the Cannibal met its end.
But if you believed that marked the conclusion of its role in this tale, you would be sorely mistaken.
