Chapter 50

Following Tyrion's advice, Aegor sought out a retired mine overseer who had once managed a Lannister gold mine and now lived in King’s Landing with his children. After much persuasion, he managed to convince the old miner and his youngest son to accompany him to Dragonstone to provide expertise on the dragonglass mining operation.

Everything was ready. On the third day after arriving in King’s Landing, close to midday, Aegor boarded the rented ship with the miner and his son. The salty sea breeze accompanied them as they set off for Dragonstone—the ancestral seat of the Targaryens, forged in volcanic fire.
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Dragonstone lay at the mouth of Blackwater Bay, and the journey there was downstream. However, with daytime winds blowing inland, their progress was slow. It wasn’t until the sun began to set, and the wind shifted, that the ship began to pick up speed.

The journey was over a hundred miles, and by nightfall, they had covered less than a third of the distance. It was clear they would have to spend the night on the ship. Fortunately, the night wind propelled the vessel far faster than during the day, and the captain had arranged for the crew to take shifts navigating. Aegor rested fitfully, lulled by the rocking waves and the occasional creak of the ship’s wood.

By dawn, the ship was nearing Dragonstone’s port. The light of day, combined with the shouts of sailors and the steady sway of the vessel, roused Aegor. When he stepped onto the deck, he saw the desolate harbor of Dragonstone coming into view.
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One glance at the so-called "port of Dragonstone" explained Stannis Baratheon’s bitterness over being assigned this domain. It was more akin to a fishing village than a port. Compared to the bustling docks of King’s Landing, it was bleak and lifeless—Aegor’s ship was the only one moving in the entire harbor.

Aegor often referred to the Wall as a “godforsaken place,” but now, after seeing Dragonstone, he realized he might have been too harsh on the Night’s Watch’s domain. The Gift, for all its dangers and frigid temperatures, had fertile land and resources. In contrast, Dragonstone was a barren volcanic island—nothing but rocks upon rocks.

The village by the harbor was home to barely a hundred people, and according to Aegor’s understanding, the only other settlements on the island were the castle itself and a military harbor housing the Dragonstone fleet. This meant that Stannis Baratheon’s entire domain consisted of a single, struggling fishing village.

How could such a place sustain a lord, let alone a duke?

In theory, the Lord of Dragonstone also oversaw the Narrow Sea lords, but these were just a scattering of minor island rulers. Their combined population didn’t exceed a hundred thousand, hardly enough to support a duke’s needs for military forces, resources, and prestige.

Rumor had it that after Robert Baratheon lost Lyanna Stark, he was so heartbroken that he considered never marrying and leaving the throne to his brother Stannis. If that were true, naming him Lord of Dragonstone in line with Targaryen tradition made sense. But after Robert married and had children—heirs with a higher claim to the throne—what value did Dragonstone hold for Stannis? None at all.

Despite his significant contributions during the Rebellion—holding Storm’s End against the Tyrell siege for a year—Stannis was rewarded with this desolate island while his younger brother Renly inherited Storm’s End and the Baratheon ancestral lands. It was no wonder Stannis was filled with resentment.
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As the ship docked, curious villagers gathered around, eager to see the rare visitors. Dragonstone’s position at the mouth of Blackwater Bay made it a prime location, but being so close to King’s Landing meant most ships simply passed by without stopping.

Wasting no time, Aegor rented three horses and hired a guide to lead them to the castle. Perched atop the island’s highest point, the fortress was grand and imposing from a distance. Up close, however, its moss-covered walls and weathered gates betrayed years of neglect. Only two guards stood watch, one of whom seemed to have been lounging in a corner until visitors arrived.

After a guard went to report their arrival, Aegor waited for ten minutes before a young man emerged from the castle on horseback. Stannis Baratheon, it seemed, wasn’t interested in meeting a mere Night’s Watchman. The young man introduced himself as their guide, sent to assist them in their task.

Aegor, unconcerned by the snub, followed the guide’s lead. They departed the castle and rode toward the southern part of the island, where the guide said an ancient mine might be located.
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“An old mine?” The guide thought for a moment before nodding. “There is one. I’ve been there before, but there’s nothing left—just some carvings on the walls.”

Carvings on the walls? Aegor’s heart leaped. This must be the place. Though Stannis had been cold and unwelcoming, his guide seemed competent. Aegor’s impression of the stern Baratheon lord improved slightly—at least he chose capable men.

“Where is it? Take us there,” Aegor urged.

“It’s on the southernmost part of the island. It’s a bit far, and I’m not sure we’ll make it back before dark…” The guide hesitated.

“Don’t worry. I’ll treat you to a feast when we return,” Aegor said confidently. The sparse population and limited resources of Dragonstone meant the cost of a "feast" here couldn’t possibly break the bank.

The guide relented, and they stopped briefly in the village to gather torches before setting off.
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Several hours of riding and enduring the relentless sea breeze brought them to the entrance of an ancient volcanic cave. Without a guide, this place would have been nearly impossible to find.

Lighting their torches, the group ventured inside. The dark, echoing space was empty save for some faded carvings on the stone walls. Though intriguing, they offered little new information to Aegor, who had already seen visions of the Night King’s creation and had firsthand experience fighting White Walkers.

Still, this was the site he had been searching for—a critical step in his plans.

“It’s perfect,” Aegor murmured, the flickering torchlight reflecting in his eyes.