The Stronghammer - CH - 29 (Patreon)

Robert Stronghammer stood frozen, his heart thundering in his chest as the golden dragon descended before him, its enormous wings whipping up gusts of heat and ash. He had imagined this moment countless times—the grandeur of claiming a dragon, the glory of taming a beast as ancient as the Targaryens themselves. But now, face-to-face with the creature, all those fantasies dissolved into pure, primal fear.

The dragon’s golden scales shimmered in the dying light, each one reflecting the molten glow of the volcano. Its eyes, deep and burning with intelligence, fixed on Robert, narrowing as if it recognized the audacity of the man standing before it. Robert swallowed, trying to maintain his composure, but his legs trembled beneath him. The beast shifted, lowering its massive head, and with a deep, guttural growl, opened its maw.

In that instant, Robert’s bravado shattered.

Before he could shout, plead, or even blink, a torrent of fire erupted from the dragon’s jaws, roaring toward him with unimaginable speed and heat. Instinct took over—Robert dived behind the nearest boulder, his hands scrambling on the jagged rocks as the flames licked at the stone, scorching the air around him. The searing heat singed his hair, and the ground beneath him shook with the dragon’s fury.

“Gods!” he gasped, pressing himself against the boulder, his breath ragged. His mind raced, the reality of his situation hitting him like a hammer. This wasn’t a game, this wasn’t a legend he could simply walk into. The dragon wasn’t some dormant creature waiting for a rider—it was a wild, fearsome beast with no intention of being tamed.

The dragon growled again, its massive form shifting closer. Robert could hear the scrape of its claws against the rock, the sound making his skin crawl. The boulder that had just saved him felt flimsy now, as the dragon’s shadow loomed over him. He had to move.

Another roar filled the air, followed by the sound of the dragon’s fire hitting the ground with a deafening hiss. Robert dashed from behind the boulder, his body aching from the heat and exertion, but the dragon was fast. Its head whipped toward him, and before he could find cover again, the flames exploded toward him once more. He threw himself behind another massive rock, barely avoiding the inferno.

"Fool," he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse. "You damned fool."

His mind reeled with panic. He had thought he could claim a dragon, had imagined himself riding through the skies like a king, but now he was nothing more than prey, cornered and desperate. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing with regret. Rhaenyra had been right. This was madness.

The dragon stalked forward, its heavy breath steaming in the cool air, its fiery eyes locked on his position. Robert could feel the heat intensifying as the creature neared, each step shaking the ground beneath him. He had no weapon to fight something like this. Even if he did, what good would it do against a creature that could incinerate him in seconds?

He was going to die here—Robert the fool, the man who thought he could claim a dragon. The irony was bitter on his tongue. His thoughts raced back to Rhaenyra, to her warning, her eyes filled with concern. She had given herself to him, trusting him with her heart, and here he was, throwing his life away on a fool’s errand.

“Not like this,” he whispered, his voice tight with fear. “Not like this.”

The dragon moved closer, its massive head lowering as it prepared another blast of fire. Robert pressed his back against the boulder, his mind screaming for a way out, but there was none. He was trapped. The creature would incinerate him the moment he made a move. All he could do was wait for the end.

But just as the dragon reared back, ready to unleash its fiery wrath, something strange happened. A gust of wind rushed through the caldera, swirling ash and dust into the air. The dragon hesitated, its head snapping up toward the sky, its nostrils flaring as if it sensed something.

Robert took the opportunity and bolted to another rock, his legs burning with the effort. The dragon didn’t pursue him. Instead, it let out a low growl and took a few steps back, its eyes scanning the horizon. Confusion washed over Robert as he peeked out from behind the rock. What had stopped the beast?

The dragon flared its wings and let out a high-pitched screech, shaking the air around them. And then, to Robert’s astonishment, it took off, its massive body lifting into the air with a powerful beat of its wings. The dragon circled above him for a moment before flying toward the distant peaks, disappearing into the smoke-filled sky.

Robert collapsed against the rock, gasping for breath, his body trembling with exhaustion and terror. He had survived. Somehow, by some miracle, he had survived.

He didn’t know why the dragon had spared him, but he wasn’t going to question it. All he knew was that he had made a mistake—a terrible, near-fatal mistake. The glory of claiming a dragon wasn’t worth dying for, not like this.

As he sat there, his body still shaking, he thought of Rhaenyra again. He had promised her he would come back with a dragon, but now, he realized how foolish that promise had been. Claiming a dragon was no simple feat, and it was certainly not something to be taken lightly.


It didn’t take long for Robert to understand why the golden dragon, poised to incinerate him moments before, suddenly turned tail and fled. His heart still pounded in his chest as he crouched behind the jagged rocks, trying to make sense of the creature’s abrupt retreat. He barely had time to catch his breath when the sound reached him—an ear-splitting screech that echoed across Dragonstone like the call of death itself.

The screech was unlike anything he had ever heard, so powerful that it seemed to vibrate through the very bones of the island. Robert felt it in his chest, a deep rumbling that set his teeth on edge and turned his blood cold. He turned his head, eyes wide, and what he saw stole the breath from his lungs.

A massive shadow fell across the rocky terrain as the dragon landed with a thunderous crash not far from where Robert hid. The earth trembled beneath the weight of the beast, and Robert, for all his strength and courage, felt utterly insignificant in its presence.

This dragon was far larger than the golden one that had tried to burn him alive. Its scales were so dark they seemed to swallow the light, a black so deep it was as if the night itself had descended upon Dragonstone. The creature’s wings, wide and leathery, stretched out, blocking the sky above Robert, and its eyes glowed with an eerie intelligence, as though it could see straight into his soul.

Robert’s throat tightened in terror. He knew instantly which dragon stood before him, and the recognition nearly brought him to his knees. This was the Cannibal, the dreaded dragon of Dragonstone—an ancient beast that had never taken a rider, and had devoured not only its prey but other dragons as well. Legends spoke of the Cannibal’s ferocity, its refusal to be tamed, and the countless men who had tried—and failed—to claim it.

For a fleeting moment, Robert accepted that he was going to die. He could almost hear the laughter of the gods at his foolishness. He, a mere mortal, had come to Dragonstone seeking a dragon to ride, and now he would meet his end at the jaws of the most fearsome of them all.

The Cannibal lowered its enormous head, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air. Its breath was hot and smelled of sulfur and charred meat, making Robert’s stomach churn. The beast’s glowing eyes focused intently on him, and Robert, frozen in place, could only stare back. This was it. He would die here, reduced to ash like so many before him.

But then, something unexpected happened. Instead of unleashing a torrent of fire, the dragon simply stared at him, its massive head tilting slightly as though curious. Robert’s heart raced as the dragon drew closer, its long neck extending until its face was only a few feet away. The golden dragon’s retreat now made sense. It hadn’t feared Robert; it had feared this—the Cannibal.

Robert’s mind raced. Why hadn’t it killed him yet? Surely, this dragon, known for its savage nature, had no reason to spare his life. Yet, there it stood, watching him, almost… amused? He dared not move, barely breathing as the dragon exhaled, the gust of hot air ruffling his hair. He could see every scale on its body, each as dark as the void, glistening with an oily sheen in the dim light. Its teeth, sharp and jagged, protruded from its mouth like the spikes of a war hammer, capable of tearing through flesh and bone with ease.

For what felt like an eternity, Robert and the Cannibal simply regarded each other. The tension was suffocating. Every fiber of Robert’s being screamed at him to run, to flee from this impossible situation, but he couldn’t. He was rooted to the spot, paralyzed by fear and awe. And then, the dragon did something that shocked him to his core.

It lowered its massive body onto the ground, folding its wings tightly against its sides. The earth groaned beneath its weight as it settled, and for a moment, Robert thought it was preparing to pounce. But instead, the dragon’s head dipped lower, resting on the ground before him, its glowing eyes still fixed on his.

Robert blinked, his mind reeling. What was happening? Why hadn’t the Cannibal incinerated him? He was a man who had faced countless battles, but nothing had prepared him for this.

Was the Cannibal… choosing him?

The realization struck him like a blow. This monstrous, untamable dragon—the same creature that had rivaled Balerion the Black Dread in fearsome reputation—was offering him something. It was as if the Cannibal had decided that Robert was worthy, not as its master, but perhaps as something else.

A pet, Robert thought with a mix of disbelief and a hint of humor. He wasn’t claiming the dragon. The dragon was claiming him.

His legs shook as he took a cautious step forward. The dragon’s eyes tracked his every movement, but it did not move. With trembling hands, Robert placed one palm against the dragon’s warm, leathery hide. The scales were rough and cool to the touch, but there was a powerful, primal energy beneath them, a force that thrummed through his fingertips.

The Cannibal rumbled low in its throat, a sound that might have been a growl, but Robert took it as a sign to continue. He carefully climbed onto the dragon’s back, gripping the ridges of its scales for support. There was no saddle—no ropes or harness to guide him. This was pure instinct, a test of whether he could survive the beast’s power.

As soon as he was securely on the dragon’s back, the Cannibal rose to its full height with a sudden lurch. Robert clung tightly, his heart racing as the dragon spread its enormous wings, casting a shadow over the rocky terrain. With a single, powerful beat of its wings, the Cannibal launched into the sky, leaving the ground far below.

The sensation was overwhelming. The wind roared in Robert’s ears as they ascended, higher and higher into the heavens. The landscape of Dragonstone grew smaller beneath them, the jagged cliffs and volcanic peaks nothing more than specks against the vast expanse of the sea. Robert’s breath caught in his throat, not from fear, but from the sheer exhilaration of it.

He was flying—flying on the back of the Cannibal, a dragon that had never accepted a rider, a dragon that had terrorized men and beasts alike for centuries.

As they soared through the clouds, Robert felt a strange connection with the dragon, as if their minds were linked in some primal way. He wasn’t guiding the Cannibal with reins or commands, but with his thoughts, his instincts. The dragon seemed to understand him, following his unspoken directions as they flew over the island.

Time seemed to blur as they remained in the air, the world below forgotten. Robert had never felt so alive, so free. The Cannibal’s wings sliced through the air with precision and power, each movement perfectly attuned to the currents of the wind. He could feel the dragon’s strength beneath him, the raw, untamed force of a creature born to rule the skies.

Eventually, as the sun dipped lower on the horizon, the Cannibal began to descend. Robert’s heart still raced as the dragon landed with a thunderous crash on the volcanic slopes, sending plumes of ash and dust into the air. He slid down from the dragon’s back, his legs trembling, his mind still reeling from the experience.

The Cannibal turned its massive head toward him, its eyes glowing with a strange, almost amused expression. And then, without a sound, the dragon slunk back into the shadows, disappearing into the volcanic terrain as though it had never been there.

Robert stood alone on the mountain, his heart pounding in his chest. He had done it. He had claimed the Cannibal—or rather, the Cannibal had claimed him.