Prince Damon Targaryen stood alone inside his chambers.
The room was silent save for the faint crackling of the hearth and the distant cries of gulls drifting from the harbor below.
A polished suit of black-and-crimson armor rested upon a stand before him.
Slowly, methodically, Damon fastened each piece.
The breastplate came first.
Dark steel chased with silver dragons.
Then the vambraces.
The greaves.
The crimson cloak clasped at his shoulders with a three-headed dragon wrought in silver.
Piece by piece, the prince transformed.
Not into a king.
Into a weapon.
The mirror standing against the wall reflected a figure that seemed older than his years.
At only eighteen years of age, Damon possessed none of the uncertainty expected of youth.
His silver-gold hair had been tied back.
His violet eyes were calm.
Cold.
Dangerously calm.
Aerys had ruled through madness.
Rhaegar never ruled, as dreams drove him to foolishness.
Damon intended to rule through fear and kindness; everything must be in the appropriate amount.
A knock came at the chamber door.
"Enter."
The door opened.
Ser Harwin and Ser Harrold stepped inside.
Damon's oldest supporters.
Harrold, the man Damon trusted the most of all the men he had loyal to him. Men like Ser Harwin and Ser Jon Hollard, even Raynard, they were loyal and would be rewarded, but Damon would not be surprised if they were to betray him one day, maybe for a woman, maybe because they wanted more than they were given, or something else.
But Harrold was the one man Damon believed would not betray him; that's why he gave Harrold the most important tasks and the most authority, and Harrold always responded with results.
The knights knelt.
"Your Grace."
Damon adjusted a gauntlet.
"Report."
"The rebel host has arrived."
Those words seemed to linger in the room.
"Their scouts reached visual range before dawn. Main force shortly afterward."
"Numbers?"
"Twenty-five thousand. Perhaps more."
Damon nodded.
Almost exactly what he expected.
"Their commanders?"
"All present."
A faint smile appeared.
"The realm's finest rebels."
Harrold looked up at Damon and spoke.
"My prince..."
Damon looked at him.
The knight lowered his voice.
"The men are nervous."
"Mhm, I take it they fear what is about to happen?"
"Yes, my prince. They already know what's going to happen, but they still fear seeing it happen." Harwin responded.
"Fear keeps men in line."
Damon moved toward the balcony.
The city unfolded beneath him.
Thousands of rooftops.
Countless chimneys.
Narrow streets packed with humanity.
Soon it would be his city, his kingdom and his responsibility.
Somewhere within the depths of his mind, he felt two immense presences.
Sleeping giants.
Caraxes and Dreamfyre.
Even hidden within the System Space, he could sense Dreamfyre restless, almost chomping at the air to be released.
Two dragons.
The rebels believed they were marching toward victory. They believed they faced a frightened prince ruling a dying dynasty.
They had no idea what awaited them.
His men had done a good job keeping the news of what was happening in Kingslanding from spreading; except those in Kingslanding, none of the other lords of Westeros knew of the return of dragons.
Damon's smile widened slightly.
"Ready the walls."
"At once."
"And send word to Lord Tywin."
Harwin nodded.
"I assume you wish him present?"
"I do."
The knight hesitated.
"He eyes you still, like a lord studying his ledger."
"That's because he still thinks it possible for him to squeeze out benefits from me."
A rare chuckle escaped Harrold.
"Then I pray for his sanity." He said.
Then they departed.
Leaving Damon alone once more.
The prince gazed westward.
Toward the approaching army.
Toward destiny.
"Come then," he whispered.
"Let's see how brave rebels truly are."
The walls of King's Landing had never looked more formidable.
Hundreds of defenders lined the battlements.
Archers stood ready behind crenellations.
Ranks of gold cloaks waited below.
Every gate had been reinforced.
Every tower manned.
And yet none of those defenses mattered.
Not really.
Damon knew it.
Tywin knew it.
Every man here knew it.
Soon the rebels would learn it.
The true defense of King's Landing was not stone.
It was fire.
When Damon arrived atop the western walls, Lord Tywin Lannister was already waiting.
The Lord of Casterly Rock stood near the parapets in gleaming golden armor.
His crimson cloak fluttered behind him.
More than twice his age, the older man carried himself with the same commanding presence that had made the king and lords fear him.
The Lion of the West.
One of the most dangerous men in Westeros.
Outside the gates, the Lannister army was already assembled, rows of red and gold banners fluttering in the wind. Their polished armor glinted beneath the morning sun like a field of molten fire.
Beyond them, across the plains, the rebel host approached.
Banners of the stag, wolf, and falcon led the vanguard. The air trembled faintly with the march of thousands of men who believed themselves at the dawn of victory.
On the battlements, Damon met Tywin Lannister. The old lion was clad in his own gilded armor, expression composed but calculating as ever. His golden hair gleamed like the sunlight itself, but his eyes, sharp and pale green, were already measuring the coming storm.
"They've brought everything they have," Tywin observed quietly, nodding toward the distant horizon where the rebel host stretched like an ocean of steel.
Tywin turned to him, voice level. "You intend to meet them in open battle?"
Damon's gaze followed the slow advance of the rebels. "No," he said. "We will not step beyond these walls."
Tywin's brows furrowed. "Then you mean to endure a siege? The men won't...."
Damon cut him off, his tone calm but absolute. "No siege. No retreat. Not a single soldier of mine will die today."
The old lion studied him carefully. "Then how, Your Grace, do you mean to win this war?"
Damon's smile was small but sharp. "I will not fight them. My dragons will."
Tywin blinked, the faintest sign of surprise flickering across his face. "Dragons," he repeated slowly. " I didn't think you would use that as the first option; once you burn this army you will have opened the door to consequences you might not be ready for."
"Wait..... you said Dragons?"
Damon said nothing. He merely turned his gaze skyward, where the morning light was beginning to break through the low clouds. For a heartbeat, it seemed as though the air itself trembled, the world holding its breath.
Damon looked ahead; consequences didn't matter. He had to make a statement now: that he was willing to use dragon fire to deal with his enemies. It won't be the only way he solves his problems, but Damon believed that his enemies must now know that it was always an option.
Tywin watched him for a long moment, then looked away, his expression unreadable. "Then the realm truly has changed," he murmured.