Night fell, and the stars sparkled brilliantly.
Inside the Stone Drum Tower, two figures lay entwined on the bed.
After a long while, the battle ceased, and the candlelight was rekindled.
Wrapped in a silk robe, Rhaegar stepped onto the open-air balcony to enjoy the breeze.
It was too hot. His blood felt as if it were boiling.
Looking into the distance toward the beach, he spotted a faint flickering firelight.
"She's gone." Rhaegar panted slightly, murmuring to himself.
The Red Robed Witch had attended the daytime ceremony and then set sail for Volantis overnight.
She was cunning, but at least she was useful.
A month ago, after he and Rhaenyra returned to Dragonstone, a fire broke out at Harrenhal.
Several barrels of wildfire stored in the sept's cellar were accidentally ignited, triggering an explosion.
Two monks, along with Milov Tully, the second son of House Tully, perished in the flames.
Rhaegar's lips curled into a slight smile as he closed his eyes, enjoying the cool night air.
The only pity was that Monford Velaryon was often in the company of Otto and Aegon, making it difficult to catch him alone.
Otherwise, he, too, might have met with an unfortunate accident.
"Rhaegar, I'm so thirsty~"
A soft, husky voice called out as a warm body wrapped around his waist from behind.
Rhaegar turned around, smiling as he pulled the delicate figure into his embrace, lowering his head to kiss her forehead.
Rhaenyra's eyes were hazy as she leaned against his chest, her breath carrying a faint, sweet fragrance.
She wore a thin, flowing nightgown, her bare feet pressing against an expensive red carpet from Lys.
After a moment of cuddling, Rhaegar pulled away and walked to the table, pouring her a cup of warm water.
Tonight's ceremony had already been joyous enough—he couldn't indulge too much.
Rhaenyra rubbed her flushed cheeks, tilting her head back as she accepted the drink he offered. Her lips pressed against the rim of the cup, swallowing delicately and seductively.
"Drink slowly, don't choke."
Rhaegar's gaze was filled with tenderness as he gently wiped her slightly swollen lower lip.
Now that the veil had been lifted between them, they were officially husband and wife.
One day, when he ascended the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra would be his queen.
The Stone Drum Tower – The Great Hall
A grand feast was underway, with music and dancing in full swing.
Viserys beamed, accepting toasts from his vassals one after another.
It had been so many years since he had felt this happy.
His children were finally wed—he had fulfilled his late wife Aemma's wishes.
The only disappointment was that he felt the celebration wasn't grand enough.
It should have been held in Harrenhal's Hall of a Hundred Hearths, inviting nobles from all over the Seven Kingdoms and providing three days of food for the poor.
Still, this was good enough. A traditional Valyrian wedding witnessed by thousands of lords and nobles—
It was an event worthy of being recorded in history alongside the Tourney at Harrenhal.
"Brother, congratulations."
Daemon approached with his wife, Laena, raising his cup in salute.
Viserys grinned. "In the blink of an eye, our children have grown up. You and I are no longer young."
Daemon chuckled. "I can still go six rounds in one night—I wouldn't say I'm that old."
He pulled Laena close, his deep voice carrying a roguish charm.
Perhaps it was his mindset, but time had left little trace on his handsome face—he still exuded that same reckless charm.
Viserys shot him a sidelong glance and snorted disdainfully.
He would never forget how Daemon had seduced his daughter and schemed against his son.
If not for their old brotherly bond, he would have exiled Daemon from Westeros long ago.
The two brothers sat together, drinking and reminiscing about their younger days.
Viserys chuckled. "Remember your first wedding? You refused to enter the bridal chamber until I got you drunk and carried you inside."
"I was completely wasted, and that bronze bitch dumped me naked at the doorstep to freeze all night in the cold wind."
Daemon's tone was indifferent, but his resentment toward his late wife, Rhea Royce, was clear.
"..."
As the night deepened, the two fell into silence, watching the dancers twirl in the hall.
After a while, Daemon suddenly spoke. "Brother, my bloodline is growing. I need land to sustain my house."
Viserys stared at his brother, momentarily lost in thought.
Aside from coveting the Iron Throne and Rhaenyra, this was the first time Daemon had ever asked him for something seriously.
After a moment of contemplation, Viserys rubbed his face and spoke solemnly. "I will grant you the mouth of the Blackwater River. The Crown will fund the construction of a castle for you, built to your exact specifications."
His words carried deep sincerity, as if he had rehearsed them countless times—just waiting for Daemon to make the request.
Daemon took a sip of wine, the corners of his mouth subtly curving.
Viserys pounded his brother's shoulder and added, "The Blackwater River's mouth is ideal for trade. You and your descendants will never have to worry about wealth."
There were many lands in Westeros to grant, but few were as prosperous or strategically significant as a river mouth.
The Blackwater flowed past King's Landing into Blackwater Bay—a prime location, still undeveloped.
Since his only brother had asked, Viserys was willing to grant him a stronghold to establish his legacy.
Laena's eyes held a trace of worry as she gently squeezed her husband's hand.
Daemon glanced at her before entwining their fingers, then looked up at his brother.
Viserys' gaze was filled with anticipation, hoping for Daemon's acceptance.
But Daemon only smirked and said, "Brother, best keep the Blackwater Bay for your own heirs."
Daemon flatly refused, speaking solemnly: "I have my eyes set on the lands beyond the Narrow Sea. That is where the second bloodline of House Targaryen should thrive—not squeezed into the cesspool that is King's Landing, fighting for power."
His thoughts were clear. His brother's bloodline would remain in Westeros to inherit the Iron Throne.
His own bloodline would migrate beyond the Narrow Sea, reclaiming a piece of old Valyrian land, avoiding internal strife between the two branches of their family.
As the saying goes in Pentos: you shouldn't put all your eggs in one basket.
Bang—
Viserys' face instantly darkened. He slammed his wine cup down heavily, suppressing his anger as he said, "Daemon, why can't you give me some peace of mind? Why do you always disappoint me?"
He was the king—maintaining peace was his priority.
He had already been lenient enough with this reckless brother, yet Daemon continued to greedily test his limits.
Daemon's expression remained unchanged. He calmly replied, "Volantis will be the first to start the war. The Sea Snake and I will take part, and it will be entirely reasonable for us to occupy a city-state in the process."
"You dare say that? I could have you executed for treason!"
Viserys gritted his teeth in fury.
As he spoke, his gaze swept through the crowd, searching for Corlys Velaryon, his eyes full of wariness.
Once upon a time, the Velaryon family had been his greatest headache, keeping him restless and uneasy.
Now, they were allying with Daemon to take control of a Free City...
Heh.
Perhaps the Velaryons had ambitions of carving out their own kingdom, raising the Driftwood Throne to the same level as the Iron Throne.
"Your Grace..."
Laena Velaryon hesitated, attempting to salvage her family's image.
Screech—
Suddenly, an enraged dragon's roar pierced the night sky. The Stone Drum Tower trembled under the forceful winds, echoing like the pounding of war drums.
—
The Top of the Stone Drum Tower
Rhaegar stood at the edge of the balcony, hands gripping the railing.
Rhaenyra nestled against his side, clinging to him as if she couldn't get enough.
Boom—
A massive shadow streaked across the night sky, its jet-black form flashing past in an instant. A storm of eerie green dragonfire lit up half the heavens.
Screech—
Another dragon's sharp cry erupted, as a second figure emerged from the flames.
Its features were obscured by the night, but its massive size was unmistakable.
Rhaegar's eyes widened in shock. He instinctively pulled Rhaenyra into his arms, retreating while keeping his gaze locked on the sky.
The gods had favored them tonight.
The full moon shone brightly, stars scattered across the sky.
By their soft light, he could make out some of the dragon's features.
Its body was sleek and well-proportioned, its scales a shimmering silver-black. Its wings were a misty gray, and its head—enormous.
"Rhaegar, what's happening?"
Rhaenyra curled up against his chest, her voice filled with uncertainty.
Rhaegar's gaze grew heavy. "That wild dragon has come."
The distinct silver-black scales made it instantly recognizable—it was the same dragon they had seen over the Smoking Sea.
It had followed their fleet and the Devourer's trail all the way to Dragonstone.
A thought struck him.
He urged the Devourer to hunt it down with all his might.
The wild dragon was already fleeing—if he had to mount his own dragon, he would never catch up.
But the Devourer, alone, could fight without restraint.
Screech—
The Devourer roared furiously, his black wings slicing through the clouds as he gave chase.
The wild dragon was incredibly fast, vanishing into the thin mist. In the blink of an eye, it had flown hundreds of meters ahead.
The chase carried them beyond Dragonstone, soaring toward the Gullet.
Screech…
Rhaegar took one last look before the wild dragon suddenly twisted its massive head and unleashed a torrent of gray, smoke-like dragonfire.
The flames streaked through the night sky like a falling star.
The Devourer's emerald eyes flashed with menace. His massive body twisted nimbly, his dark wings beating against the flames.
Boom—
The gray fire scattered, breaking into sparks that rained down. Wherever they touched sand or seawater, they burned like a parasitic flame, refusing to die out.
It took a few moments before the embers finally dimmed.
Then, in a heartbeat, both dragons disappeared into the darkness, one pursuing, the other fleeing.
Rhaegar was stunned.
He murmured in awe, "So this is a true Valyrian dragon."
The wild dragon's fire was eerily similar in texture to the Devourer's ghostly green flames.
Its features also differed greatly from those of the family's dragons. Its head was massive, its fangs thick and menacing.
It bore a resemblance to Caraxes but had the serpentine length of Quicksilver.
—
The Gullet, Sharp Point
The wild dragon fled wildly, its black gemstone-like eyes flickering with anxiety as it dove beneath the clouds, skimming the ocean's surface.
Screech—
A deep, bell-like roar rumbled behind it.
A behemoth more than twice its size was in hot pursuit.
The Devourer plunged downward, slicing through the sea spray with practiced ease. His green eyes locked onto his prey, unwavering.
The thrill of the hunt filled his mind, his blood boiling like molten lava.
His snarling jaws parted, strands of eerie green flames escaping between his teeth.
Saliva dripped in thick, steaming strands—he had craved dragon flesh for too long.
There was no way he would let this one escape.
Screech…
The wild dragon shrieked, catching the scent of its own kind's rotten remains.
Desperation flashed through its black eyes as it twisted midair, spewing another blast of gray fire.
Boom—
The Devourer retaliated, a torrent of green fire erupting from his maw. The two flames collided, sizzling and crackling before exploding into a billowing green cloud.
Without hesitation, the Devourer plunged straight through the flames.
His black scales shimmered with a strange, ominous glow, his emerald pupils gleaming with bloodthirsty madness.
Screech—
His terrifying head closed the distance, his massive black form looming over the fleeing dragon.
His abyssal jaws gaped wide—
And then—
Screech!!—
A shower of scorching dragon blood burst into the air.
The wild dragon's anguished wail tore through the night.
Its shadow was soon swallowed whole by the monstrous beast above it.
Support me by leaving a comment, voting, and visiting my Patreon at belamy20