Chapter 46: The Dragon's Funeral Pyre and the Shadow King's Enduring Dawn (Dance of the Dragons: Part 5)
The death of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, fed to her half-brother's dying dragon Sunfyre on the blood-soaked shores of Dragonstone, was not the end of the Dance, but merely the gruesome climax of one of its most tragic acts. King Aegon II, his body a shattered ruin held together by milk of the poppy and a desperate, vindictive will, reclaimed the Iron Throne in a capital still reeling from riot and famine. Yet his victory was a hollow, precarious thing. The armies of the Blacks, though deprived of their Queen, still fought on in the name of her captive son, Aegon the Younger. And from the North, a new, implacable force was marching south: Lord Cregan Stark, the Wolf of Winterfell, leading a fresh, formidable host of grim-faced Northmen, intent on exacting justice for the broken oaths and the slaughter that had consumed the realm.
Aelyx Velaryon, within his impervious sanctuary, observed these final, convulsive throes of the Targaryen civil war with the cold, unwavering focus of an ancient predator watching a wounded leviathan thrash in its death throes. The information flowing from Tibbit's network and the increasingly clear, if harrowing, visions of Lyra and Daenys painted a picture of a realm on the brink of utter collapse, its ruling dynasty having all but devoured itself.
"Aegon II sits a throne of ash and bone," Aelyx pronounced to his immortal council, as reports detailed the grim state of King's Landing and the continued fighting in the Riverlands and the Reach. "His body is broken, his dragon Sunfyre is dying, his treasury empty, his people mutinous. He has won his crown at the cost of his house's future. The Targaryen dragons, once the undisputed masters of the sky, are now a dying breed, their numbers decimated, their remaining beasts scattered, wounded, or controlled by increasingly unstable riders."
He had meticulously cataloged the draconic losses: Meleys, Vermax, Arrax, Syrax, Dreamfyre, Shrykos, Morghul, Tyraxes, Caraxes, Vhagar… the litany of legendary names was a funeral dirge for Targaryen aerial supremacy. The Greens still had a few – Aegon II's dying Sunfyre, Daeron's Tessarion (though young Prince Daeron himself had perished at Second Tumbleton), and the hatchling Morning, belonging to Lady Rhaena Targaryen (Daemon's daughter by Laena Velaryon). The Blacks had even fewer still, primarily the young dragons of Aegon the Younger and his half-sisters Baela and Rhaena, and the wild dragons of Dragonstone, though their loyalty was to no banner but their own savage instincts. The dragonseeds Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White, the Two Betrayers, had met their own ignominious ends at Tumbleton, their mighty dragons Vermithor and Silverwing also slain in the ensuing chaos.
"They have done our work for us, in a sense," Visenya Volmark commented, her voice laced with a chilling pragmatism inherited from her father. "They have culled their own flock, leaving the skies emptier. Our own Skagosi dragons, untouched by this madness, now represent a power unmatched in this world, should we ever choose to reveal it."
Aelyx nodded slowly. "Precisely, Visenya. Their self-destruction is our opportunity, not for immediate conquest – that has never been our way – but for the quiet, unassailable consolidation of our own eternal strength. Let them pick through the ashes of their broken dynasty. We will continue to nurture the true fire of Valyria here, in secret, until the world is perhaps ready for a more… enlightened form of draconic stewardship, or until it has forgotten dragons altogether, leaving us the sole inheritors of their ancient might."
The arrival of Lord Cregan Stark and his Northern host in King's Landing, shortly after Aegon II himself died – poisoned, it was widely rumored, by his own terrified councilors who feared Cregan's wrath and saw the war as irrevocably lost – marked the true end of the Dance of the Dragons. Cregan Stark, a man of iron will and fierce Northern justice, took control of the capital in the name of the now-King Aegon III (Rhaenyra's son, Aegon the Younger, who had been Aegon II's captive). This period, known as the "Hour of the Wolf," saw Cregan Stark, as Hand of the King for a single day, dispense swift, uncompromising sentences upon those he deemed most guilty of prolonging the war and committing atrocities.
Lord Torrhen III Volmark, Aelyx's public descendant, had marched south with Lord Stark, his Skagosi contingent a disciplined, well-supplied addition to the Northern army. He played his role perfectly, offering staunch support to his liege lord, his counsel always pragmatic and geared towards the swift restoration of order. Aelyx, through him, observed Cregan Stark's brief but absolute rule with considerable interest.
"He is a true Stark," Aelyx remarked to Lyanna. "Hard, honorable, unbending. He seeks justice, not personal power. He will cleanse the capital of its worst vipers, then return to the snows of the North, content to have done his duty. Such men are rare, and valuable as allies, for their ambition does not overreach their reason."
Aelyx ensured that House Volmark, through Torrhen III, provided significant financial aid to Lord Cregan for the provisioning of the Northern army and the immediate needs of a starving King's Landing. This act of "Northern solidarity and loyalty to the new King Aegon III" further enhanced Skagos's reputation, even in the distant south. The "Heir's Hoard" gold, as always, spoke louder than any words.
With Aegon III Targaryen, the "Dragonbane," now seated upon the Iron Throne, a boy king scarred by the horrors he had witnessed, his mother devoured by a dragon before his eyes, the realm entered a new, somber era. A Regency was established to rule in his name, a council often fraught with its own ambitions and rivalries, but the great, fiery battles of the Dance were over. The dragons were mostly dead, their remaining numbers small, their future uncertain. The Dragonpit was a smoking ruin. Dragonstone was a haunted isle. The Targaryen dynasty had survived, but it was a shadow of its former, glorious self, its unique powerbase – its dragons – all but extinguished by its own hand.
Aelyx Velaryon, in his hidden sanctuary, conducted a final, comprehensive analysis of the Dance of the Dragons.
Its lessons were profound:
The catastrophic danger of disputed successions, especially when ultimate weapons like dragons were involved.
The inherent instability of power reliant on a few, easily targeted individuals (the dragonriders) and their equally vulnerable mounts.
The folly of overt, arrogant displays of power that invited envy, fear, and rebellion.
The critical importance of popular support, or at least acquiescence, something both Rhaenyra and Aegon II had ultimately lost.
And, most pertinently for Aelyx, the confirmation that even the mightiest dragonlords could be brought low by internal strife, treachery, and even the desperate fury of common men if circumstances allowed.
"They have provided us with a masterclass in dynastic self-destruction," Aelyx declared to his assembled immortal family and their adult descendants. "Every mistake they made, we shall avoid. Our succession is clear, bound by my will and the Elixir's gift. Our dragons are numerous, their riders legion, their existence a secret known only to our blood and our most trusted servants. Our power is hidden, patient, and absolute within our own domain. We do not seek the adulation of fickle crowds or the fealty of treacherous lords. We seek eternity, invulnerability, and the quiet, unassailable mastery of our own destiny."
The seventeen Targaryen dragon eggs, now all hatched and thriving within the Skagosi sanctuary, were a living testament to Aelyx's foresight. These young dragons, carrying the blood of Dreamfyre, Sunfyre, and other legendary Targaryen beasts, were being carefully integrated into the Skagosi breeding programs, their genetic lines preserved and enhanced. Aelyx envisioned them, generations hence, forming unique new strains of Skagosi dragons, perhaps even reintroducing traits long thought lost.
With the end of the Dance, Skagos, under its public Volmark lords, settled back into its role as the North's wealthy, powerful, and steadfastly loyal guardian. Lord Torrhen III Volmark returned from the south laden with honors from Lord Cregan Stark and the gratitude of the new King's Regency, his house's prestige at its zenith. The "Heir's Hoard" continued to be the miracle that fueled Northern prosperity, its gold a welcome balm to a realm recovering from war.
Within Mount Skatus, Aelyx turned his attention to the long future. The Targaryen dynasty would rebuild, in time. New dragons might hatch, new kings would rule. But their power would likely never again reach the heights it had under Aegon the Conqueror or Jaehaerys the Conciliator. The fear of dragons would linger, but so too would the knowledge of their vulnerability.
Aelyx's own dynasty, however, was only just entering its true bloom. Generations of immortal or long-lived sorcerers and dragonriders were coming of age within the sanctuary, their numbers growing, their knowledge expanding, their loyalty to Aelyx absolute. His dragon legions, untouched by the Dance, now represented the single greatest concentration of draconic power left in the world, a secret weapon of unimaginable potential.
He had no immediate plans to intervene in the affairs of Westeros. The realm needed time to heal, to forget the worst of the dragon's fury. He would continue to watch, to learn, to prepare. His spies would monitor the reign of Aegon III, the machinations of his regents, the slow recovery of the Targaryen line. Lyra and Daenys would continue to sift the currents of time, watching for new threats, new opportunities.
Perhaps, centuries hence, when the Targaryen dragons were but a distant memory, when Westeros had forgotten the true meaning of Valyrian fire, a new power might emerge from the misty, northern isle of Skagos. Or perhaps, his hidden kingdom would remain forever a secret sanctuary, an eternal haven of magic and dragonpower, content to let the mortal world play out its fleeting, bloody dramas.
Aelyx Velaryon, the Shadow King, smiled. He had all of eternity to decide. The Dance of the Dragons had been a terrible, beautiful, and ultimately, for him, beneficial spectacle. The funeral pyre of Targaryen dragonpower had illuminated the path for his own enduring dawn. And in the silence of his mountain hall, surrounded by his immortal family and the growing roars of his hidden dragons, he knew, with absolute certainty, that his game was only just beginning.