Chapter -The Shadow Over King's Landing
It had been one moon since the celebrations at Dragonstone, the songs of feasts still echoing faintly in memory. King's Landing had returned to its usual chaos: merchants calling from stalls, fishmongers gutting their catch along the docks, and children darting through alleys with bare feet slapping stone. The capital knew peace or at least, the shape of it.
That peace broke in a single heartbeat.
A shadow darker than stormclouds swept over Aegon's Hill. Merchants froze, voices cut short in their throats, as every eye turned skyward. A shape wheeled above the city vast, terrible, alive. Its wings blotted out the sun as it passed. For more than a decade, no dragon of such size had flown above King's Landing. Some whispered Balerion had returned from the grave, for none living could remember a beast so great.
But Balerion was gone. What descended now was something else entirely.
The dragon's scales were black as forged iron, its neck long and sinuous like a serpent. Its roar split the city, echoing from the Red Keep to the mud huts beyond the walls. Women screamed, clutching their children. Men fell to their knees. Septons made the sign of the Seven.
Then came another cry, shriller, no less fierce. From the waters of Blackwater Bay, a second dragon rose, crimson scales catching the sunlight like fire dancing upon the waves. It followed the first in tight arcs, their shadows dueling across the streets below.
At first, the people panicked. Pots shattered in the market, carts overturned as folk scrambled for cover. But slowly, as the truth became clear, fear turned to awe. These were no enemies from Essos, no wild beasts from the East. They were Targaryens. Their lords returned to the city, in might and flame.
A cheer rose, raw and disbelieving at first, then swelling like the tide.
"Dragons! Dragons of the king!"
"Long live House Targaryen!"
From the towers of the Red Keep, bells clanged wildly. At the Dragonpit, the massive iron gates groaned open as keepers hurried to their posts. Goldcloaks rushed to contain the crowds pressing toward the hills. And in the Red Keep itself, alarm spread swift as wildfire.
The Kingsguard were first to move. White cloaks swept through the halls, knocking on doors, summoning the royal family from their chambers. Ladies-in-waiting gasped as the queen herself was told to remain behind closed doors. Maesters scurried to the council chambers, breathless with the news. The Hand was already calling for calm.But no order could still the city, not when dragons wheeled so near.When at last the black dragon descended, the stones of the Dragonpit shuddered under its weight. Its talons cracked the paving as it landed, wings folding with a sound like thunder. A moment later, the crimson beast alighted beside it, neck arched proudly.
Dust swirled in the pit, and through the settling haze emerged two riders.
One small, no older than ten, his silver hair catching the light like a crown already upon him. The other, taller, lean as a blade, dark eyes gleaming with mischief Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City, his reputation arriving before him like a storm.
Waiting at the base of the pit's great steps stood Lord Commander Harrold Westerling, his white armor gleaming despite the dust. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, though it was honor, not fear, that kept it there. His eyes measured the two dragonriders, pausing only briefly on the boy whose arrival had thrown King's Landing into uproar.
"Prince Rhaegar. Prince Daemon." His voice carried over the stir of keepers and guardsmen. "The King commands your presence at once. You are both summoned to the Red Keep."
The young prince slid down from the saddle with surprising steadiness for his age, though his fingers trembled faintly against the leather straps. His uncle landed beside him in a fluid motion, armor glinting crimson beneath his cloak.
Daemon smirked at the Lord Commander's formality. "So eager, Ser Harrold? At least let us draw breath after flight."
But Westerling did not smile. His expression was carved from stone, his duty unyielding. "The King waits," he said simply.
The boy's gaze flicked once to his uncle, then to the looming towers of the Red Keep beyond. The dragons stirred behind them, restless, their roars still echoing over the city. The summons had come swiftly, and he felt the weight of every eye upon him from the smallfolk cheering in the streets below to the lords no doubt gathered already in council.
He straightened, brushing dust from his tunic, and nodded. "Then let us not keep the King waiting."
Together, the Black Dragon and the Crimson Dragon turned their backs on the pit and began the climb toward the castle, their shadows trailing long in the setting sun.