ULF
She woke screaming at midnight.
"The dragon eats the sun! The bronze takes what was denied! Fire in the Dragonpit! They burn, they burn, they all burn!"
I grabbed her. Held her still.
"Helaena. Helaena, wake up."
Her eyes snapped open. Wild. Unfocused. Still seeing whatever horror the dreams had shown her.
"The children. The children in the fire. Dragons eating dragons. Bronze and gold and—"
"You're safe. You're in our chambers. The children are safe."
Slowly, she returned to the present. Her breathing steadied. Her grip on my arms loosened.
"I saw it." Her voice was a whisper. "I saw everything."
"Tell me."
"The Dragonpit. Fire everywhere. Dragons dying. Something with bronze scales taking... taking what Hugh wanted. What Hugh was denied."
Vermithor. The riderless dragon. The grief-mad beast I calmed.
"What does bronze take?"
"A crown." Tears streamed down her face. "Fire and a crown. And screaming. So much screaming."
I pulled her close. Let her shake against me.
"It's just a dream."
"My dreams are never just dreams. You know that."
I do. I've seen too much evidence to deny it.
"Then we prevent it. Whatever you saw, we stop it."
"How?"
"I don't know yet. But I'll figure it out."
The dragon eats the sun. Sunfyre—Aegon's golden dragon. Still alive, barely, recovering from wounds.
The bronze takes what was denied. Vermithor—seeking revenge for Hugh? Seeking the crown Hugh wanted?
Fire in the Dragonpit.
The Dragonpit.
I needed to pay another visit.
ORWYLE
The Grand Maester came at dawn.
Helaena slept fitfully—the prophetic dreams always exhausted her. I met Orwyle in the antechamber.
"Her condition?"
"Deteriorating." He didn't soften the truth. "The visions drain her as much as the pregnancy. Combined with the stress of regency, she's burning through reserves she doesn't have."
"Options?"
"I've considered several." He counted on his fingers. "Sedation—keep her calm, prevent the dreams, reduce stress. But sedatives might harm the child. Induced early labor—the child is large enough to survive, possibly, but the process itself is dangerous. Or we continue as we are and pray."
"None of those are acceptable."
"Then find me a fourth option." His voice carried rare frustration. "I'm a maester, not a miracle worker."
"What about removing the stress? The regency duties?"
"That would help. But she can't simply stop being Queen Regent."
Can't she?
I was still turning the idea over when a small voice interrupted.
"Is Mother sick?"
JAEHAERYS
The boy king stood in the doorway.
Seven years old. Already carrying too much weight on narrow shoulders. His violet eyes—so like Helaena's—held knowledge children shouldn't possess.
"Your Grace." Orwyle bowed. "Your mother is resting."
"She's not just resting." Jaehaerys stepped into the room. "She's sick. Really sick. Not prophecy-sick."
I knelt to meet his eyes.
"How did you know?"
"She never eats at meals anymore. She holds her stomach when she thinks no one's watching. She cries in her sleep." The boy's voice was steady. Analytical. "I'm not stupid."
No. You're not.
I considered lying. Decided against it.
"She's carrying a heavy burden. We need to lighten it."
"I can help." No hesitation. "I can do more at councils. Make decisions. Read the speeches without her there. Let her rest."
"You're seven years old."
"I'm the king." Something fierce in those young eyes. "I should be able to protect my mother. Let me help."
He knows. Maybe not everything—not the pregnancy, not who the father is—but he knows something's wrong. And he wants to fix it.
"You're a remarkable young man."
"I'm trying to be." He touched my arm. "You love her. I know you do. Everyone pretends not to see, but I see. Help me help her."
Seven years old. Already a better person than most lords twice his age.
"All right." I stood. "We'll work together. You and I."
"And Jaehaera. She notices things too."
"The three of us, then."
Jaehaerys nodded solemnly.
"We protect Mother. Whatever it takes."
THE DRAGONPIT
I visited that afternoon.
Vermithor lay in the largest pit, still grief-mad but calmer than before. Sunfyre occupied a smaller chamber—the golden dragon's wounds healing slowly, his spirit broken along with Aegon.
The dragon eats the sun.
The bronze takes what was denied.
Sunfyre barely lifted his head as I entered. Dull gold scales, dimmer than before. His rider was dead, and dragons knew. They always knew.
"You're lost," I told him. "I understand. Your rider's gone. Your purpose is gone."
A soft rumble. Agreement? Resignation?
"But you're still alive. Still valuable. Someone will claim you eventually."
The dragon's eyes found mine.
Pain. Confusion. Loneliness.
I felt unexpected sympathy.
"Rest. Heal. See what comes next."
I left him and walked to Vermithor's pit.
The Bronze Fury was awake. Alert. Watching me with ancient, knowing eyes.
"Still grieving?"
A rumble. Not a threat, but not friendly either.
"Helaena dreamed about you. Fire in the Dragonpit. The bronze taking what was denied." I stepped closer than wisdom advised. "What are you planning?"
Silence.
Dragons don't plan. They follow instinct, follow riders, follow primal urges.
But Hugh wanted a crown. And dragons absorb their riders' desires sometimes.
"If you're thinking of revenge—don't." I met those ancient eyes. "I killed Hugh. I'm not sorry. But I didn't kill you. I could have. I chose not to."
Vermithor's head lowered. Considering?
"Stay here. Heal. Find a better rider than Hugh. Or stay riderless and free." I turned to leave. "But if you threaten Helaena or her children, I'll finish what I started at God's Eye."
No response.
I walked away.
Behind me, bronze scales shifted in the darkness.
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