The Red Keep hadn't felt so alive since Viserys Crowning.
Music drifted through its courtyards, carried on warm summer air thick with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and fresh flowers. Banners of red and black hung from balconies and towers, snapping gently in the breeze. Servants hurried back and forth, laughter echoing from places usually reserved for whispers and politics.
It was Rhaenyra's nameday.
She stood among it all like a jewel placed carefully at the center of a crown. Smiling when expected, accepting gifts she would later forget, listening politely as lords praised her beauty and ladies commented on how quickly she was growing. Her gown was red, trimmed in black, and her hair was tied behind a makeshift crown.
Everyone told her she looked every inch a princess.
Yet her attention kept wandering upward.
She could not have said why. There was no omen in the sky, no storm cloud gathering, no shadow passing overhead. The day was perfect. Too perfect.
Still, something tugged at her.
Below the walls, King's Landing bustled as it always did. Flea Bottom churned with noise and life, oblivious to courtly celebration. The Iron Street rang with the sound of steel and shouting merchants. Bells rang from distant septs, marking the hour in bright, ordinary tones.
Then the sound came.
At first, Rhaenyra thought it was thunder.
But thunder did not scream.
The roar tore through the air so violently that it ripped music from the courtyards and laughter from mouths. Glass exploded outward from nearby windows. Goblets shattered where they stood. The stone beneath her feet trembled, and Rhaenyra cried out as she stumbled, catching herself on the terrace railing.
Cole rushed forward, blocking the falling glass with his cloak as other members of the Kingsguard moved around Viserys.
Another roar followed.
Closer.
Deeper.
The world seemed to recoil from it.
People screamed. Nobles dropped their composure and ran. Servants fell to their knees, hands over their ears. Somewhere nearby, horses shrieked in terror.
The sky darkened.
Not with clouds.
With a shadow.
Rhaenyra looked up just as something enormous broke through the high white clouds. Wings spread wider than streets, wider than towers, blotting out the sun as easily as a hand snuffing a candle.
Day collapsed into night.
A dragon circled the city.
It was black, so black it seemed to drink the light around it. Its scales gleamed like polished obsidian, smooth and ancient, unmarred by time. Each slow beat of its wings sent a pressure through the air that made breathing difficult. Its eyes burned red, not bright like fire, but deep and dark like coals buried beneath blood.
Fear rolled from it in waves.
Not hunger.
Not madness.
Something colder.
Across King's Landing, panic erupted.
In Flea Bottom, people fled without direction, trampling one another in blind terror. On the Iron Street, hardened men dropped swords and shields alike. Mothers clutched children to their chests. Some fainted where they stood. Others simply screamed until their voices broke.
The bells began to ring, not in celebration, but in warning.
"Dragon!" voices cried. "Dragon!"
Guards rushed the battlements, shouting orders that were swallowed by chaos. Archers scrambled to take position, hands shaking as they nocked arrows they knew would do nothing. Horns sounded across the city, sharp and desperate.
Within the Dragonpit, the dragons answered.
Rhaenyra felt it like a knife behind her eyes as Syrax screamed, fear, confusion, rage bleeding through their bond. Somewhere else, Caraxes roared, his fury echoing through stone and scale alike.
The black dragon slowed.
Its gaze fixed on the Red Keep.
Rhaenyra's heart pounded so hard she thought it might tear itself free.
The dragon descended.
Its landing shook the city.
Stone cracked as claws larger than siege engines bit into the walls near the Keep's gates. Towers groaned. Dust rained down from parapets and ceilings. The beast's massive body settled before the entrance, its long neck rising slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the terror it inspired.
Then it roared again. However, this time, high-pitched as gulfs of fire escaped from its mouth. Black flame tinged with red curved towards the sky as the roar mixed with the fire combined as both resounded throughout the city.
Men were thrown to the ground. Windows shattered that had somehow survived the first shock were shattered. The very air seemed to scream as the roar and flame echoed through streets and halls alike.
When the guards closest to the beast managed to look up, they saw them.
Figures on the dragon's back.
Not one rider.
Several.
All silver-haired.
Six where woman, their figures, although obscured by their white gowns where bountiful, their faces covered by a pure blood colour veil, and on their heads multiple crowns of dragonic origins which held the veil.
At their head stood a man.
He was tall, even among dragons. Black armor covered him, edged in deep red that pulsed faintly, almost like a living thing. Across his back rested a massive sword—unnatural in shape and presence, its blade constantly shifting in color, from dark crimson to blood-black.
Power radiated from him.
Not loud.
Not frantic.
Certain.
Those who looked upon him felt something stir deep in their blood, an instinct older than reason.
Those within the keep felt it too, with Rhaenyra and Viserys feeling it the most.
Rhaenyra's breath caught.
She had never seen his face.
Yet she knew him.
The stories her father told. The absence that lingered in every conversation. The image she had built in her mind, part Viserys, part Daemon, yet neither.
Older.
Sharper.
Better.
"Uncle…" she whispered.
The man lifted his head.
His gaze swept across the Red Keep, slow and measured, as though he were taking account of something long owed. When his eyes found her, small and shaking amid shattered glass.
The world narrowed.
The man moitooned with his hand as the dragon's wing moved down into the courtyard of the keep.
The man, along with the woman, smoothly slid down the wing as groups of guards rapidly filled the courtyard, blocking the man's path.
The nobles within the keep ran out to see the dragon and these otherworldly figures. Viserys and Rhaenyra pushed to the front as the white knights shoved and moved to be in front of the pair to fight even the behemoth dragon, which only looked at them with mild interest.
As Viserys breached the crowd and finally saw the man and dragon, shock overwhelmed him.
The man hadnt aged a day since he had last seen him.
Amon looked at the gathered crowd and groups of guards which surround him and his entourage.
A smirk ran across his face as he roared at the crowd.
"I have returned, Brother... I come Bearing Gifts."