Aegon's eyes narrowed slightly. Viserys's hesitation told him everything.
"Ser Aric has already prepared the arrangements," Aegon said calmly. "You can speak with him if you wish. I will go to Dragonstone—and nowhere else."
He walked toward the massive model of the Valyrian Freehold that dominated the chamber. The miniature towers and bridges stood in careful balance, each one placed with obsessive precision.
Aegon reached out and plucked a tall tower free.
"If you don't let me go," he added casually, "I'll pull off every tower."
Viserys's eye twitched violently.
When he was seven, he would never have dared threaten his own father. And yet here stood his son—calm, deliberate, entirely serious.
After a long pause, Viserys exhaled.
"Fine," he said at last. "Go. But remember this—Dragonstone only. You are forbidden from going north."
Aegon allowed himself a faint, private smile.
Of course. The Wall.
Viserys feared the frozen edge of the world more than any enemy across the sea. And Aegon understood why—perhaps better than anyone should at his age.
"I understand," Aegon replied. "I'm leaving now."
Before Viserys could add another warning, Aegon had already turned and walked out.
---
He found Aemond lingering near the corridors, clearly distracted, his gaze drifting again and again toward the windows.
Aegon gave him a meaningful look, then glanced at Helaena.
"Helaena," he said gently, "if Mother asks, just say I took Aemond out to play."
Helaena nodded faintly, her attention already returning to the strange little insect crawling along her fingers.
With that settled, Aegon took Aemond by the hand and led him toward the Dragonpit of King's Landing.
The air grew warmer as they approached. The scent of ash and stone filled their lungs. Aemond's steps slowed.
Seeing it, Aegon rested a hand on his brother's head.
"What's troubling you?" he asked. "If you're afraid, we can wait. You're not even five yet. Time is on your side."
Aemond shook his head, lips pressed tight.
"Brother… the dragon you mentioned," he asked quietly. "Is she really gentle?"
Aegon tilted his head, recalling what he knew.
Silverwing.
Old. Enormous. Calm, compared to most. A dragon that had once accepted riders with ease. If even careless men had mounted her without dying, Aemond—true of blood—stood a fair chance.
Still, caution mattered.
"I'll test her first," Aegon said firmly. "You'll watch from afar. Then you decide."
Aemond nodded, gripping Aegon's sleeve as if afraid to let go.
---
The Dragonpit gates opened.
Chains rattled. Stone groaned.
And from the shadows, a massive golden shape emerged.
Sunfyre.
The Golden.
His scales gleamed like molten sunlight even in the dimness, reflecting firelight in brilliant flashes. He was young—but already vast. His wings stretched wide, scraping stone as he moved.
Sunfyre lowered his great head, nudging closer to Aegon with unmistakable affection.
Aegon smiled and rested a hand against the warm scales.
Sunfyre had been born on Dragonstone and claimed by Aegon while still young. When Aegon first came to Dragonmount to choose a mount, he had intended to seek Vermithor—the Bronze Fury, second only to Vhagar in size and strength.
But fate had intervened.
Before Vermithor ever came into view, Sunfyre appeared.
There had been no challenge. No struggle.
Sunfyre had knelt.
That was enough.
Aegon no longer needed another dragon.
A Dragon Guard approached and bowed deeply.
"Your Highness," the man said, hesitating, "there is something you should know."
"Speak," Aegon replied, absentmindedly stroking Sunfyre's head as the dragon rumbled softly.
The guard glanced at Sunfyre, then straightened.
"Sunfyre's condition is… unusual."
Aegon frowned and stepped back, studying his dragon carefully.
"Unusual?" he repeated. "He looks magnificent as ever."
The guard's eye twitched.
"Your Highness… have you compared him recently to Syrax or Seasmoke?"
Aegon paused.
Sunfyre, Syrax, and Seasmoke were all born around the same time—dragons of the same generation.
He hadn't paid the others much attention.
"Get to the point," Aegon said sharply, switching into High Valyrian.
The guard swallowed.
"Since bonding with you, Sunfyre's growth has accelerated dramatically. He is now nearly twice the size of Syrax."
Aemond's eyes widened.
"Worse," the guard continued, "he has grown increasingly restless. He strains against his chains daily. Controlling him is becoming… difficult."
The words settled heavily.
Aegon did not hesitate.
He reached inward.
---
The bond took hold instantly.
Aegon's consciousness slid into Sunfyre's—fire, heat, vastness, and instinct washing over him. He felt the dragon's strength, his hunger for the open sky, his frustration.
No pain.
No sickness.
Only heat. Pressure. Restlessness.
Just as Aegon prepared to withdraw—
A surge of emotion crashed into him.
Not want cage.
Want sky.
Hate stone.
Want fly.
Aegon stiffened.
He had struggled even to grasp simple impressions when the bond was new. Now Sunfyre's intent came through with frightening clarity.
"Is that why you're angry?" Aegon asked silently. "Because of the Dragonpit?"
The response came at once.
Dark.
Small.
No wind.
No sky.
Understanding struck Aegon like lightning.
Dragons were creatures of open flame and endless air.
And here they were—locked beneath stone.
Stories whispered through the ages told the same tale: dragons raised in confinement grew smaller, weaker, stunted.
None born in the Dragonpit had ever rivaled the giants of old.
Not Vhagar.
Not Meraxes.
Not even close to Balerion the Black Dread.
Aegon opened his eyes slowly.
Sunfyre was not sick.
He was being suffocated.
And if Sunfyre felt it—
Then so did every dragon chained beneath King's Landing.
Aegon clenched his fist.
This would not continue.
Not for Sunfyre.
Not for Aemond.
And not for the future of House Targaryen.
---