In the sky, the golden dragon fell from the heavens like a blazing golden meteor.
Aegon clung desperately to its neck, the wind howling past his ears as the world spun before his eyes, sky and earth twisting together.
Falling through the air, Sunfyre gathered the last of its strength and curled its entire body inward.
It wanted to shield Aegon within its embrace.
Boom!!!
A thunderous crash.
In the forest, dust and debris surged into the air.
Everyone heard that impact.
The soldiers of the greens stopped fleeing and looked up toward the forest.
There, smoke and dust slowly rose.
"The king's dragon… it's fallen…"
"The golden one…"
"Your Grace! His Grace is still on that dragon!"
A wave of alarm spread through the crowd.
Gwayne pulled his horse to a halt, staring at the forest, his face ashen.
The king had fallen with his dragon.
Would he die?
Should he go and rescue him?
But the two dragons were still in the sky…
He lifted his head.
Meleys and Caraxes hovered above, watching the forest below.
What were they waiting for?
On the walls, Lord Staunton gripped the battlements tightly, watching the battle between dragons.
"It's fallen…" the knight beside him muttered. "The golden one—that's the green king's dragon…"
Staunton said nothing.
He looked at the two black dragons in the sky, a sudden sense of dread rising within him.
Why weren't they moving?
What were they waiting for?
Above, Rhaenys reined in Meleys, staring at the forest.
"Is he dead?" Daemon flew over on Caraxes.
Rhaenys fell silent for a moment.
"I don't know," she called back. "But…"
She suddenly stopped.
A strange feeling crept into her mind.
Something was wrong.
She turned sharply, scanning the surrounding sky.
Empty.
No Vhagar.
No Lothorne.
No Aemond.
"Daemon," her voice tightened, "where is Aemond?"
Daemon froze.
Aemond?
That's right—where was Aemond?
This war was his doing. His plan. His army.
He should be here—should be riding Vhagar—should be fighting them.
But he wasn't.
From beginning to end, he hadn't appeared.
What could be so important that he would miss the battle of Rook's Rest?
"He…"
Before Daemon could finish, his expression suddenly changed—turning extremely grim.
He remembered something.
Dragonstone.
Rhaenyra.
"Shit!"
He cursed, yanking hard on Caraxes' reins.
"Rhaenys! Dragonstone!"
But Rhaenys didn't move.
She stared at the forest, at the drifting smoke where the dragon had fallen, a memory flashing through her mind.
That child—Aegon Targaryen.
Viserys's eldest son.
No matter what Aegon had done, he should not die here.
He was a Targaryen.
He was not that damned Aemond…
"Rhaenys!" Daemon shouted. "Aemond may be attacking Dragonstone!"
"And you're still here—what are you thinking?!"
Rhaenys took a deep breath.
"I'll return to Dragonstone first!"
Daemon nodded, glancing at Caraxes' injured left wing.
Sunfyre's madness had wounded him—Caraxes could still fly, but his speed had clearly dropped.
Caraxes roared in rage, furious and confused, wanting to tear that golden dragon apart.
The two great dragons turned and flew eastward, soon vanishing into the clouds.
In the forest, the dust gradually settled.
Sunfyre lay on a patch of scorched earth, its golden scales smeared with mud and blood.
When it fell from the sky, it had curled into itself, trying to shield Aegon at its center.
Now, it was barely alive, letting out weak, helpless whimpers.
With the last of its strength, it tried to reach out with its head to touch Aegon.
But Aegon was strapped to the saddle, already unconscious.
Blood flowed from his nose and mouth, his whole body trembling.
"Your Grace!"
Ser Criston Cole charged in at the front. He leapt from his horse, stumbled forward, and rushed to Aegon's side, fumbling to unfasten the straps of the saddle.
"Your Grace! Your Grace!"
Aegon gave no response.
Cole's heart sank to the bottom.
He remembered the Queen Dowager Alicent's instructions not long ago.
He had agreed.
He had sworn to protect the king.
But now…
Cole suddenly turned his head and roared at the soldiers rushing up behind him, "Quick! Find a stretcher! Find a maester! Hurry!"
The soldiers scattered in panic.
Cole knelt beside Aegon.
Looking at Aegon's pale, blood-spitting face, a surge of fierce anger rose within him.
Aemond!
Where the hell are you?!
...
In the distance, the shattered green army was regrouping in the forest.
Commander Gwayne rode over on horseback, his face grim as he took in the scene before him.
"Ser Criston… His Grace…"
"He's still alive," Cole said through clenched teeth. "But…"
He didn't finish.
But everyone knew—falling from such a height, surviving at all was already a miracle.
Gwayne fell silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, "His Grace won't die, will he?"
Cole did not answer.
Gwayne stared at him. "Ser Criston? His Grace… will he die?"
Cole lifted his head and looked at him, his eyes bloodshot.
"You're asking me? Who should I ask?"
Cole let out a long breath, looking at the unconscious Aegon strapped to the saddle.
As the strongest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, he knew full well—after a fall like that, with Aegon unconscious and coughing blood without stop, it was clearly internal bleeding…
May the Seven have mercy…
In the distance, atop the walls of Rook's Rest, Lord Staunton watched the black dragons disappear into the horizon, then looked at the shattered green army retreating into the forest, his heart filled with conflicting emotions.
Had he won?
Had he held the castle?
Yet he could not feel any joy.
Because those two black dragons had flown away—not because they could not win.
But because something more important had arisen?
What could it be?
The lord did not know.
He only knew it was not over. Thinking this, he struck the stone wall in anger.
He began to regret.
Out of respect for Queen Aemma's memory, he had always supported Rhaenyra.
Now he admitted—there had been a gamble in it.
He had gambled that Rhaenyra would win, that when the war ended, he would be the only Crownlands lord who had supported her.
The rewards he would receive would surely be immense.
But now, fear crept in.
Who knew the blacks would be so unreliable?
Stopping the war halfway through?
What was he supposed to do now?
In the forest, the last light of the setting sun filtered through the leaves.
Aegon lay on a healer's stretcher, his face deathly pale, blood still spilling from the corner of his mouth.
Grievously wounded and on the brink of death, the one-eyed dragon Sunfyre lay curled up.
He did not stop them. With his one remaining good eye, he watched sorrowfully as his master, Aegon II, was carried away.
"ROAR!!!"
Sunfyre threw back his head and let out a cry of agony.
Cole walked beside the stretcher, saying nothing.
Gwayne rode on horseback, staring at the darkening sky in the distance.
Aemond, where are you?
What exactly are you trying to do?
That sudden assault just now had burned at least seven to eight hundred men alive.
If Daemon and Rhaenys had not suddenly withdrawn, the entire army would have collapsed.
But now, Lord Staunton's forces posed no threat to them—most were levied peasants.
Gwayne glanced at the gravely wounded, dying Aegon and drew a deep breath.
He did not know how he would explain this to his sister, Alicent…
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