Beneath the vast arched dome of the Dragonpit, at midday.
When Aegon Targaryen came down from the sunlit sky, the disturbed air currents whipped dust from the ground, forcing several approaching dragonkeepers to retreat.
As he slid from the broad golden back of Sunfyre, his movements were hurried with impatience. His feet slipped on landing, and he nearly fell—saved only by clutching the warm forelimb of his dragon.
Sunfyre—the magnificent golden dragon, over thirty meters from snout to tail, his wings spanning more than fifty—lowered his head. His molten-gold eyes regarded his rider with unmistakable affection. He nudged Aegon's shoulder with his gilded snout, a low, rumbling croon vibrating from deep in his throat.
Nearby stood his brother.
Aemond Targaryen held a large slab of dark red raw meat in one hand.
To Aemond's left lay Vhagar, vast and motionless, like a mountain of blackened bronze. The ancient dragon's eyes were closed, feigning sleep.
To his right stood a young dragon—barely three meters long—its scales black with a dark crimson sheen along their edges. It pressed its head affectionately into Aemond's palm, took the meat, and tore it apart with sharp teeth, snorting softly.
One man.
Two dragons.
Aegon stared, his mind reeling.
Was a dragon not meant to have only one rider?
Aemond slowly turned.
His gaze lingered on Aegon's pallid face—the faint bluish shadows beneath his eyes, the unsteady stance that had yet to fully recover.
"Tsk…"
"Flying while drunk?" Aemond said coolly.
"That pointless sharp turn Sunfyre made just now—nearly threw you from the saddle, didn't it?"
He tilted his head, assessing him.
"Unsteady steps. It seems life on Driftmark has left quite a taste on you."
"You—!" Aegon flared, struck where it hurt most.
"I fell here—so what?!"
"You caused trouble on Driftmark," he snapped, voice rising,
"and because of you Jacaerys lost an eye!"
"I was held there like a hostage!"
"And you?" Aemond let out a quiet laugh.
"Aemond!" Aegon's face flushed with humiliation.
"How I live is none of your concern!"
"You're the second son—what right do you have to point fingers at me?!"
"Second son?" Aemond replied lightly.
"My place does not matter."
"Blood. Duty—ha!" Aegon barked a bitter laugh, the resentment of captivity and lingering drink loosening his tongue.
"She promised me herself—if I stayed out of her way and kept my hands clean, she'd grant me a princely title and a rich fief!"
"You want the throne? Then fight for it. Bleed for it. That's your affair!"
"Don't drag me into it!"
The dragonkeepers in the distance had long since stopped their work, watching in tense silence, none daring to approach.
Aemond regarded him for several breaths—long enough that Aegon's heart began to race for no clear reason.
Then Aemond smiled faintly. His gaze slid past Aegon and settled on the golden dragon behind him, resplendent even in the dim light of the Dragonpit.
"Sunfyre…"
"He truly is beautiful."
Aemond looked back at Aegon and said flatly,
"A pity such a dragon follows… waste."
"Waste?!"
The word burned like a red-hot iron against the most fragile remnant of Aegon's pride.
He lunged forward, grabbing for Aemond's collar.
"You dare call me waste?! Aemond, you—"
Before the words could finish, Aemond merely turned his wrist and pushed aside, effortless and precise.
Aegon felt the force hit him. He stumbled backward with a cry and crashed onto the cold, rough stone.
Before he could rise—
"Hiss—!"
A sharp, vicious sound cut through the air.
The young black dragon—Lothorn—who had been lingering quietly at Aemond's feet, moved without warning.
In the next instant, crushing pressure descended.
Lothorn slammed his foreclaws onto Aegon's chest and shoulders, pinning him flat. One talon rested beside his cheek.
The dragon's body fully overpowered him.
Crimson slit-pupils locked onto Aegon, and a threatening growl rolled deep in the dragon's throat. Hot saliva dripped onto Aegon's brow and cheeks, stinging faintly.
"Sunfyre!!" Aegon screamed in terror.
Witnessing his rider being subdued, Sunfyre erupted with a deafening roar of fury. His golden head reared high, the scales along his neck flaring, wings snapping open in a blaze of light that illuminated half the Dragonpit as his massive body leaned forward to strike.
"Rrraaa—!"
Vhagar moved.
She rose.
One step forward.
Boom.
The sound was like distant thunder.
Sunfyre's roar died in his throat.
The golden dragon trembled instinctively. Though he bared his teeth and let out a warning growl, his wings faltered, drawing back as his great body retreated half a step.
"Sunfyre! Don't—stay back!"
Aegon shouted with all the strength he had left.
He knew all too well that Sunfyre was no match for Vhagar. If a fight began, the result would be unthinkable.
Sunfyre let out a distressed, reluctant whine. His golden eyes stayed fixed on his fallen rider, but he did not dare advance.
Lothorn's growl deepened, savoring the fear like a predator toying with its prey. His claws pressed closer to Aegon's cheeks, the sharp tips nearly piercing skin.
Then Aemond stepped forward.
He approached at an unhurried pace and looked down at his brother—pinned beneath the young black dragon, face pale with fear and humiliation.
"I said you are," Aemond said coldly,
"and so you are."
Aegon stared up at him, dragon talons cold and unyielding beside his face, hot fetid breath filling his lungs, sticky dragon-spittle clinging to his skin.
All anger, resentment, and pride were crushed beneath raw, animal terror.
He did not doubt that if Aemond so much as willed it, this seemingly young dragon would kill him without hesitation.
"…Yes," Aegon whispered, eyes squeezed shut.
"I said you are—and you are," Aemond repeated.
"…Yes," Aegon trembled. "I am."
Aemond raised his hand.
At once, Lothorn withdrew his claws, leaping back lightly to Aemond's side. His crimson eyes never left Aegon, tail raised in warning.
Aemond extended his hand—long fingers, clearly defined bones, steady and strong.
Aegon lifted blurred, tear-filled eyes and met his brother's gaze.
The frost in Aemond's expression seemed to ease, just slightly.
"I do not care what you think, Aegon," Aemond said, his tone heavy.
"But there are things you are born carrying. Things you cannot escape."
He paused, meeting Aegon's frightened eyes.
"Even if you truly are filth that cannot hold a wall—"
"If you ever reach the edge of the cliff, I will still pull you back."
Aegon stared at the outstretched hand… then at Aemond's grave face.
Silence settled over the damp, shadowed Dragonpit.
Nearby, Vhagar lay back down, mountain-like once more, eyes closing.
Sunfyre let out a worried murmur, yet did not dare approach.
After a long moment, Aegon reached out and took Aemond's hand.
It was firm and powerful, hauling him up from the cold stone.
"Come," Aemond said, turning away, his usual cold composure returning.
"We're going back to the Red Keep."
"Mother has been waiting for you."
"And besides—Rhaenyra and her household have already arrived."
"A family banquet without everyone present," he added coolly,
"is hardly worth watching."
The Greens and the Blacks.
The Iron Throne.
Succession.
And yet—
He was, after all, the elder brother.