At that moment—the Riverlands, Riverrun.
Morning sunlight streamed through the eastern window, flooding the bedchamber of the main keep with golden yellow.
Lord Grover Tully lay back on his sickbed, his pale face drained of blood. His eyes were half-closed, his chest rising and falling slowly, each breath accompanied by a faint rattle from his throat.
His bastard son, Raylaton, stood at the old lord's bedside, watching him with concern. The young man was Lord Bracken's bastard son, nineteen years old. Two weeks ago, he had come to Riverrun with his father Humphrey Bracken's two young sons—his half-brothers—to seek Lord Tully's protection.
His father, Humphrey Bracken, was dead. The old lord of Stone Hedge had chosen the Greens over the Blacks. But he had been clever.
Raylaton looked at the old man on the sickbed.
"My lord," he whispered, "your body..."
Lord Grover, lying on the sickbed, looked at him as well. His eyes were clouded, but a faint light still burned within.
Lord Grover looked at Raylaton and suddenly smiled.
"They are all waiting for me to die," he said, his voice hoarse and low. "Those traitors and my own family. Those fools..."
He paused and coughed a few times.
"But these fools have forgotten... we are fighting against dragons."
Raylaton was stunned.
"Fighting against dragons?"
"Do you think this is just a civil war within the royal House Targaryen?" Grover looked at him; a sharpness flickered in his clouded eyes. "No, child."
Raylaton opened his mouth, not knowing what to say.
Grover continued. "Lord Bracken was clever. He died with dignity and made preparations. Whoever wins in the end will not later eliminate his sons."
He paused.
"But I am different... we are different..."
Raylaton asked cautiously. "Then... is it truly impossible?"
Grover opened his eyes.
"Only if such an opportunity arises," he said. "Both sides fight until they are exhausted."
Raylaton listened intently.
"Neither side wins this war. No one can devour the other, and in the end the Seven Kingdoms will return to peace."
Grover's voice was soft, as if speaking to himself.
"But that opportunity cannot be real. The Greens and Blacks have dragons. So-called castles are like ovens in their eyes. In the end, the winner will severely eliminate the loser. Either stripped of lands... or stripped of titles... stripped of their family name..."
He stopped and coughed up blood. Raylaton wanted to step forward, but Grover waved him off.
"I thought I could be ambiguous," he said, an ironic smile on his lips. "I wanted to be neutral. But we are not strong enough to stand aside like House Baratheon."
The old lord Grover Tully raised his head dismally, looked at the sunlight outside the window, and muttered.
"We are fish. How dare fish fight dragons?"
Raylaton was silent.
After a while, Grover looked away and looked at him.
"Raylaton," he said, "do as your father said. Take your two young brothers and join the Greens."
Raylaton hesitated. "But I heard... Prince Aemond hates bastards."
Grover smiled.
"The prince hates Strongs," he said, a note of mockery in his laugh. "He wants to use a bastard's blood to stain the Iron Throne."
He looked at Raylaton.
"You are different."
Raylaton bowed his head respectfully.
"Your father, Lord Humphrey, decided to use his life to make you and his trueborn son Amos Bracken. If you take these two young Bracken sons to the Greens, the Greens will never mistreat you."
He paused.
"Besides, I have heard that Prince Aemond places great value on raising men of humble birth."
Raylaton nodded.
"Yes, my lord."
The old lord waved his hand. "Go. Soon Tully may find itself on the Blacks' side..."
Raylaton turned and was about to leave with his two young brothers when the door suddenly burst open.
Elmo Tully entered.
The heir to Lord Tully, a nondescript middle-aged man as mediocre and unremarkable as his father. He held a stack of letters in his hand, saw Raylaton, and was momentarily stunned.
Raylaton quickly led his two young brothers out of the room.
Elmo approached his father's bed and raised the letter in his hand.
"Father," Elmo said with barely concealed excitement. "Perhaps we should reconsider our decision."
Grover glanced at him.
"Speak."
"The Riverlords have contacted us," Elmo lowered his voice. "Blackwood, Piper, Vance, and others... If we make an ambiguous statement..."
"Silence."
Elmo was stunned.
Grover looked at him, his clouded eyes suddenly filled with weariness, and finally he sighed helplessly.
"Whatever you want. The Seven Above... please take care of House Tully..."
He said no more and closed his eyes.
Elmo stood motionless, puzzled, looking at his father who had once been a fervent supporter of the Greens but now seemed more restrained.
Suddenly.
The sunlight outside the window was blocked by a dark shadow.
A vast black shadow.
Elmo turned his head and rushed to the window. He looked up and saw a colossal creature in the sky, flying east.
Blood-red scales, dark wing membranes, a slender neck, and those burning eyes.
Caraxes the Blood Wyrm.
Daemon Targaryen's dragon.
The dragon deliberately flew over Riverrun, so close that Elmo could even see the veins in his wing membranes. Each time those enormous wings beat, a gust of wind sent the banners on the battlements flying.
Then the black figure on the dragon's back turned his head.
Daemon Targaryen.
He had done it on purpose.
Elmo stood before the window, his whole body tense. He watched as the dragon flew farther and farther, gradually disappearing into the eastern horizon.
"Is he reminding us?"
Grover opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.
"Reminding us that time is running out."
---
King's Landing. The Dragonpit.
Aegon the Second stood before the great iron doors, dressed in full white knight's armor. The shoulders of the armor were shaped like dragons; the Targaryen three-headed dragon sigil was engraved on the breastplate. The sun illuminated the armor, reflecting dazzling light.
Sunfyre lay nearby, his tail wagging impatiently. The golden dragon's scales were like molten gold. He was much better than he had been months ago; most of his wounds had healed. Now Sunfyre was a proud dragon again. He held his head high, his golden eyes narrowed, looking at his rider.
Aegon approached Sunfyre and patted his neck.
"Hey, brother," he said, "let's go get some fresh air."
Sunfyre narrowed his eyes, and a contented rumble came from his throat.
"Your Grace!"
Queen Aelinor ran to him.
She wore a long light blue gown, her hair tied in a delicate bun, an anxious smile on her face. She ran to Aegon, stood on tiptoe, and lightly kissed his forehead.
"May the Seven Gods bless you, Your Grace."
Sunfyre turned his head and looked at the intimate behavior between the silver-haired woman and his master with displeasure. He let out a low roar, which startled Queen Aelinor; she stumbled back a step.
"Hey, hey!" Aegon quickly soothed Sunfyre. "She is my wife. Do you understand?"
Sunfyre shook his head angrily with an expression that said: I don't understand, and I don't want to understand. Sunfyre only knew that Aegon could love only him as his dragon; anyone who dared to be with Aegon would surely be severely beaten.
Aegon smiled helplessly.
Queen Mother Alicent stood nearby, watching the scene. Her face was somewhat pale.
She stepped forward.
"Aegon."
Aegon turned his head.
"Mother."
Alicent looked at him.
"Why must you go?" Her voice was low. "Is it not fine to leave everything to your brother Aemond? Besides, Aemond does not need you to go. The front line is dangerous..."
Aegon the Second shook his head.
"It was my own decision to join this war," he said, without his previous frivolity. "Nothing to do with Aemond."
He looked into his mother's eyes.
"I will show everyone that I am not a coward."
He paused.
"I will also make everyone understand that I am the true lord of the Seven Kingdoms."
Alicent opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but could not find the words.
Maester Norren stepped forward and soothed her. "Queen Mother, do not worry. Prince Aemond commands twin dragons, as does His Grace and Sunfyre."
Alicent turned her head and glared at the new maester.
Of course you are not worried. Aegon the Second is my son!
Grand Maester Norren bowed his head and sarcastically stepped back a pace.
At that moment, Helaena stepped forward.
In a light blue gown, her belly slightly swollen. She approached her brother, raised her head, and looked at him.
"Brother. I feel... danger. Please do not go."
Aegon looked at Helaena and curled his lips. His sister, Aemond's wife. Always saying inexplicable things, always doing things people did not understand. But at this moment, there was something in her eyes he had never seen before.
It was fear.
But still, this sister was worried about him. He could not be sarcastic. He sighed.
"Helaena, my sister. You must trust me. I am Aegon! Aegon the Second! I will fear no enemy."
Then he turned his head and looked at everyone.
"In this battle, I will lead the expedition myself."
Helaena saw that Aegon had made his decision and did not persuade him further. She did not know what would happen, but her intuition told her that Aegon would be in danger...
Aegon turned, ready to go to Sunfyre.
Behind him, Queen Aelinor said with a smile, "I wish you success, Your Grace."
Aegon turned and smiled at his wife.
He admitted he was in love with Aelinor. He liked her eyes and her support. He liked being looked at with such adoring eyes. He patted Aelinor's hand, then turned and mounted Sunfyre.
"Let's go, buddy."
Sunfyre spread his enormous wings and beat them several times. The wind grew stronger, forcing those nearby to step back. Then the dragon soared into the sky and shot upward.
King's Landing grew smaller and smaller below.
Sunfyre's scales glittered in the sun like a moving piece of gold.
---
On a cliff on the eastern side of Dragonstone, Meleys spread her crimson scales and howled at the sky.
It was a dragon's howl, low and long. The dragon's roar echoed across the sea, startling flocks of seabirds. Waves crashed against the reef below the cliff, roaring in response.
Rhaenys stood beside her dragon and gently stroked her warm neck.
"Old girl," she whispered, "accompany me into battle."
At that moment, the Red Queen Meleys's eyes were like molten gold, fixed on her rider. She lowered her head and rubbed against her rider's face. Her great head rested gently on Rhaenys's shoulder; warm breath brushed against her neck.
Rhaenys closed her eyes, feeling the familiar warmth.
She remembered many years ago. The night she first crept onto Meleys. That night, she had run alone to the Dragonpit, found Meleys, who had accepted her, then mounted her and flown away. She had flown all night.
She had told herself then: she did not need the Iron Throne; Meleys was enough.
How many years had passed? She opened her eyes.
She had not worn a crown, not sat the Iron Throne, not given commands at the Small Council. She had watched her cousin Viserys ascend the Iron Throne, watched him marry queen after queen, watched his children be born and die.
But she had Meleys. She had Corlys. She had Laena and Laenor.
Laena had been too much like her. Daring to love and hate, and in the end falling in love with Daemon like a moth to a flame.
And Laenor? Rhaenys smiled softly. She knew Laenor was still alive, and after staging his death, she understood he was living a happy life. That was enough. She would not disturb him. Let him be. Whatever he wants, she thought. As long as he lives.
As for Jace and Joff...
Rhaenys closed her eyes.
Those two boys, grandchildren not bound by blood. But she had watched them grow. They had not lived to see this day.
"Grandmother will avenge you," Princess Rhaenys murmured.
She whispered, not knowing to whom she spoke.
The wind blew from the sea, stirring her grey hair. She looked into the distance.
She had people she loved and who loved her.
That was enough.
"Let's go," she said.
"I will kill him. Let him know what a true Targaryen is."
Meleys beat her wings.
The wind howled.
The crimson dragon soared into the sky and flew west.
---
Antlers.
Aemond, beside Lothron, opened his violet eyes.
Lothron felt Aemond wake, turned his dragon head, and looked at him with blood-red pupils. Lothron sensed his master Aemond; something emanating from his body seemed to impose itself on him with its will.
At this moment, Lothron was excited, aggressive, full of impatience. Lothron looked directly at Aemond.
Aemond reached out and stroked the black scales. The scales were cold, hard, with a rough dragon's touch. He felt the muscles beneath the scales trembling slightly, and the blood surging through the veins.
Lothron turned his head and stared at him with those blood-red dragon eyes.
Aemond looked into the dragon's pupils.
There was something in those eyes—cruel, excited, yearning, ambitious. So like a human? So you have always been...
He understood.
He felt Lothron's heartbeat.
The heartbeat was synchronized with his own.
Boom, boom, boom.
As if some resonance.
He looked at him.
"Aemond..."
"We are one heart," Aemond said quietly.
His voice was soft, as if speaking to himself, and to Lothron.
"Our heartbeats sound together."
Lothron let out a low roar and released a blast of heat. The heat smelled of sulfur.
"You are my soul," Aemond continued.
His hand stroked the scales on Lothron's neck.
"Selfish, narcissistic, pathological."
He laughed.
"Pleasure flows in the blood... we are a natural pair."
He raised his gaze and looked into Lothron's eyes.
The dragon's blood-red eyes looked back at him.
"You are me, and I am you."
His hand was on his chest.
"I love... me..."
"What do you think?"
Lothron let out a low rumble.
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