The Dragonpit, King's Landing.
The Dragonpit was a place of perpetual shadow, smelling of sulfur and the heavy, metallic tang of blood.
As Aemond Targaryen stepped onto the scorched earth of the Pit, his four dragons completed their descent.
Sunfyre had flown with visible effort, but the golden dragon had stubbornly endured the entire journey from Dragonstone to King's Landing.
Vhagar's condition was far superior; the ancient matriarch's wounds had already formed thick black scabs.
She clutched the severely injured Grey Ghost in one massive claw, the pale dragon dangling like a frightened hatchling beneath her.
And then there was Morghul.
The black dragon circled the dome of the Pit three times before landing, wings fully extended, letting out a sharp, piercing shriek to announce his return.
When he finally touched down, he immediately lunged toward Aemond, nudging his shoulder with a massive jaw to seek the favor of his master.
"Be still," Aemond chided with a touch of indulgent affection, patting the scales on the dragon's neck.
"Your Grace."
The voice came from the shadows of the entrance. Hal Bellerin stood there, flanked by Will Simmons and Carter Gesang.
Once men of no standing, they now held surnames, lands, and noble status, all granted by Aemond.
Their loyalty lay not with the Iron Throne, but with the Prince who had given them everything.
"How is the reconstruction?" Aemond asked, walking toward the depths of the Pit.
Will, now serving as the young Master of Coin within Aemond's inner circle, followed closely with a smile.
"According to your requirements, we are opening two additional exit tunnels. The central dome is being converted into an open-air arena, though the construction... it will take at least two years."
Aemond offered a grunt of satisfaction. He had no intention of allowing a repeat of history; no mob would trap his dragons in a single exit and slaughter them by sheer weight of numbers.
If the smallfolk of King's Landing ever rose, his dragons would take to the sky instantly, and from there, they could crush a riot like a nest of ants.
"Your Grace, one more thing," Hal lowered his voice, handing Aemond a scroll.
Aemond unfurled it. By the light of the torches, he scanned a list of fifty names, marked with Houses, ages, and specialties.
"The first selection for the New Guard is complete," Hal reported.
"It should have been chosen by the King, but... given His Majesty's condition, the Queen Regent has delegated the formation of this guard to Gwayne Hightower."
Aemond's lip curled. His mother was in a hurry to pave the way for Aegon.
But he wasn't worried; Gwayne had already pledged his secret fealty to him.
"This guard is a symbol more than a weapon," Aemond said, tucking the letter into his tunic.
"It shows the Seven Kingdoms that the Reach and the South stand with us. The North, the Vale, and the Riverlands have been excluded from power for too long. Even if they nod to Aegon's succession, their hearts remain neutral."
"The Lords of the Northern realms have their own circles," Aemond added coldly.
They reached the western section of the Pit. Aemond stopped, looking at the heavy chains hanging from the ceiling.
At the end of them was Vermax.
The dragon that once belonged to Jacaerys Velaryon was now a prisoner, pinned between massive stone pillars.
His state was wretched; his wings were twisted at unnatural angles, and his body was paralyzed.
"Your Grace?" the guards warned, hands moving to their hilts.
Aemond waved them off and stepped forward.
As he drew near, Vermax's head snapped up. Despite his paralysis and the fact that he was barely clinging to life, the dragon erupted with a final, desperate strength.
He thrashed, the chains rattling violently as dust fell from the pillars.
He opened his maw.
Whoosh!
Dragonfire erupted.
It wasn't a full stream, but a chaotic gust of black smoke and jagged embers.
It was small but concentrated, aimed directly at Aemond's face.
"Your Grace!" Hal cried out.
The Dragonkeepers and guards drew their steel.
But Aemond did not move. He stood his ground as the flames engulfed him. For a few seconds, the fire licked at his skin, yet it did not burn.
It did not blister. When the flames died down into stray sparks and smoke, Aemond stood unharmed.
His black shirt had been incinerated, leaving his torso bare. His pale skin wasn't even flushed.
A deathly silence fell over the Dragonpit. The veteran Dragonkeepers stared in shock. They had seen dragonfire melt stone and vaporize men.
This was the stuff of legends, the Unburnt. It was the mark of a bloodline reaching its absolute zenith.
Aemond looked down at his ruined shirt and frowned. He looked at Vermax, who was still trying to muster another breath.
The dragon's hatred was too deep; there would be no taming this one.
"Someone get me a fresh tunic," Aemond commanded.
Hal, still reeling, stammered, "Yes... at once!"
Will Simmons had already pulled off his own surcoat and trousers, scurrying over to offer them. Aemond took them and dressed casually.
"Your Grace," Hal's voice still shaking, he gestured to Vermax.
"The beast's hostility is too great. It's a danger. Should we...?"
"Kill it?" Aemond finished the thought.
Hal nodded. "He's broken. He can't fly, and his fire is spent. He's a waste of food and manpower."
Aemond walked right up to Vermax, so close he could smell the rot of the dragon's wounds.
Vermax tried to hiss, but only produced a puff of black smoke followed by a violent cough.
"He is a dragon of House Targaryen," Aemond said, reaching out to touch the scales on the dragon's neck.
The creature shuddered, trying to bite him, but the chains held.
"Even broken, he is a dragon. Feed him well. He will have a great use later."
"A use?" Hal was confused.
Aemond didn't explain. He gave the crippled dragon one last look and turned to leave.
As he reached the exit, he spoke to the Captain of the Dragonkeepers.
"Captain Rosso, keep his wounds clean. Give him fresh meat. I want him alive. Do you understand?"
"Understood, Your Grace," Captain Rosso bowed deeply.
Though the paralyzed Vermax was a monster of malice, the Dragonkeepers had their ways of keeping such a creature breathing.
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