Riverrun, The Riverlands.
The morning sun streamed through the eastern windows, casting a golden glow across the master bedchamber of the keep.
Lord Grover Tully leaned against his sickbed, his pale face devoid of color.
His eyes were half-closed, his chest rising and falling slowly; with every breath, a faint wheezing rattled in his throat.
Raylon, the bastard son, stood by the old Lord Tully's bed, watching him with unease.
This young man was the son of Lord Humfrey Bracken, nineteen years of age.
Two weeks ago, he had brought his father's two young sons, his half-brothers, to Riverrun, seeking Lord Tully's protection.
His father, Humfrey Bracken, was dead. The old Lord Bracken had chosen the Greens over the Blacks, but he had done one clever thing before the end.
Raylon looked down at the old man on the sickbed.
"My Lord," he whispered, "your health..."
Grover Tully looked at him. His eyes were clouded, yet a small spark of light remained in their depths.
He looked at Raylon and suddenly gave a weak smile.
"They are all waiting for me to die," he said, his voice raspy and low.
"Those rebellious Lords, and even my own family. These fools..."
He paused to cough a few times.
"But these fools forget... we are contending with dragons."
Raylon was stunned. "Contending with dragons?"
"Do you truly believe this is merely a civil war within the Targaryen dynasty?" Grover looked at him, a flicker of sharpness passing through his clouded eyes.
"No, child."
Raylon opened his mouth but found nothing to say.
Grover continued: "Lord Bracken was clever. He died with dignity and made preparations for both outcomes. No matter who wins in the end, his house will not be purged in the aftermath. But I am different..."
He closed his eyes in resignation.
"We are different..."
Raylon asked cautiously, "Then... is there no other way?"
Grover opened his eyes. "Unless one possibility occurs," he said.
"Both sides fight until they are utterly exhausted. A war where neither side wins. Neither can consume the other, and finally, the Seven Kingdoms return to peace."
Grover's voice was soft, as if speaking to himself.
"But that possibility is impossible. The Greens and the Blacks both have dragons. To them, a castle is nothing more than an oven. One spark and it burns... The result is that whoever wins, the loser will be severely liquidated. Lands stripped... titles removed... House names extinguished..."
He paused, coughing up a bit of blood. Raylon moved to help, but Grover waved him off.
"I wanted to remain ambiguous," he said with a bitter smile.
"To stay neutral. But we Tullys lack the strength to remain aloof like House Baratheon."
The old Lord Grover Tully looked tragically toward the sunlight outside and murmured:
"We are fish. How does a fish dare to fight a dragon?"
Raylon fell silent. After a moment, Grover looked back at him.
"Raylon," he said, "do as your father instructed. Take your two brothers and seek refuge with the Greens."
Raylon hesitated. "But I heard... Prince Aemond detests bastards."
Grover chuckled. "The Prince detests the Strongs," he said with a hint of mockery in his laughter.
"Those who tried to lay hands on the Iron Throne with bastard blood." He looked at Raylon.
"You are different."
Raylon bowed his head respectfully.
"Your father, Lord Humfrey, chose to use his life to secure the future for you and his trueborn heir, Amos Bracken. If you take these two young Brackens to the Greens, they will not mistreat you. Furthermore, I hear Prince Aemond values the growth of those from humble origins."
Raylon nodded. "Yes, My Lord."
The old Lord waved a hand. "Go now. Soon, the Tullys will likely stand with the Blacks..."
As Raylon turned to leave with his siblings, the door was flung open.
Elmo Tully entered, the heir to Riverrun, an unremarkable middle-aged man, as mediocre and unnoticeable as his father.
He held a stack of letters and paused upon seeing Raylon. Raylon quickly left room.
Elmo walked to his father's bedside, waving the letters with ill-concealed excitement.
"Father," Elmo said, "perhaps we must reconsider. The Lords of the Riverlands are contacting us, Blackwood, Piper, Vance, and the others... If we Tullys take a stand..."
"Shut your mouth."
Elmo froze. Grover looked at him, his clouded eyes suddenly full of exhaustion, and finally let out a helpless sigh.
"Do as you wish. By the Seven... pray they look kindly upon House Tully..."
He said no more and closed his eyes. Elmo stood there, bewildered, seeing that his father, who had firmly supported the Greens, seemed to no longer stop him.
Suddenly, a shadow blotted out the sunlight. A gargantuan shadow. Elmo turned and lunged for the window.
He looked up and saw a massive creature flying east. Blood-red scales, pitch-black wing membranes, a long, slender neck, and eyes like burning coals.
Caraxes. The Blood Wyrm. The dragon of Daemon Targaryen.
The dragon deliberately banked low over Riverrun, so close that Elmo could see the veins in its wing membranes.
Every beat of those massive wings sent a gale that made the banners on the battlements snap violently. Then, the dark figure on the dragon's back turned his head.
Daemon Targaryen. He had done it on purpose.
Elmo stood frozen at the window. He watched the dragon fly further away, eventually vanishing into the eastern horizon.
"Is he reminding us?"
Grover opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.
"Reminding us that time is running out."
----------
The Dragonpit, King's Landing.
Aegon II stood before the massive iron gates, clad in a full suit of white dragonrider armor.
The pauldrons were forged in the shape of dragons, and the breastplate bore the Three-Headed
Dragon sigil. Sunlight reflected off the plate with a blinding glare.
Sunfyre lay nearby, flicking his tail impatiently.
The golden dragon's scales were like molten gold.
He was much better than he had been months ago; his wounds were mostly healed. Now, Sunfyre was a proud dragon once more. He held his head high, golden eyes narrowed as he watched his rider.
Aegon walked to Sunfyre's side and patted his neck.
"Hey, brother," he said, "let's go get some air."
Sunfyre squinted comfortably, letting out a satisfied purr from his throat.
"Your Grace!"
Queen Aelyn came running up. She wore a light blue gown, her hair in an intricate bun, her face full of worry.
She reached Aegon and stood on her tiptoes, kissing him gently on the forehead.
"May the Seven protect you, Your Grace."
Sunfyre turned his head, looking with great displeasure at this silver-haired woman's intimacy with his master.
He let out a low growl that startled Queen Aelyn, causing her to step back in confusion.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Aegon quickly soothed Sunfyre.
"She's my wife, don't you understand?"
Sunfyre tossed his head indignantly, an expression that said,
'I don't understand and I don't want to.'
Sunfyre only knew that Aegon should love him and him alone; anyone who dared to be close to Aegon would face his wrath!
Aegon gave a helpless laugh. Queen Mother Alicent stood not far away, watching the scene with a pale face.
She stepped forward.
"Aegon."
Aegon turned. "Mother."
Alicent looked at him, her voice very low.
"Why must you go? Is it not better to leave this to your brother Aemond? Besides, Aemond did not ask for your presence. The front lines are dangerous..."
Aegon II shook his head.
"Joining this war is a decision I made myself," he said, his voice lacking its usual flippancy.
"It has nothing to do with Aemond."
He looked his mother in the eye.
"I will let everyone know that I am not a coward. I will make everyone understand that I am the true Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."
Alicent opened her mouth to speak but found she had nothing to say. Grand Maester Noren stepped forward to comfort her:
"Queen Mother, rest easy. Prince Aemond commands two dragons, and now we have His Majesty and Sunfyre."
Alicent turned and glared fiercely at the new Grand Maester.
'Of course you aren't worried! Aegon II is my son!' Noren lowered his head and sheepishly stepped back.
Then, Helaena came forward. She wore a pale blue gown, her belly slightly rounded. She walked to her brother and looked up at him.
"Brother. I can feel... danger. Please, do not go."
Aegon looked at Helaena and curled his lip.
His sister, this "freak," Aemond's wife.
Always saying mysterious things, always doing things no one understood.
But at this moment, there was something in her eyes he had never seen before: a genuine fear.
Knowing his sister was worried for him, he couldn't bring himself to mock her. He sighed.
"Helaena, my sister. You must trust me. I am Aegon! Aegon the Second! I will not fear any enemy."
He turned to the crowd. "In this battle, I shall lead the army personally."
Seeing Aegon's resolve was fixed, Helaena said no more.
She did not know what would happen, but her intuition told her Aegon was in great peril.
Aegon turned to walk toward Sunfyre. Behind him, Queen Aelyn smiled.
"I wish you a swift victory, Your Grace."
Aegon looked back and smiled at his wife. He admitted to himself that he had fallen for Aelyn.
He liked her gaze and her encouragement; he liked that someone looked at him with such adoration.
He patted Aelyn's hand and mounted Sunfyre.
"Let's go, boy."
Sunfyre unfurled his massive wings and gave a few powerful flaps.
A gale rose, pushing everyone back. Then, the dragon ascended into the sky, soaring toward the clouds. King's Landing grew smaller and smaller below.
Sunfyre's scales flashed in the sun like a streak of moving gold.
------
The Cliffs of Dragonstone.
On the cliffs on the eastern side of Dragonstone, Meleys unfurled her scarlet wings and let out a long, deep roar that echoed over the sea, startling flocks of seabirds.
Waves crashed against the rocks below with a thundering sound.
Rhaenys stood by the dragon, stroking her warm neck.
"Old girl," she whispered, "fight one more battle with me."
The Red Queen's eyes, like molten gold, fixed on her rider.
She lowered her head and nuzzled Rhaenys's face, her massive head resting gently on Rhaenys's shoulder, her warm breath puffing against her neck.
Rhaenys closed her eyes, feeling the familiar warmth.
She remembered the night many years ago when she first secretly mounted Meleys.
She had snuck into the Dragonpit alone, found Meleys, and the dragon had accepted her.
She had flown all night. Back then, she told herself she didn't need the Iron Throne; as long as she had Meleys, it was enough.
How many years had it been? She opened her eyes. Decades had passed.
She had never worn a crown, never sat on the Iron Throne, and never issued decrees from the Small Council.
She had watched her cousin Viserys ascend the 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 so much like her, daring to love and hate, eventually drawn to Daemon like a moth to a flame. And Laenor? Rhaenys gave a light smile.
She knew Laenor was still alive; she knew that after his faked death, he was living happily, and that was enough for her.
She would not disturb him. As for Jace and Joffrey...
Rhaenys closed her eyes. Those two boys were her grandsons in all but blood. She had watched them grow.
'They didn't live to see the day,' she thought.
"I will avenge you," she murmured, to no one in particular.
The wind blew in from the sea, tossing her grey-white hair.
She looked into the distance. She had those she loved, and those who had loved her.
That was enough.
"Let's go," she said. "I'm going to butcher him. I'll show him what a true Targaryen is."
Meleys beat her wings. A gale howled.
The scarlet dragon took to the sky, flying west.
Antlers, The Crownlands.
Aemond, sitting beside Morghul, opened his violet eyes. Sensing his master's awakening, Morghul turned his head, his blood-red pupils fixing on Aemond.
Morghul could feel the will emanating from Aemond, an influence that reached into his own mind.
At this moment, the dragon was excited, violent, and craving.
Morghul stared intently at Aemond. The Prince reached out to stroke the black scales, cold, hard, with that uniquely draconic rough texture.
He could feel the muscles beneath the scales trembling, the blood surging through the veins.
Aemond looked into those draconic eyes. Within them was something violent, excited, and ambitious.
'How much like a human,' he thought.
'So you were there all along...'
He understood. He could feel Morghul's heartbeat. It was synchronized with his own.
Thump, thump, thump.
Like a summons.
"Aemond..." he whispered, as if to himself, or perhaps to the dragon.
"We share a single heart. Our heartbeats resonate."
Morghul let out a low growl, exhaling a puff of heat scented with sulfur.
"You are my soul," Aemond continued, his hand stroking the scales of the dragon's neck.
"Selfish, narcissistic, morbid." He smiled.
"Pleasure flowing through the blood... we are a perfect match."
He looked into Morghul's eyes.
"You are I, and I am you."
He pressed his hand against his own chest.
"I... love... me..."
"Don't you agree?"
Morghul let out a low, acknowledging roar.
-----
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