The sky was just beginning to turn grey with the pale light of dawn.
The battlefield of Rook's Rest still drifted with the scent of yesterday's lingering smoke, the unmistakable, sulfurous stench of dragonfire.
The wreckage of a siege tower lay tilted against the base of the white wall, still smoldering.
Before the gates, across the scorched plains, corpses were strewn everywhere in a grisly tapestry of iron and meat; soldiers and knights alike, rendered indistinguishable from one another.
Crows had already begun to gather in a black mass, perching on the battlements as they waited to feast.
Aemond arrived at the temporary military camp situated in the forest to the west. He had just descended upon the back of Morghul.
He, too, had not slept all night, and his violet eyes were bloodshot.
He had slain Rhaenys, but now he was entirely consumed with the life or death of Aegon II.
At this moment, the Greens could not afford to lose a King. Such a loss would deal a catastrophic blow to their entire cause.
Aemond also hoped Aegon was safe; though his elder brother was a fool, to Aemond, he was a perfect puppet to manipulate, as long as he didn't get himself killed.
Aegon II would faithfully do as he was told.
Furthermore, they were brothers.
Outside the camp, the sentries had been terrified when they first saw the black dragon in the sky, assuming the Black dragonriders were returning.
Currently, the entire Green army wished to retreat, but because His Majesty Aegon II was severely injured and could not be moved, they were forced to risk staying and making camp on the spot.
"Is that a Black dragon?" a fresh recruit at the gate asked curiously, peering through the morning mist.
"Idiot! That's Morghul! It's the Prince's dragon!" a veteran barked, slapping the recruit on the back of his helm.
The guarding soldiers, recognizing Prince Aemond as he approached, bowed their heads in deep respect and immediately hauled open the stockade gates.
"The Prince." "The Prince is here." "Prince..."
A group of soldiers watched in awe and fear as Prince Aemond walked in, his Valyrian-steel-infused armor shattered, his long silver hair falling loose to his waist.
Aemond remained expressionless, offering no response to their murmurs as he strode forward.
Nearby, two soldiers huddled by a dying fire next to a tent, watching the Prince's arrival.
They whispered quietly to each other.
"I heard the King is still alive?"
"Alive, but barely. Falling from that height, surviving at all is a miracle of the Seven."
"His Majesty can thank his dragon. Without that beast, the King would surely be dead."
"And the dragon? The golden one?"
"Sunfyre? Worse off. I caught a glimpse from a distance; his belly was nearly ripped open, entrails almost spilling out. One eye is gouged out, too."
"By the Seven... can it even live?"
"Who knows. A swarm of maesters and healers is surrounding the beast right now."
"Those healers? Can they treat a dragon?"
"If they can treat a man, why couldn't they treat a dragon?"
"It's a dragon, after all... its constitution must be different from us mortals."
Another soldier leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"Then tell me... what kind of man is the Prince?"
"What kind? A man who can fight, obviously."
"Fight? Then why didn't the Prince join the battle yesterday?"
"My brother pushed me out of the way yesterday, but a single breath of dragonfire incinerated him," one soldier said, his eyes darkening at the memory.
The veteran comforted him, patting his shoulder.
"To be alive after an attack by two dragons is good enough, lad."
The soldier nodded grimly. "May the Seven protect us."
The newer soldier then added, "I heard that now, His Majesty..."
"What about His Majesty?"
"I just heard the nobles and officers saying they want the Prince to act as Regent."
"Regent? Doesn't that mean..."
"...Keep your voice down."
The three stole a secret glance at Aemond's retreating back and immediately fell silent.
Aemond arrived at the clearing where Sunfyre lay.
The golden dragon was stretched out on the blackened ground, surrounded by several maesters and attendants.
The beast was drenched in blood, his magnificent scales shattered and torn.
A massive wound gaped across his belly, the flesh mangled and turned outward, with internal organs faintly visible beneath.
His right eye was clamped shut, blood still seeping from the ruined socket; he was clearly blinded.
Hearing footsteps, Sunfyre's remaining left eye slowly opened.
Seeing Aemond, the golden pupil contracted, and the dragon let out a low, mournful whimper.
Aemond walked over immediately.
The healers hurriedly scrambled out of the way.
"Prince, his injuries are too severe," a camp doctor said, shaking his head grimly.
"The bones in his right wing are crushed, the belly wound is too deep with severe internal damage, and the right eye cannot be saved... We have done our best, but..."
Aemond said nothing. He knelt in the mud, looking at Sunfyre.
Sunfyre's single eye looked back at him. In that gaze was pain, exhaustion, and a sliver of plea. He did not want to die.
He wasn't ready to die yet.
"You saved that fool," Aemond whispered, holding the dragon's gaze.
Sunfyre blinked his healthy left eye and let out a dissatisfied whimper, as if he understood perfectly but was unhappy that Aemond had called his master, Aegon, a fool.
Aemond was silent for a moment. Then, he drew the dagger from his waist.
The surrounding maesters jumped, taking a collective step back. Without flinching, Aemond sliced open the palm of his own left hand.
Blood surged out. He extended his bleeding hand toward Sunfyre's snout.
Sunfyre froze. He smelled a familiar scent.
There was something strange and ancient in that blood that made the dragon's blood boil, and the blinding pain in his wounds seemed to lessen slightly.
He extended his barbed tongue and took a gentle lick. Then, he began to drink in large gulps.
The blood flowed over his tongue, down into his throat, and into his body.
He felt a warm current surging through him; his wounds seemed to knit together, and the fading fire of life began to burn anew.
Aemond knelt there, motionless, letting the dragon drink his fill.
He knew his blood could keep Sunfyre alive.
He held a high opinion of Sunfyre; the dragon was fiercely protective, utterly loyal, and possessed excellent combat prowess.
The surrounding doctors stood dumbfounded.
"This... this is..."
"By the Seven..."
Aemond turned his head, casting a razor-sharp glance at them.
The doctors were so terrified by the sheer intensity of Aemond's gaze that they dared not speak and quickly withdrew a few paces.
Hal had arrived with the personal guard and noticed the scene.
Hal knew what usually came next; killing a few doctors to keep a secret was a trivial matter.
Aemond suddenly said, "Forget it."
Hal looked surprised.
"If you kill them all, who will treat the King?" Aemond said softly.
"Just warn them. If they leak a word of this, their entire families will be executed."
Hal nodded sharply. Beside them, Sunfyre finally had his fill.
The golden dragon closed his eye and lay his massive head upon the ground, his breathing gradually becoming steady and rhythmic.
He had fallen into a deep, healing sleep.
Aemond stood up. His hand was still bleeding freely. Hal hurried forward, offering a clean bandage.
Aemond took it and bound the wound himself.
"Watch over him," he commanded.
"Feed him meat. It must be fresh."
Hal nodded repeatedly. "Yes, yes, Your Grace. Leave it to me."
Aemond turned and walked toward the nearby King's tent.
Though it was morning, the light inside the canvas was dim and heavy with the smell of poultices and blood.
Aegon lay on a field cot, his face as white as parchment.
His leg was fixed in a splint, his torso wrapped in tight bandages, and there were still traces of blood at the corners of his mouth that hadn't been wiped clean.
Two physicians stood by, looking weary to the bone. Seeing Aemond enter, they rose hurriedly and bowed.
"Prince."
Aemond walked to the bedside, looking down at Aegon. "How is His Majesty?"
An elder physician spoke with trepidation.
"His Majesty is extraordinarily lucky. To fall from such a height and survive because the dragon shielded him is a miracle. But the internal bleeding is severe, and his chest suffered a massive concussive injury..."
The doctor hesitated.
"His Majesty must rest. He cannot leave his bed, cannot exert himself... cannot do anything until he is recovered."
"And the future?"
The physician swallowed hard.
"In the future... he will be physically frail."
He didn't finish the thought. This was massive internal bleeding; even if Aegon II was exceptionally lucky, they couldn't say for sure what permanent damage would manifest.
But Aemond understood perfectly. Aegon was broken. Even if he lived, he was a ruined man.
But it was enough that he lived. For now, the Greens still needed Aegon II as their rallying banner. He looked down at Aegon.
The King's eyes were closed, his brow furrowed as if caught in a terrible nightmare.
Aemond recalled the battle above Dragonstone not long ago. He felt that this brother, though a fool, wasn't entirely useless.
Though Aegon had been somewhat reluctant, he had still stood firmly for their cause when it mattered.
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