POV: Aegon Targaryen
The Narrow Sea stretched below me, its dark-blue waters rolling endlessly, capped with white foam that broke and crashed against the distant shores of Westeros. From above, the world seemed less real, less cruel—like a living painting unfurled beneath dragon wings.
Balerion's wingbeats came like tempests, each stroke of those vast sails sending ripples of force through the air, gales strong enough to flatten knights in full plate. The sky itself seemed to bend around his power.
The wind howled in my ears, sharp and merciless, but my Valyrian steel armor dulled the sound, turning the shriek of air into a low, distant growl. Yet steel could do little to shield me from the chill of flight. It was Balerion himself who kept me warm.
A shadowbinder of Asshai once whispered that "dragons are fire made flesh." They were right. The heat radiating from him warred with the cold bite of the upper winds, leaving me perfectly balanced—refreshed, alive, untouchable.
Then, I felt it. His wingbeats slowed, the rhythm shifting from thunderous to measured, like a gallop easing into a trot. Each stroke still carried us farther, but now downward, gliding.
Balerion's scales shimmered in the fading sunlight, black as liquid night, swallowing the light whole save for faint glimmers of red along their edges. His wings, vast as a warship's sails, cut the sky with shadow.
I leaned forward, gauntleted hand brushing against his warm ridges.
"What is it, partner?" I asked. My words were lost to the wind, but the bond between us carried more truth than sound ever could.
A deep rumble shuddered through the saddle, and with it came the torrent—an avalanche of raw instincts and emotions pressing into my mind. With practiced ease, I sifted through the storm, like a man picking out shapes from a jumble of scattered puzzle pieces.
Hunger. Hunt. Tired. Rest.
I smiled beneath my helm. "So be it."
Balerion lurched again, wings tilting, and we fell into a steady glide. My crimson cloak flared behind me, snapping in the wind like the fiery tail of a falling star.
"Then let us see if there's prey worthy of you nearby," I said, tugging the reins.
The Black Dread growled his approval, the sound vibrating through my very bones. Then, with a surge of power, he banked toward the open sea, the vast waters below trembling at his shadow.
We dropped lower, the ocean swelling into sharper detail beneath us. White-capped waves crashed and foamed, salt spray catching the wind. My eyes scanned the surface, as keen as Balerion's, for in this hunt we were one—his senses flowing into mine, mine into his.
Then, there it was. A burst of white mist rising into the air, vanishing almost as soon as it appeared.
Balerion felt the shift in my gaze and banked with a predator's grace, wings tilting, carrying us toward the sign. And soon we saw them—massive shadows moving just beneath the surface. A pod of whales, swimming lazily, their great backs breaking the water in slow rhythm as they came up for breath.
Unaware.
Unprepared.
Ours.
Balerion hovered above them for only two wingbeats, watching. Waiting. Then he struck.
With a sudden surge of power, he tucked his wings and we dove.
Like a black meteor we fell, tearing through the sky, the wind shrieking in my ears, sharp and piercing as a siren's cry. My grip on the saddle tightened.
The pod below grew from tiny details into vast, panicked shapes, the water around them foaming as they finally sensed the doom looming overhead.
Too late.
Balerion opened his jaws wide and loosed his fury. A torrent of black fire split the air, crashing into the sea. Steam exploded upward, cloaking the world in a blinding fog.
I shut my eyes against it yet through the bond, I did not need them.
For a moment, I saw as Balerion saw. Through the fire and mist, through the chaos of boiling waves, his vision burned clear. I felt his hunger surge as his claws pierced the water, closed around one of the thrashing leviathans, and with a triumphant roar he heaved it skyward.
Wings thundered. Water streamed off his scales. The whale massive, writhing, helpless was dragged from its kingdom of the deep and into the dominion of the sky.
I opened my eyes again, blinking away the blur, vision sharpening as the steam fell behind us.
Ahead, coastline emerged from the haze. Jagged cliffs, green hills, and the unmistakable outline of an island I knew well.
"The island of Tarth," I breathed, the word slipping from my lips unbidden.
---
Balerion dropped the whale like a boulder upon the rocky shore. The beast struck with a sickening crash, shattering stone, blood and brine splattering across the sand. A heartbeat later, we landed beside it.
Balerion wasted no time. He exhaled another torrent of black flame over the carcass, searing flesh and fat until the air reeked of salt, burning oil, and cooked meat. Then, with a deep rumble of satisfaction, he tore into the charred whale, ripping away steaming chunks of meat as though he had starved for weeks.
I leaned forward in the saddle watching curiously. Even after years together, dragons still fascinated me.
They were fire made flesh, yes, but flesh nonetheless. They ate, they slept, they bred, and they had their own rhythms of hunger and rest. The dragonkeepers of Dragonstone had taught us what little they knew, but their wisdom only served to highlight their ignorance.
How did dragons truly breed? How can you tell what sex they we're? Or could they change sex?
So much knowledge had been lost with the Doom. House Targaryen, being but a minor branch of the old Freehold, had not carried much lore with them when they fled to Dragonstone. The gaps frustrated me as much as they intrigued me.
My musing ended at the distant thunder of hooves.
Balerion lifted his head from the smoking carcass, blood steaming on his jaws, and for a moment the world froze. Then, he returned to his feast.
The riders came crashing out of the treeline. A dozen knights on heavy destriers, steel-clad and proud until they saw him.
Their horses shrieked, rearing and flailing, nearly unseating their riders.
"By the Father preserve us!"
"A monster!"
"Seven hells!"
I tilted my head slightly. So the dragons have not flown this far south, well at least not in living memory.
Another group emerged behind them. At their head rode a young man in armor, his surcoat quartered with sun and crescent, rose and blue the sigil of House Tarth. Beside him was a grey-robed Maester, chain glinting against the salt air. And behind them, a woman of noble bearing, also wearing Tarth's colors.
Even across the distance, I could see their faces, hear their words.
"By the gods…" the Maester whispered, voice trembling with awe. "A dragon…"
The young knight turned sharply. "Are you certain, Maester? I thought they were only tales."
"There can be no doubt," the Maester said, pointing straight at me. "And look there—upon its back. A rider. I suggest a proper welcome, my lord, lest he turn the beast against us."
The young man nodded, visibly gathering himself as his retinue closed protectively around him.
I climbed down from the saddle and onto the shore. Gravel crunched under my boots. The air was thick with smoke and salt. Behind me, Balerion tore another strip from the whale's flank, utterly unconcerned.
But through the bond I felt it, like a heartbeat at the back of my skull: the readiness to strike. One word, one thought, and fire would claim this entire beach.
I stepped forward, away from Balerion's bulk, far enough that the Tarth entourage might feel some measure of comfort. Behind me, the sound of tearing flesh and splintering bone carried across the beach, each crunch a reminder of what lurked only a few strides away.
As they drew nearer, I took the young man's measure. He was plainly highborn: broad of shoulder, brown-haired, a trimmed beard just beginning to grow upon his jaw.
He reined his horse and called out, voice steady though his eyes betrayed unease.
"Hail, dragonrider. I am Selwyn Tarth, Lord of Evenfall, and I bid you welcome to the island of Tarth."
He spoke warmly, but I could feel the nervous tension ripple through him and his men. Their gazes kept straying past me to the mountain of black scales that feasted upon the whale.
I inclined my head in return. "Hail, Lord. I am Aegon Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone."
At that, the Septon among them gasped so sharply it was nearly a choke. His eyes bulged wide as he thrust a trembling hand toward me.
"You—you are the child sent from the heavens?" His words were half question, half accusation.
I let the silence stretch a breath before I answered. "That is what some have called me."
And indeed, they had called me many things. The child who fell from the heavens. The child who flew. Some said I rode in an iron chariot, pulled by flaming stallions across the sky. Fishermen, sailors, merchants, even lords—all had passed the tale along until it spread across the Narrow Sea.
It was, in truth, a tiresome thing to endure. But I gave him a simple nod.
The revelation stunned them. The young lord and the lady at his side exchanged a wide-eyed glance, as though struggling to reconcile myth with flesh and blood before them.
"Truly?" the woman asked at last, her voice soft, almost disbelieving. "You are the one who fell… the one who flew in an iron chariot pulled by flaming horses?"
I allowed myself a faint smile and inclined my head again.
Color rose swiftly in her cheeks. She looked away, flustered, her gaze retreating to the sea.
Behind me, Balerion tore another steaming strip of meat from the carcass, his growl vibrating through the ground beneath our feet.
Most of the retinue flinched.
Selwyn Tarth, still staring as though he beheld a figure from a tale come to life, finally swung down from his horse. Sand crunched beneath his boots as he bowed stiffly, his eyes never quite leaving me.
"My lord," he said, his voice earnest, "we would be honored to host you at Evenfall Hall. It would bring pride to my house, and safety to my people, to give shelter to one such as you."
The words were honest, not the hollow courtesy of a petty lord currying favor. Still, I shook my head.
"I am honored by your offer, Lord Selwyn," I answered, "but as soon as my dragon has finished his feast and taken his rest, we must fly again. Our path lies elsewhere."
Selwyn frowned, puzzled. "Elsewhere, my lord?"
"Tyrosh." I gestured toward Balerion, his wings half-folded as he tore another steaming chunk from the whale. "The city lies under siege, its walls pressed by men and its harbor sealed by ships. That is where I am bound."
The young lord blinked, uncertain he had heard aright. "Tyrosh? My lord, the city is surrounded on all sides by a fleet. Hundreds of war galleys, some built to batter stone and shatter walls. No ship can break through—not one."
"I know." I met his gaze without flinching. "That is why I go. Balerion and I will break the fleet and lift the siege."
For a heartbeat there was only the sound of the surf and Balerion's feeding. Then the words rippled through the gathered men like a thunderclap.
Several of the knights gaped openly, their hands tightening on their reins as though the very thought unsettled them. One muttered a prayer to the Warrior. Another crossed himself before the Father.
The Septon clutched the seven-pointed star at his chest and whispered, "Seven preserve us… he speaks of deeds for gods, not men."
Selwyn himself stood rooted, struggling between disbelief and awe. At his side, the young woman stared at me as though I were already legend made flesh.
Balerion lifted his head then, jaws glistening red, and loosed a low growl that trembled in their bones. The steam rising from the whale's carcass curled about him like smoke from a forge.
I laid a hand upon the dragon's scales and let the silence linger.
"Believe or doubt as you wish," I said at last. "The truth will be written upon the sea before this moon wanes."