"Hiss..."
Sunfyre lay on his back, the saddle on his dragon's back empty, pinning the frightened Aegon beneath the gap.
Hearing footsteps, he looked up at Aemon.
In that moment, Aegon felt as if he had seen his savior, and cried out miserably, "Aemon, save me, save me!"
He hung in mid-air, his back against the ground, his head swollen with blood and his body covered in bruises.
It was almost like torture.
Aemon had heard his cries for help and had already seen Sunfyre, battered and bruised, limp in the rubble.
Suddenly, his expression darkened.
It was all because of this fool. He had nearly collapsed the Dragonpit and sundered the Targaryen foundation.
"Your Highness,"
the elderly dragon handler approached, supported by others.
Aemon ignored him and snatched a bamboo stick, as thick as a bowl, from a young dragon handler, snapping it in two.
"Huh?"
Aegon was instantly startled, his blood-soaked head clearing.
"Don't, don't come over here!"
Aegon was terrified, nearly wetting himself, his arms aching as he tugged at the chains around his waist, but he couldn't budge.
"Anything else?"
Aemon said coldly, stepping in front of him.
Aegon's lips were pale and trembling. "I didn't mean to do that."
"It doesn't matter,"
Aemon said expressionlessly, raising his hand and swinging the bamboo stick.
"No, no, no!"
Aegon screamed in panic, watching the oil-coated stick completely dominate his vision.
BANG!
The blow struck, knocking his head sideways, leaving it dangling in mid-air.
Aegon fainted instantly, his loose silver-gold hair stained red by the blood gushing from his skull.
Tick-tick!
Aemon's expression was impassive, blood dripping from the bamboo stick in his hand.
He knelt down by Aegon's head, untangling the iron chains around his waist, and letting his body fall limply.
"Shhh!"
Sunfyre regained his breath and struggled to protect his rider.
Vermithor's bronze-bright pupils glared at him, but he didn't make any move.
"Shhh!"
A young black and red dragon flew over, its scarlet wings flapping and hovering in mid-air, spewing dragonfire at the golden dragon's head.
The flames were as black as night, erupting like a pillar of fire, exploding as they struck the golden scales.
Sunfyre's head tilted in the blast, his hard-won strength evaporating.
"Shhh!"
The orange cat-sized dragon shrieked and flew back to Aemon's head, circling with a show of force.
The dragon, "Blackfyre," lived up to its name.
Aemon glanced at him, then grabbed one of Aegon's legs and dragged him out of the ruins like a dead dog.
Dragons are not slaves, nor are they tools of their riders.
Those who understand this are true Targaryens.
Even if one has tamed a dragon, they naturally trust and favor other dragons when approaching them.
If one fails to grasp this…
in the days of old Valyria, regardless of whether the dragon they tamed was young or old, they would never have dared to ride one into battle.
They would only be fit to share a table with children.
"Aemon, what's going on in there?"
Viserys asked hurriedly upon seeing his nephew emerge.
Laena, Rhaenyra, and Helena rushed over, soothing the agitated and frightened young dragons while worrying about their own.
"It's all right for now,"
Aemon said, dropping Aegon to the ground and dragging a young dragon handler over. He issued a blunt order in High Valyrian:
"Release Vhagar, Syrax, and Dreamfyre. Cage the young dragons, and I'll take them back to Dragonstone."
A pillar had broken, and large shards of the wall had shattered, allowing sunlight to filter through the cracks. The Dragonpit had become a dilapidated structure.
The dragons could no longer live there and needed temporary relocation.
The young dragon keeper trembled, instinctively glancing at the king beside him.
"Do as Aemon commands,"
Viserys said gravely.
"Yes, Your Majesty, Your Highness."
The young dragon keeper's collar was loosened, and he scrambled to make the announcement.
At this moment, Viserys called over the elderly dragon keeper in charge of the Dragonpit.
"What are you doing? Dozens of people can't keep an eye on two half-grown children, letting them run wild with dragons!"
Viserys roared, practically furious.
The elderly dragon keeper lowered his head, too ashamed to answer.
They were caught off guard, allowing Prince Aemond to sneak into the Dragonpit and release the Sheepstealer. Then, Prince Aegon took advantage of the chaos and unleashed Sunfyre.
When the patrol arrived, it was too late to stop them.
"Get out! I really need to think about how to manage the dragon keepers!"
Viserys pushed the elderly dragon keeper aside, never wanting to see him again. He always failed to keep watch over the Dragonpit, leading to various problems.
What good would he do?
The old dragon handler silently withdrew, a trace of sadness in his heart.
The dragon handlers, also known as the "Dragon Guard," were formed during the reign of His Majesty the Elder King Jaehaerys.
When the Elder King was still alive, the Dragonpits were free of accidents.
At best, a "brave young Targaryen" had taken advantage of the moment and whacked Balerion, the Black Dread, on the nose with a club.
Now, with the son of that "brave young Targaryen" as King on the Iron Throne, the Dragonpits began to suffer various problems.
So... whose fault was it?
"I think the biggest problem is these two fools!"
Aemon said sternly as he dragged the unconscious Aegon out of the Dragonpit.
As they emerged from the bronze gates, sunlight bathed their faces.
Viserys followed behind, his expression a mixture of anger and heartache, his words choking in his throat.
"If you make a mistake, you must be punished, isn't that right, Uncle?"
Aemon asked directly, holding a bamboo stick.
Viserys had already guessed what his nephew was going to do.
He wanted to say that he would take the man back and punish him personally, but how could he say such a thing?
Viserys gritted his teeth and turned his head away.
"Very good!"
Aemon nodded.
He threw Aegon to the ground, with one leg stretched out and drooping on the steps.
"Your Majesty..."
Ser Harold, who had rushed over with him, opened his eyes wide and wanted to dissuade him.
Bang! Crack!
Aemon swung the stick violently, and the bamboo stick, as thick as a bowl, shattered on the spot, and the bamboo fragments flew like firecrackers.
"Ah!!"
Aegon sat up instantly, letting out a heart-wrenching scream.
With a thud, he fell backward and lost consciousness once more.
"Aegon!"
Rhaenyra covered her mouth.
Aegon's face was pale, his body drenched in sweat, and his straight right leg was twisted unnaturally.
Really... break his leg.
Viserys heard his eldest son's screams, and his heart skipped a beat, but he suppressed his pain and didn't turn back.
Too cruel!
Everyone present thought: Prince Aemon had been too ruthless.
Aemond in the crowd turned pale, his body shaking with fear.
Taking advantage of no one's attention, he quietly stepped back, shielding everyone in front of him.
"Aemond, your turn!"
Just then, a voice like a ghost called out to him.
"Gurgle~~"
Aemond immediately froze in reaction, swallowing a mouthful of saliva in his throat.
Aemon pushed through the crowd and was already behind him.
"I, I didn't mean to..."
Aemond didn't dare turn around, staring at his reflection in the sun, unable to finish his words.
The moment the Sheepstealer lost control, he realized he had gotten into trouble.
The Dragonpit nearly collapsed, nearly killing the dragons.
Even the enraged and demented Aegon had a leg broken. The consequences for him, the mastermind and the deliberate perpetrator, were unbearable to contemplate.
"Not everyone is as foolish as Aegon. I know what you've done."
Aemon grasped his shoulders and turned him to face him.
As he spoke, he caught a glimpse of his uncle's remorseful gaze and the complex expressions of those around him.
Aemon's eyes were restrained, and he nodded imperceptibly.
"I was wrong. I accept the punishment."
Aemond was a bit stronger than Aegon. Knowing he couldn't escape today, he admitted his fault with trembling lips.
"Do you really think so?"
Aemon asked.
"Yes."
Aemond closed his eyes.
Aemon smiled faintly. "Good job, you didn't lose face."
With that, he kicked out.
BANG!
Aemond's eyes were bloodshot, and he fell to the ground in agony, clutching his groin, hunched over like a shrimp.
His mouth stretched to its fullest, but not a single sound came out.
The most intense pain is the pain of silence.
Aemon, his face stern, raised his foot and delivered two more powerful kicks to the face.
Aemond felt his head buzz, time spinning, and he lost track of time. He didn't know how much time had passed.
When he regained consciousness, he was in someone's soft embrace.
"Aemond, wake up,"
a familiar voice called out, the scent of rust and cream lingering in his nostrils.
When Aemond opened his eyes again, he saw his eldest sister, Rhaenyra, with worry on her face.
"Wake up, don't fall asleep."
Rhaenyra held Aemond and rocked him gently, shielding him from the sunlight and someone's cold gaze.
The Dragonpit door still stood as it had.
Aemond's heart trembled, and he shrank back into his eldest sister's arms in fear.
Blood flowed from both nostrils, flowing over his mouth and soaking the lace at the front of Rhaenyra's black dress.
He shivered like a homeless puppy.
Aemon stared at Rhaenyra, his eyes beckoning her to move aside.
"Aemon, that's enough,"
Rhaenyra said, hugging Aemond tightly. "I'll kill you if you hit me again."
Aemon looked away, scanning the crowd.
From Lord Chamberlain Tyland and the Kingsguard down to the dragon handlers, no one dared to meet his gaze.
They either looked at each other for a split second and turned away, or simply didn't dare raise their heads.
"Prince Aemon, I believe the two princes recognize their error."
Anyone could avoid him, but Lyonel Strong, as Hand, couldn't. He nervously stepped forward to offer his advice.
Aemon ignored him, glancing sideways at his silent uncle.
Viserys's face was grim, his hands clenched into fists beneath his leather gloves, his chest rising and falling more and more violently.
He looked furious.
Aemon averted his gaze, discarded the brick he had picked up, and said calmly, "Call the maester."
With that, he brushed past his uncle's shoulder and walked away.
"Your Majesty?"
Ser Harold, who had been standing behind the king, spoke worriedly.
"Call the maester!"
Viserys roared, his neck stiff.
Tyland rushed out to call for the maester.
After a flurry of activity, the dragon handlers prepared two makeshift stretchers.
"Be careful,"
Rhaenyra said, lifting the terrified Aemond onto the stretcher and carrying him away.
Aemond was half asleep, his body as if washed clean.
Rhaenyra watched the stretcher go away, a mixture of emotions welling up in her.
"Don't think about it."
Laenor approached and gently took her arm.
The little gestures Aemon and Rhaenyra made were unseen by others, but she saw them clearly.
The struggle for the succession to the throne was always like this.
Using small tricks to win people's hearts and maintain stability was a last resort.
Rhaenyra was slightly distracted, digesting everything.
Elsewhere, Viserys sent his two unworthy sons away and, with the help of two or three members of the Kingsguard, mounted his horse.
He was running out of time, so he naturally couldn't ride in the wheelhouse.
On the way back, Viserys's face darkened as he replayed the misdeeds of his two foolish sons.
His heart ached, but it was no wonder his nephews had been so ruthless. Had Aegon and Aemond acted like this during the reign of their grandfather, Jaehaerys, they would have received much worse than a mere beating.
Given his grandfather's stern temper and his unwavering regard for dragons, they would surely be stripped of their dragon chariots, forbidden from ever setting foot in a dragon's lair, let alone touching one.
"My court is in turmoil."
Viserys reflected deeply and sighed.
With the Dragonpit incident, his nephew's beating of Otto seemed insignificant.
Wait!
Beating Otto... Otto...
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