On The thirtieth day of the eleventh moon, King Aegon II could wait no longer. Time would not wait for him.
His original plan had been to send the queen and her heir into a dragon's jaws on The twenty-seventh day of the tenth moon. He had never expected them not to return to Dragonstone. Under those circumstances, he could have afforded to wait a little longer.
But now Queen Rhaenyra and her son had fled to the Vale, and the wolf and the eagle would not rest. Aegon II had to return to King's Landing as quickly as possible, seize control of the situation, squeeze the Crownlands harder for men and coin, and summon loyal hosts to face the coming storm. Order was slowly returning to the capital, and the disciplined army led by Lord Borros was nothing like the rabble of rioters.
The king finally had the conditions he needed to go home.
"Lord Borros has secured the city. The rightful king must return to loyal King's Landing at once," Larys wrote to him. "The Dowager Queen governs in Your Grace's name for now, but time is against us. The cold winds of the North and the Vale are already stirring."
Larys had also brokered a new round of compromises. The once double-player Lord Borros had emerged the greatest victor and now stood as the Greens' most brazen pillar. The Dowager Queen Alicent agreed that King Aegon would wed Lord Borros's eldest daughter, Lady Cassandra, as his new queen. Another daughter, Floris, was promised to Larys Strong himself. Borros even floated the idea of marrying one of his daughters to the Sea Snake, if the old man still had such inclinations.
"My Sunfyre…"
What Aegon II could not let go of was his golden dragon, Sunfyre, the most splendid dragon in history, now dying of grievous wounds.
He clung to the hope that Sunfyre might yet recover and take to the skies again. But the dragon only grew weaker. The wound in his neck festered and rotted; even the smoke from his breath stank. At last he could no longer eat. The maesters had reached their verdict: death was certain... days at most.
"I want Baela to pay for this!" the king roared, rage and hatred overflowing.
Yet under his counselors' urging, he was forced to restrain himself. He needed ships. He needed to return to King's Landing. Ravens were sent to Driftmark with a threat: if Alyn of Hull did not appear within half a month to swear fealty, his cousin Baela would lose her head.
"Your Grace, time is short," his advisors pressed. "Once that whore and her whelp recover their footing, war will erupt at once. We must return to King's Landing and win the hearts of the realm. Once we control the board, we can kill them to avenge Sunfyre."
Powerless though he was, Aegon II could only bid a tearful farewell to his dying golden dragon.
On The second day of the twelfth moon, with the sea churning in winter fury, negotiations finally bore fruit. King Aegon II set sail for King's Landing ahead of schedule. With him traveled Ser Marston Waters, Ser Alfred Broome, the two Toms, and Baela Targaryen, the Sea Snake's granddaughter, in chains to prevent any attempt on the king's life.
This was no triumphant return. The aging flat-bottomed merchant ship Mouse was hardly fit for a king, its captain and owner the mother of the bastard Alyn. Twelve Velaryon oared warships escorted the vessel.
"This is our hope," Aegon II said before leaving Dragonstone. "I will have a dragon more magnificent and mighty than Sunfyre."
He ordered the Dragonstone maester to select seven dragon eggs, the most promising in his eyes, to be taken with him. Seven, after all, was an auspicious number.
In Gulltown, two unremarkable Pentoshi merchant ships slipped quietly out to sea, their holds packed with Vale soldiers. Thanks to Prince Daemon's old connections in Pentos, the Magister had shown swift goodwill. Ser Harrold Darke of the Queen's Guard commanded the force.
This is pulling a tooth from a tiger's mouth, Aegon thought. Dangerous, but great rewards lay in peril.
If the operation succeeded, even without taming a dragon, he would at least have fought, proving his worth as a warrior. If he succeeded in taming one, then the balance of the world would shift for him alone.
Queen Rhaenyra watched her son depart, emotions surging within her. These children carried warriors' blood. One could not cage them. To guard against unforeseen twists, Princess Rhaena sailed with Aegon as well.
"You needn't worry," Aegon said. "The king has already fled Dragonstone on a merchant ship. The island is lightly held. Ser Alyn has sworn by the Seven not to interfere with our actions."
In this world, oaths still carried weight, mysterious, binding, not easily broken.
Alyn despised the king anyway, and the decisive battle between Black and Green would not be fought at sea. Alyn's stance was clear: they could come, but his fleet would neither assist nor obstruct them. What happened would be Aegon's choice alone.
"Even so, be cautious," Queen Rhaenyra warned anxiously, lapsing into motherly fretting. "If the situation turns ill, return at once."
"Do not fear," Princess Rhaena said firmly. "I swear by my honor and my life to protect my brother. Ser Alyn will not move against us for my sake."
"Prince, Princess, allow me to ride with you," said Ser Qarl Corbray, bearer of the famed sword Lady Forlorn. He was considered one of the finest swordsmen of his generation. "I will fight for you."
"No," Rhaena replied at once. "Thank you, ser, but we have sufficient men. Stay and protect the queen and Lady Jeyne for us."
She was decisive, loyal above all to House Targaryen.
Ser Qarl watched the ships depart, feeling as though a bird, and a rose, had slipped from his grasp, blurred and fading.
Aegon glanced at his sister but said nothing.
The Pentoshi ships raced toward Dragonstone, unopposed. This sudden counterstroke was something King Aegon II had never anticipated. Dragonstone's defenses were thin; most of its garrison had already gone to King's Landing.
On The seventh day of the twelfth moon, Dragonstone returned to Black hands.
Ser Harrold led the Vale soldiers in swiftly crushing the turncloaks. Several were executed on the spot; the rest bent with the wind.
Aegon saw the burned, unrecognizable corpse of Ser Luthor Largent hanging from the battlements outside Dragonstone's gate. Beside it were the bodies of the island's steward, drillmaster, and captain of the guard, only Ser Robert's enormous bulk made him identifiable. The Grand Maester Gerardys, killed beyond recognition, was there as well: only his head and upper torso remained, his entrails dangling like charred black serpents from a torn belly. Five corpses, a tableau of horror.
"Give them proper burial," Aegon said quietly. Vengeance would come in time. He ordered their bodies wrapped in blue cloaks.
"Secure the maesters and the ravens," he commanded. This was paramount, control of information.
In Dragonstone's outer yard, Aegon finally saw the golden dragon.
Sunfyre lay at death's door, moments from his end. Two dragon battles had cost him his right eye; his back, belly, and neck were torn and ruined.
He'll die of complications, Aegon thought.
Once, Sunfyre had been a vision of splendor, golden scales blazing, wing membranes pale pink like dawn itself. Now his body was twisted and broken, reeking of decay.
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A/N:
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