As routed men and scattered reports limped back toward King's Landing, the truth could no longer be smothered.
The first to arrive were the cutthroat levies out of Flea Bottom. They had never been much use in a stand-up fight, but no one in the city could match them for speed when the moment came to flee. The instant the battle turned, they ran, first and farthest.
By the time the city gates closed at dusk, the Greens' humiliation was already the only thing anyone spoke of. The Stormlands host had been broken utterly. Lord Borros Baratheon lay dead upon the field.
Yet it was not the defeat that froze men's blood. It was the dragon.
"A dragon," one man swore in a wine sink off the Street of Steel, slamming his cup down so hard the ale slopped over his fingers. His hands shook as he spoke. "I saw it with my own eyes. Black as pitch, with green fire in its eyes, burning like some living curse. It blotted out the sky. The Black Dread come again."
Another leaned forward eagerly, breath sour with drink. "That was Prince Aegon's dragon, then. It has to be. Only a true dragonlord could claim such a beast. Dragonfire itself chose him."
The tale raced through taverns, markets, and alleyways alike.
"I tell you, it was longer than the Great Sept," a bravo boasted, puffing out his chest. "Its fire burned green and melted steel like butter. If I hadn't run when I did, there wouldn't be enough of me left to bury."
In truth, he had been posted at the rear and had fled before the dragon ever turned its head. But no one challenged him. Fear made every lie grow teeth.
Their stories twisted and swelled with every telling, yet one truth remained untouched. A dragon had returned. That single fact shook King's Landing more deeply than the loss of the Stormlands ever could.
For two years of war, the people of the city had known dragonfire. Black banners and green had risen and fallen from the Red Keep alike. Dragons were not stories to them.
An adult dragon was annihilation given wings.
And now King Aegon had no army. No dragon. Only a shattered body and empty hands. What stood between the city and the flames?
Within the Red Keep, what remained of the Green Council unraveled.
The Small Council chamber echoed with raised voices and the scrape of chairs as men stood and sat again, unable to keep still. Faces were drawn and gray, eyes red from sleepless nights.
"Borros is dead," someone said, as if saying it again might make it less true.
Their greatest pillar of strength was gone. The last field host loyal to the Greens had been smashed beyond recovery. Even the deaths of Lord Hightower and the Lannister duke had not cut so deeply.
The dragon was worse.
A full-grown fighting dragon.
Vermithor was lost. Vhagar was gone. King's Landing now held no host, no rider, no shield of fire. Only a crippled king upon a broken throne.
King Aegon II sat slumped in his chair, one hand clenched hard around the armrest, the other trembling in his lap. His jaw worked as though he were chewing words that would not come.
"My nephew has a dragon," he said at last, his voice hoarse. He laughed once, sharp and brittle, and dragged a hand down his scarred face. "Not just any dragon. A monster of the second brood. The worst of them."
Silence fell.
"Cannibal," Aegon whispered.
The name seemed to drain the warmth from the room.
Cannibal. King of the wild dragons. Slayer of his own kind. His reputation alone had drawn desperate would-be riders to Dragonstone for generations. None had returned alive.
Aegon knew the stories too well. He had grown up on them. Old King Jaehaerys himself had once spoken of destroying the beast, of sending several great dragons together to hunt it down, lest it devour hatchlings and eggs alike. But the realm had been weary then, the old king worn thin by quarrels of blood and crown. Cannibal was cunning and swift, and even a dragon of the second generation was no easy match for it. Alone, none could corner it.
And so it had lived.
It had grown.
Why, then, had it come now?
Why had such a creature chosen his enemy?
Aegon felt something slipping away from him, slow and inexorable, like blood draining from an open wound. He did not need to hear the whispers beyond the walls. He knew them already.
A crippled king. Dragonless. A kinslayer cursed by gods and men.
He bowed his head, fingers digging into the carved wood until his knuckles went white.
No true king at all.
"Cannibal ravaged the eastern slopes of Dragonstone," Aegon II snapped. He lurched forward in his chair, one hand gripping the table for balance, the other jabbing accusingly across the chamber. His bloodshot eyes fixed on the Sea Snake. "Who put those two brats on the island? One of them is your granddaughter, my lord."
Lord Corlys Velaryon did not flinch, though Aegon watched him closely, hunting for guilt.
His voice rose, sharp with suspicion. "Your bastard is greedier than I thought. Dancing between black and green both. Even if Alyn did not openly back my nephew, he looked the other way. Otherwise tell me this. What is the Driftmark fleet doing, patrolling day after day?"
Corlys rested both hands on the table, fingers splayed, the veins standing out beneath thin skin. Age weighed on him, but his back remained straight.
"Your Grace," he said evenly, "I knew nothing of this. There were no irregularities in Dragonstone's ravens. Cannibal is a wild dragon, full-grown and masterless. No man commands it. How Prince Aegon came upon the beast, or how he claimed it, I cannot say. It may have been near Dragonstone, or at the mouth of the Blackwater, or even as far as Gulltown. Such distances mean little to an ancient dragon."
His dark eyes did not waver. The Greens' swords were broken now, and he knew it.
"This has nothing to do with Alyn. No one can claim to know a dragon's will. And House Velaryon would never smuggle Black supporters onto Dragonstone."
The chamber murmured uneasily. His words were sound. No one knew where the taming had taken place. Cannibal feared no rival. In the days when dragons filled the sky, only a few could challenge it. How much less now?
"Enough," Larys Strong said smoothly, leaning forward with a placating smile. "We gain nothing by tearing at one another while war closes in."
How the dragon had been claimed no longer mattered.
What mattered was survival.
"Borros lied to me," Aegon II snarled. His breath came fast and ragged. "He swore the Riverlands were nothing but women and children."
"The truth," Corlys replied coldly, "is that Lord Borros's sword was softer than his tongue. And now he is dead."
Aegon's hand tightened on the arm of his chair. "I still need our allies. Highgarden. Casterly Rock. Oldtown."
The Grand Maester lowered his eyes with a weary sigh. "Your Grace, that will not be easy. We have been abandoned. Ravens have flown requesting aid, but no banners have marched. Oldtown, Casterly Rock, Highgarden, none have answered."
He lifted his hands, palms bare.
"Their replies are excuses. The Lannisters claim their strength is bound against the Red Kraken. The Hightowers say they have lost too many men and have no commander fit to lead. House Tyrell speaks of widows and orphans, restless bannermen, and a ruling lady who cannot ride to war. This conflict has bled them dry."
"What of the sellswords across the Narrow Sea?" Aegon asked, his voice faltering. "Ser Tyland and the rest?"
"No word," the Grand Maester said. "And even if they come, it will not be soon."
Something broke then.
Silence fell, thick and suffocating.
The Black tide was rising. Bloody Ben Blackwood. Kermit Tully. Old Lady Frey. Victors hardened by success, marching south. And Cregan Stark as well, a hard man leading harder men.
From the east, the Vale advanced too, ships sailing out of Gulltown toward the capital.
Aegon did not dare turn openly against the Sea Snake. He still needed Alyn to face the Vale fleet. Even if Corlys played both sides, even if Cannibal's rise touched his house, the Velaryon ships were all that remained to him.
He needed them more than they needed him.
"Your Grace," the Grand Maester said gravely, lowering his voice, "King's Landing trembles beneath a dragon's shadow. This is no ordinary beast. Cannibal is near a century old. A dragon-eater. Savage and cunning. Its fire melts gold and breaks stone."
He hesitated, then spoke the words none wished to hear.
"For the peace of the realm, for the safety of the city, and for your own life, you should abdicate. Yield the throne to the queen. Prince Aegon will be named heir. He will permit you to take the black and live out your days upon the Wall."
"He would?" Aegon whispered. His face drained of color as hope flickered weakly in his eyes.
"Do not be a fool," Queen Alicent cut in. She sat rigid, her hands folded tightly in her lap. "Think of what this war has cost him. His father. Three brothers, and then another. His first dragon. You once meant to throw him and his mother to the dragons. He knows that."
She paused, her gaze hard.
"And at the Gullet, it was your father who hired the Triarchy."
Aegon swallowed. "Then what should I do?" he asked softly. "Mother."
"Stand fast," Alicent said. "You are king. A king must keep his dignity. If you yield and are slain regardless, your death will be pitiful as well as shameful."
She considered a moment, then smiled thinly.
"And we still hold hostages."
"His sister. And Rhaena's sister as well," she continued. "A woman's tears are worth more than gold. Princess Rhaena will not watch her sister die."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a cruel whisper.
"He dares not assault King's Landing because Baela is here. We will keep her close. If need be, we will bleed her to send our warning. An ear first. If the boy and the river lords advance again, we take more, piece by piece, until they stop."
"Excellent," Aegon hissed. His eyes gleamed with fevered light. "Yes. Very good."
He turned back to Corlys, his mouth twisting into a cruel smile.
"My lord, our words may be sharp, but you will fight for me. And so will your bastards. There will be no wavering."
His smile widened.
"And as for your precious Baela, if Ser Alyn does not fight well, I promise you she will lose far more."
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