At dusk.
In King's Landing, the Dragonpit upon Rhaenys's Hill had never felt so crowded—or so dangerous.
Daemon and the Blacks had withdrawn here. As they urged their dragons toward the sole exit, the last slanting rays of twilight pierced the cavern, illuminating the swirling dust.
At the mouth of the Dragonpit lay Vhagar.
The oldest and largest living dragon in Westeros rested across the passage, her vast head upon her forepaws. Her molten-gold eyes were open, unblinking, and each slow breath expelled a scorching gust of air, thick with sulfurous white smoke.
Seated at the base of her massive neck was Aemond Targaryen.
Beside him shifted Sunfyre, the black-and-gold dragon restless and agitated, claws scraping stone.
Daemon tightened his grip on Caraxes.
The red-and-black dragon beneath him—long-necked and serpentine—let out a low, displeased growl and came to a halt.
Behind Daemon, Rhaenyra's three sons had also mounted their dragons:
Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey astride Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes.
The three dragons were still young. The largest barely reached fifteen meters in length; the smallest was little more than the size of a warhorse.
Daemon said nothing. His eyes lifted instead to the heights above.
More than a hundred Hightower men-at-arms stood upon the stone platforms lining both sides of the cavern mouth, bows drawn, spears braced.
Their faces were taut with fear and resolve alike. Not one stepped back.
The arrowheads and spearpoints were angled—not toward Daemon, but toward Rhaenyra and the children.
If blood is shed, Daemon knew, they will be the first to die.
Caraxes sensed his rider's tension. Smoke seeped from between the dragon's neck scales, carrying the acrid scent of burning.
The Blood Wyrm took a step forward.
Caraxes had never known fear. Even faced with Vhagar's ancient size and crushing mass, the challenge only stirred his ferocity.
Syrax let out a sharp, warning hiss.
Beside them, Sunfyre's shriek grew higher, more frantic.
Sulfur, dust, and the hot, metallic scent of dragons filled the air, making it nearly unbearable.
Vhagar lifted her massive head.
Her golden eyes narrowed, vertical pupils contracting into cruel slits as her gaze locked onto Caraxes.
The Blood Wyrm roared in reply, baring his fangs as the smoke around him thickened.
"Quiet!" Daemon shouted.
He raised his head, his gaze cutting through the cavern's hundred meters of shadow to meet Aemond's.
Aemond spoke first.
"Though His Majesty lies unconscious," he said calmly,
"there remain certain instructions he did not finish giving. Uncle. Sister. Why the haste to leave?"
"Think whatever you like," Daemon replied coldly.
"I owe you no explanation."
"Move aside," he said, his voice dropping like falling steel.
"Or we settle this here."
"Syrax, Vermax, Arrax, Tyraxes—they are all still inside," Aemond replied evenly.
"Brother!"
"Brother!"
The anxious voices of Aegon and Prince Daeron rang out from behind him.
Aemond shook his head.
"If you dare bring this cavern down, I can promise you—none of you will fly out alive."
"Vhagar guards this passage. The distance, the terrain…"
"Uncle—you know who holds the advantage."
He was telling the truth.
Caraxes might face Vhagar in open sky—but here, in a narrow stone throat with nowhere to maneuver, to meet her ancient bulk head-on?
There was no chance of victory.
Syrax, for all her size and fertility, had never known battle.
And the three young dragons… they were worse than liabilities.
Daemon glanced at Rhaenyra.
Aemond's gaze swept across the Blacks and finally settled on her.
"His Majesty gave a verbal order before he fell," Aemond said.
Then he raised a finger and pointed—steadily—at the three boys.
"Jacaerys Velaryon. Lucerys Velaryon. Joffrey Velaryon.
They are now the lawful heirs to High Tide Hall."
"Their dragons remain here."
"This was the king's command."
Silence fell like a blade.
Then Jacaerys's voice exploded.
"What did you say?!"
"You want to take our dragons?!"
Vermax surged upward, roaring in fury—but within the vast cavern, the sound seemed swallowed and weak.
Aemond repeated calmly,
"I am merely conveying His Majesty's will."
"Aemond!" Rhaenyra snarled.
"In whose name do you speak?!"
Aemond's face remained impassive.
"If my sister and my uncle doubt me," he said evenly,
"you are welcome to return to the Red Keep and ask His Majesty yourselves."
Daemon let out a harsh, incredulous laugh.
Then—
Movement behind them.
From the depths of the shadowed Dragonpit, two immense shapes were being guided forward by dragonkeepers.
"Tessarion!" Daeron's voice rang out.
The two dragons responded to their riders' calls, growing agitated, straining forward—only to be blocked by the Blacks' mounts.
Aemond exhaled softly.
So there were still dragonkeepers loyal to the Greens.
Two adult dragons now sealed the retreat.
Though Sunfyre and Tessarion could not match Vhagar, both were fully grown, flame-capable war dragons.
Plus Lothron... The situation became four against five.
But, do those three young dragons have combat power...
With Vhagar, Sunfyre, and Tessarion—
Against Caraxes, Syrax, and three young dragons.
Five against four.
And three of those four could barely fight.
Daemon's heart sank.
It was like falling into an ice-filled abyss.