Rhaenys's Hill. The Dragonpit.
"It is His Majesty's will that the dragons remain," Aemond said evenly.
"If you still doubt it, return with me to the Red Keep and ask the king yourself."
Daemon stared at him—then let out a short, harsh laugh.
"Boy," he said, "you've forgotten something."
"There is still another way."
His laughter died. Only resolve remained in his eyes.
He feared that if dragonfire was unleashed here, the cavern would collapse—and the Greens' three dragons, Vhagar, Sunfyre, and Tessarion, would be buried alive.
But the Greens would not yield.
Then war begins here.
Daemon struck Vhagar's flank with his gaze alone.
The ancient dragon answered with a thunderous roar—so heavy, so laden with age and power, that even Caraxes recoiled half a step, answering with a wary growl.
Syrax hissed sharply, fear cutting through her cry.
Several soldiers on the high platforms lost their footing and fell.
Daemon laughed again.
"Good," he said softly. "Very good."
Aemond did not laugh.
He looked past Daemon—to Sunfyre and Tessarion stirring behind him, then to Caraxes, coiled and ready to spew flame at any moment.
Finally, his gaze fell upon Rhaenyra's sons.
He saw the fury burning in Jacaerys's remaining eye.
The unwilling defiance on Lucerys's face.
The tight, trembling lips of Joffrey.
And beneath them, the young dragons quivering with fear.
If dragonfire was loosed and the stone came down—
Most of them would die.
"Mother."
Jacaerys spoke suddenly.
He slid down from Vermax's back, crossed the stone floor, and stopped beside Syrax, looking up at Rhaenyra.
The boy's face still burned with anger, but his voice was eerily calm.
"If we fight here," he said, "we lose."
"You will die," he added after a pause, his voice breaking.
"I don't want you to die."
"Brother!" Lucerys leapt from Arrax and rushed forward, seizing Jacaerys's arm.
"Just because my mother might die?" Jacaerys shook him off violently, his single eye bloodshot.
"Look!" he shouted. "That is Vhagar!
Here, Caraxes cannot protect everyone!"
"Do you want Mother to die here—with us?!"
Lucerys opened his mouth. His chest heaved.
In the end, he said nothing.
His eyes reddened.
Joffrey stepped forward.
He lifted his face to Aemond.
"You must promise," the boy said.
"If they leave the dragons, you let them leave safely."
"You swear," Joffrey continued, his voice trembling but firm.
"In the name of House Targaryen."
Aemond nodded.
"I am executing His Majesty's command."
"The dragons remain. The people may go."
"I swear by the Seven and by my House," he said plainly,
"I will not bar their departure from King's Landing, nor will I lay a hand upon them."
He did not press further.
If these three young dragons were left behind, then in any future war the Blacks would lose three dragonriders.
As for the riders themselves—
Let them go.
If he forced the issue here, even victory would mean the collapse of the Dragonpit and the death of every Green dragon.
That was a gamble Aemond would not take.
"Go back," Jacaerys said hoarsely, patting Vermax's neck.
"Go back with them."
Jacaerys took a step back, his gaze sharp as steel. He glared at the cowering dragon guards beside him.
"Take it away," he commanded, his voice ringing with authority. "Lock it up!"
Vermax whined, refusing to move.
The dragonkeepers approached, trembling, and carefully looped heavy chains around Vermax's neck and limbs.
The young dragon struggled, crying in distress—but under his rider's gaze and the pull of iron, he was dragged, step by step, into the darkness of the inner caverns.
Lucerys and Joffrey followed.
The cries of Arrax and Tyraxes echoed—confused, mournful—before fading into the shadows.
The three young dragons were gone.
Within the Dragonpit, only six dragons remained, facing one another:
Caraxes. Syrax. Vhagar. Sunfyre. Tessarion.
Aemond ignored Jacaerys's burning stare.
He spoke calmly.
"Remember this day, boy."
Rhaenyra's gaze lingered on the depths of the pit—where her three sons stood, stripped of their dragons like fledglings with torn wings.
Her heart felt carved open.
But she tightened her grip on Syrax's reins.
Syrax was the first to burst from the Dragonpit, her golden wings slicing through the twilight.
Corakhue followed, the red-and-black form vanishing into the deepening blue of the sky.
Aemond patted Vhagar. The ancient female dragon let out a thunderous roar. Her massive limbs strained, and her enormous wings carved the air into a gale, lifting Aemond high above the city.
Lothron screamed in excitement as he surged into the air after them. Soon, Sunfyre and Tesserion followed, each rising with their young masters astride.
The dragons of the Greens formed a loose arc in the sky, trailing the shadows of Vhagar and Kolakhue as they turned toward Blackwater Bay. Aemond held fast atop Vhagar, his purpose clear: ensure their departure from King's Landing and beyond the reach of the king's dominion.
Below, the streets and alleys of the city sprawled like gray-brown webs. Countless tiny figures looked skyward, faces upturned toward the flying dragons.
From the city came a chaotic chorus of panic, cries, and prayers, all rising together into the twilight.