The moon was just a slit behind drifting clouds, its pale light painting silver lines across the sea. All of Driftmark seemed to hold its breath—stone halls echoed only with the faint clang of a distant bell or the wind's sigh through salt-worn windows. After the awkward feast, most lords had retreated to their chambers, their voices low and wary, plans already shifting with the tide.
But for the children of House Targaryen and Velaryon, sleep would not come. Too much unsaid, grief too sharp, old hurts festering right beneath the polite shell of mourning.
Aegon lay wide awake on his narrow bed, staring at the ceiling as the embers in his hearth faded. He listened to the hush, to Aemond's restless breathing from the other cot, to the distant trundle of footsteps in the gallery outside. He glanced toward the damp window—through it, he could just see the faint, gold silhouette of Sunfyre curled below in the yard, the dragon's soft snorts comfortingly regular.
The silence broke at last. The door creaked; Aemond slipped quietly into his boots and shrugged on a cloak. Aegon's unease sharpened.
He sat up. "Where are you going?"
Aemond's jaw clenched, eyes flicking away. "Don't follow."
Aegon was instantly on his feet. "Aemond—don't do anything stupid."
But his brother was already gone, the flicker of torchlight in the hall trailing behind him. For a moment, Aegon considered leaving him to his fate—childish pride, one more rivalry—but Helaena's soft, sad look earlier still lingered. He snatched his own cloak, gentler with the latch so as not to wake her in the small makeshift room next door, and slipped after Aemond into the sprawling, unfamiliar corridors of High Tide.
The castle breathed with night sounds: shutters rattling, the slap of waves, the muffled voices of guards. Aegon paced the cold stones barefoot until he saw a small figure ahead—Aemond, hunched and hurried, moving toward the outer yard where the dragons were kept.
Aegon followed at a careful distance, shadowing him as old childhood lessons about unseen threats and secret corners returned. At the far end of the court, beyond the stables and empty training post, the earth sloped toward the ancient dragon pit that faced the sea.
Silhouetted in the night, Vhagar was a mountain—huge, ageless, her body curled in uneasy sleep. The other children's dragons—Moon Dancer, Vermax, Arrax—nested far beyond, their tails barely visible in a tangle of coils and breath.
Aemond stopped short of the beast, his body tense.
Aegon hissed from the shadows, "Are you mad?"
Aemond glanced back, furious. "If I ride her, no one in this house will look down on me again." His tears gleamed for an instant; then he pressed forward.
Aegon held his breath. He knew this was more than childish pride—he knew how lonely Aemond felt standing in the shadow of siblings and cousins, how those feelings could curdle into desperation. Still, what could he do—stop him by force? Betray him to the guards or Maester?
No. He would watch, and if disaster struck, he would help.
He crouched in the shadows as Aemond reached the dragon. He watched his brother whisper brave, foolish words, saw the ancient beast lift her head, eyes flickering with ancient intelligence. A gust of sea wind carried the scent of dragonfire and fear.
Aemond, trembling, climbed onto Vhagar's side—the dragon rumbled, then, with a terrifying groan, unfurled her wings. For a heart-stopping moment, Aegon thought she'd toss his brother into the rocks. Instead, Vhagar arched, stretched, and with a savage joy, launched skyward.
Aegon's mouth fell open as the mighty shadow swept overhead, wind-force nearly knocking him back. He could hardly believe what he'd just seen.
He wanted to shout, to run after him, but the world had narrowed: torches bobbing across the yard as other children—Jace, Luke, Baela, Rhaena—came running toward the commotion.
"He's taken Vhagar!" Baela shrieked, fury and heartbreak mixing in her voice. "He's stolen her!"
Aegon snapped alert. He grabbed Helaena, who'd come following the noise, her eyes wide and confused.
"Stay by me," he whispered fiercely. "Don't get in the middle of this." He positioned himself between her and the others as the Velaryon girls rushed past, followed by Jace and Luke, faces set and pale.
The shouts grew louder as Vhagar returned, circling wide before crashing down hard enough to spray sand across the yard. Aemond—wild, exhilarated, panting—slid from her back. At that instant, Baela and the others swarmed him.
"You stole her, thief—you had no right!" Rhaena screamed.
"She was my mother's—!" Baela's fists lashed out.
Aemond tried to push through, but Jace tackled him, and suddenly the night was full of flying fists, howled insults, and raw pain. For a frozen moment, Aegon almost charged in—his hand already on Luke's arm, trying to pull him away. "Enough—stop! This isn't—" But his shout was buried under the chaos.
He shoved Baela and Rhaena back from Helaena, keeping her behind him, even as Aemond staggered, grappling Jace and Luke. Somewhere a fist clipped Aemond's temple; blood spattered the sand. Baela caught Helaena's sleeve, hissing, "Keep out of it, cousin!" Helaena whimpered but did not fight back.
Then, desperation rising, Jace screamed, "Go back to King's Landing, you monster!" and brought a stone down toward Aemond's head.
Aegon lunged between them, catching Jace's wrist just in time. "Enough—you'll kill him!"
But in the wild tumble, Lucerys, eyes wild with panic, raised a blade meant only for threats—but the blade flashed in torchlight and found soft flesh, slicing deeply into Aemond's face.
"Oh gods—!" The world stopped: Aemond reeled backward, clutching his eye, blood jetting through his fingers. His scream rose, raw and wordless, above the pounding surf and the chaos of feet stumbling in every direction.
Aegon let go of Jace and dove to his knees, hauling Aemond upright and pressing his own cloak against Aemond's ruined face.
"Hold still, brother. Gods, hold still—help's coming!" He shouted for guards—anyone—voice hoarse with fear.
The other children stumbled back, pale and mute with horror. Helaena, trembling, pressed herself to Aegon's side, tears silent on her cheeks as Aemond's blood stained the sand.
Within minutes, the yard exploded with noise—guards, sirens, lanterns flaring. Alicent and Rhaenyra, wild-eyed, were there, pulling children apart, demanding answers. The maester arrived, hands shaking, barking orders.
"Let me—give me space—" the maester said. Aegon did not move, holding Aemond against him, his own hands sticky with blood and rage.
Alicent caught Aegon's eyes as she clasped Helaena. "What happened?"
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