The Dragonpit, Twilight.
Under the twilight, the Dragonpit on Rhaenys's Hill had never been so crowded, never so dangerous.
Daemon and his Blacks retreated to this place.
As they rode their dragons toward the exit, the last rays of twilight slanted in, illuminating the dancing dust.
And illuminating the enormous, bronze-green scaled shadow blocking the exit.
Vhagar.
The oldest and largest she-dragon in Westeros lay across the only exit.
Her head rested on her forepaws, her bright-green eyes open, and each long breath brought a rush of hot air, expelling sulfurous white smoke.
And seated at the base of her bulging neck was Aemond Targaryen.
The young man's figure appeared exceptionally slender against the old dragon, yet he sat rigidly.
His silver hair was undisturbed by the draft, and the dragon patterns on his black and red armor gleamed.
One hand rested casually on Vhagar's rough, rock-like scales, his purple eyes downcast, smiling as he watched the Blacks he had trapped.
Beside him, the black young dragon Morghul shifted uneasily.
He was only eight meters long, with lustrous black scales, and at this moment, he spread his wings, letting out sharp, provocative hisses, staring intently at his larger kin opposite.
Daemon reined in Caraxes.
The red and black serpent-like dragon beneath him let out a dissatisfied growl and stopped.
"Daemon," Rhaenyra's voice came from Syrax's back, trembling.
Her three sons, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey, had also mounted the backs of their respective young dragons: Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes.
The three dragons were still small; the largest was barely fifteen meters long, and the smallest was only slightly larger than a warhorse.
Daemon didn't answer, his eyes sweeping upwards.
Over a hundred Hightower household soldiers stood on the stone platforms flanking the Dragonpit exit, armed with bows and arrows.
Their faces were tense, their hands gripping their weapons tightly, fear evident, yet no one retreated.
Arrowheads and spear tips pointed slightly downwards, aimed at them.
Deep within the Dragonpit, the Dragonkeepers who cared for the dragons had long since hidden behind stone pillars and in the shadows.
"Son of a bitch," Daemon cursed under his breath.
He weighed his options. The Dragonpit had ample space, but only one exit, now completely blocked by Vhagar.
Fighting here, dragonfire would ignite everything, and collapsing rocks could bury all the dragons, including Sunfyre, Tessarion, and Dreamfyre, which were still deep in their nests on the Greens' side.
Mutual destruction?
Perhaps. But Rhaenyra and the children would die first.
Caraxes felt his rider's tension, and a scorched white smoke seeped from the scales on his neck.
He took a step forward; this combative male dragon never feared, and even Vhagar's ancient size only stirred his greater ferocity.
Syrax let out a clear yet wary hiss. The three young dragons whimpered, a sound between threat and fear.
Vhagar responded.
A low rumble, as if from the depths of the earth, rolled from her throat.
The sound vibrated the air, and stone dust sifted down from the dome.
Beside him, Morghul's shriek became higher and more urgent.
The smell of sulfur, the unique fishy scent of dragons, and the dust mixed together, unbearably hot.
Aemond finally moved.
He raised his hand and lightly patted Vhagar's neck. Just a simple gesture.
Vhagar's molten-gold eyes lifted, her vertical pupils narrowing into cruel slits, her gaze locked on the combative Caraxes.
Caraxes roared, fangs bared, the white smoke growing thicker.
"Quiet!" Daemon commanded.
His Blood Wyrm shook its head in displeasure, but its roar softened, though its blood-red eyes remained fixed on the old she-dragon.
Daemon looked up, his gaze piercing through a hundred meters of dim space, watching Aemond, who was looking down at them.
Aemond spoke first.
"Though His Grace is unconscious, he still has some instructions unfinished. Uncle, Sister, why the rush to leave now?"
Daemon grinned.
"If we don't leave now, I'm afraid you'll pick our bones clean. All this today, was it your doing, boy?"
Aemond was silent for a moment.
Otto's rash actions in the Throne Room, that ill-fated coup...
"Believe what you will." He didn't bother to explain, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Move aside," Daemon said, the temperature in his voice suddenly dropping.
"Otherwise, we'll settle this here and now."
"Think carefully, how many crazed dragons can this huge stone structure withstand? Sunfyre, Tessarion, Dreamfyre... they're all still inside."
"Brother!"
"Brother!"
The shouts of Prince Aegon and Prince Daeron came from behind Aemond, clearly alarmed.
Aemond shook his head. "If you dare to collapse this place, I guarantee none of you will fly out."
"Vhagar guards this place, at this distance, this terrain... Uncle, you know very well who has the advantage."
He spoke the truth.
Caraxes might be able to contend with Vhagar in the open sky, but to directly charge into Vhagar's massive body and terrifying strength in this cave with no room to maneuver?
There was no chance of victory.
Moreover, Rhaenyra's Syrax was as prolific as she was, but had no combat experience.
And those three young dragons were even more of a burden.
Now, Daemon's only chance was to kill the rider and seize the opportunity while Vhagar was in chaos.
But Aemond was clearly no unprepared fool, and furthermore, he had a second young dragon beside him.
Daemon looked at Rhaenyra.
Though Rhaenyra's face was pale, her eyes, besides fear, held a nearly desperate resolve.
If pushed to the brink, she too would choose mutual destruction.
Just then, Aemond spoke again.
"His Grace has an oral decree."
Everyone was startled.
Aemond's gaze swept over the Blacks, finally resting on Rhaenyra's face.
"You may leave."
Then, Aemond's finger rose, pointing steadily at the three Velaryon brothers.
"But these three... Jacaerys Velaryon, Lucerys Velaryon, Joffrey Velaryon... are now the heirs of Driftmark."
"Their dragons must stay."
"This was the command His Grace gave me before he fell unconscious."
Silence.
Then, Jacaerys's voice exploded: "What did you say?! You want to take our dragons?!"
Vermax felt his master's fury, suddenly rearing up and letting out a sharp roar, but in this giant cavern, that roar seemed so weak.
Aemond calmly repeated. "I am merely relaying the King's command."
"The King's command?" Rhaenyra trembled with rage.
"Father is already unconscious! Aemond, in whose name are you speaking?!"
Aemond's face was impassive. "If Sister and Uncle don't believe me, you can follow me back to the Red Keep and ask His Grace in person."
Daemon was also angered to laughter by Aemond's brazenness.
But suddenly, from behind!
ROAR!!! HISS!!!
Heavy footsteps and dragon roars came from deep within the Dragonpit.
Daemon and Rhaenyra turned their heads.
In the dim depths of the cave, two massive figures were being guided by the Dragonkeepers, slowly approaching.
On the left was Prince Aegon's Sunfyre, golden all over.
On the right was Prince Daeron's Tessarion, with sky-blue scales.
Both dragons growled uneasily, their dragon eyes glowing in the darkness.
"Sunfyre! Over here!" Aegon shouted.
"Tessarion!" Daeron's voice also rang out.
The two dragons, hearing their masters' calls, became more agitated, trying to move forward, but their path was blocked by the Blacks' dragons.
Aemond exhaled softly. It seemed that some of the Dragonkeepers still obeyed them.
Two adult dragons blocked their retreat inwards.
Though Sunfyre and Tessarion were not as grand as Vhagar, they were still adult dragons capable of breathing fire.
Adding Morghul... the situation became four against five.
But did those three young dragons have any fighting power? Daemon's heart sank as if falling into an ice pit.
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