Beneath the Dragonpit's vast arched dome, in the afternoon light.
As Aegon Targaryen guided Sunfyre down to land, the turbulent air stirred dust from the ground, and several dragonkeepers nearby staggered back.
It had been over half a year since Aegon had last seen his dragon. The moment he returned to King's Landing, without even removing his traveling gear, he came straight here.
Sliding down from Sunfyre's broad, golden back, his steps were light and unsteady with urgency. He stumbled as he landed, saved only by grasping the warm foreleg of his beloved dragon.
Sunfyre—this magnificent golden dragon, over thirty meters in length, with a wingspan exceeding fifty meters.
The dragon lowered his head, molten-gold eyes gazing gently at his rider, and lightly nuzzled Aegon's shoulder with the gold-scaled side of his snout, a deep, rumbling purr sounding in his throat.
Aegon let out a long breath. Only upon a dragon's back, among the clouds, did he feel he could truly breathe.
"Good fellow. You still understand me best," he murmured, patting Sunfyre's hard scales before turning around.
Then he froze in place.
In the open ground near the Dragonpit's exit, bathed in daylight, he saw that figure.
Aemond.
His younger brother stood sideways, holding a large slab of dark red raw meat in his hand.
To Aemond's left lay Vhagar, resting like a dark brown mountain, the old dragon's eyes closed in light slumber.
To the right was a young dragon, its entire body pitch black, the edges of its scales faintly flowing with a dark red sheen. About three meters long, it affectionately rubbed its head against Aemond's hand.
It snatched the meat from his palm, its sharp teeth tearing with a faint hiss-rip sound.
Aegon stared in shock.
One man—two dragons…
He could not understand it. How was such a thing possible?
Was a dragon not meant to have only one rider?
Aemond had long since noticed his arrival, yet did not turn back, remaining focused on feeding the black dragon hatchling.
Aegon steadied himself and forced his legs forward, his boots grinding over fine sand and ash with a soft rasp.
"How did you do it?" he asked, curiosity breaking through.
"One man… riding two dragons?"
Aemond still did not turn. His calm, level voice carried over: "You return to King's Landing and do not go back to the Red Keep? You do not visit the mother who has missed you for over half a year. Instead, you come to the Dragonpit."
"Aegon—does Sunfyre truly feel warmer to you than your mother's sleepless nights of worry?"
Those few light words instantly pierced the fragile ease Aegon was forcing onto his face. Heat rushed up his cheeks.
"My affairs—since when is it your place to question them? What do you think you are?"
Only then did Aemond slowly turn around.
His gaze lingered for a moment on Aegon's slightly pale face, the faint bluish shadows beneath his eyes, and those still-unsteady steps.
"Tsk…"
"Riding a dragon with wine still on your breath? Up in the sky just now, that needless sharp turn Sunfyre made—he nearly threw you from the saddle, didn't he?"
Aemond tilted his head slightly, assessing him. "Unsteady steps? Looks like your days on Driftmark were… rather indulgent."
"You—!" Aegon was struck squarely at the sore spot by that appraisal. Shame and anger surged together. "And who do you think is responsible for my state?!"
"Wasn't it you who stirred up trouble on Driftmark and caused Jacaerys to lose an eye?"
"And because of that, I was detained there as a hostage?"
"You?" Aemond gave a soft laugh.
"From what I see, you were quite at ease on Driftmark. No one to restrain you—indulging yourself at will."
"Isn't that exactly the life you've always dreamed of?"
"Aemond!" Aegon's face flushed crimson. Exposed so thoroughly, he blurted out in humiliation, "How I live is my own affair!"
"You—a second son—what right do you have to point fingers at me?"
"Second son?" Aemond replied evenly.
"What number I am matters little."
"What matters is whether you, Aegon Targaryen, still remember what name you bear—and what responsibility rests upon your shoulders."
"Surname? Responsibility? Ha!" As if he had heard the most absurd joke in the world, the pent-up resentment of his detention, mixed with lingering wine, made Aegon reckless with his tongue.
"To hell with being the Greens' eldest son! Whoever wants it can take it!"
"She promised me herself—so long as I behave and don't hinder her affairs, in the future she'll grant me a princely title and bestow rich lands upon me!"
"You want to fight over that chair, to tear each other apart to the death—that's your business!"
"Don't drag me into it!"
In the distance, the dragonkeepers had already stopped their work, watching this direction tensely, yet none dared step forward.
Aemond regarded him in silence for several breaths, an inexplicable chill creeping into Aegon's heart.
Then Aemond suddenly gave a short, derisive laugh. His gaze slid past Aegon and settled on the golden giant behind him—a dragon whose splendor shone even under the dim light.
"Sunfyre…"
"Truly beautiful beyond compare."
"When he spreads his wings, he could likely dye the very sky a brilliant gold."
His tone shifted. His eyes returned to Aegon, and he said coldly, "A pity—blind enough to follow a… worthless rider."
"Worthless?!" The word was like a red-hot brand, searing straight into the most sensitive, fragile core of Aegon's pride.
He lunged forward several steps, reaching to seize Aemond by the collar. "You dare call me worthless?! Aemond! You're nothing but a—"
Before the words could finish, Aemond merely flipped his wrist, a seemingly casual push and release.
Aegon felt a force surge into him. With a startled cry, he staggered backward and fell hard, sprawled in disgrace upon the cold, rough ground.
He had not yet risen.
"Hiss—gah!"
A short, vicious hiss rang out without warning!
The black dragon hatchling Lothorne, which had been docile at Aemond's feet, moved without the slightest prelude!
Its wings snapped open as it surged forward. Its small body erupted with terrifying speed and power, like a black bolt skimming the ground. Head lowered, it slammed forward like a living battering ram toward Aegon, who had just managed to push himself up!
Bang!
A dull impact sounded. Aegon felt a heavy blow slam into his chest and abdomen. His vision went black, and his entire body was sent flying backward once more, crashing to the ground as a blunt pain shot through his back.
Before he could even react, an even more terrifying pressure descended upon him.
Lothorne had already planted his foreclaws—covered in dense black scales—firmly onto Aegon's chest and shoulder, one claw resting right beside his cheek.
The hatchling's body fully pinned him down.
That ferocious black dragon head lowered, scorching breath mixed with a thick stench of blood and sulfur blasting against his face.
Red, vertical pupils locked onto him with icy focus, while a threatening, rumbling growl rolled deep within its throat.
What sent Aegon's soul nearly fleeing his body were several drops of burning, viscous dragon saliva.
Plap.
They dripped onto his forehead and cheek, bringing a faint but stinging, scorching pain.
"Sunfyre!!!" he screamed hoarsely in sheer terror.
Not far away, Sunfyre, witnessing his rider being subdued, erupted instantly into a deafening roar of fury!
His golden head snapped high, the scales along his neck flaring outward in rage. His wings spread wide, brilliant gold light nearly illuminating half the Dragonpit, as his massive body leaned forward, on the verge of lunging!
"ROAR—!!!"
Yet another roar—deeper, heavier, like a tangible, crashing tide—suddenly swept through the entire Dragonpit, completely drowning out Sunfyre's furious cry!
Vhagar rose to her feet.
The mere act of standing unleashed suffocating wind pressure, and a faint tremor rippled through the ground.
The ancient she-dragon fully unfurled her immense, matchless body, the shadow she cast almost entirely engulfing Aemond, Aegon, Lothorne, and even Sunfyre not far away.
She slowly turned her head. Those enormous, molten-gold vertical pupils fixed with overwhelming menace upon the hot-blooded young golden dragon.
She took one step forward.
Boom!
Her heavy foot struck the ground like muffled thunder.
Sunfyre's roar caught in his throat.
Faced with Vhagar's absolute power and the ancient dragon's might born from the depths of bloodline itself, the beautiful golden dragon instinctively trembled. Even so, he still bared his cold, gleaming fangs and let out a warning hiss.
His golden body quivered slightly with tension, yet his spread wings unconsciously drew back, and his feet even shifted half a step in retreat.
"Sunfyre! Don't come closer! Stop!" Aegon cried out, nearly exhausting all his strength.
He knew all too well—Sunfyre was no match for Vhagar. Once a clash erupted, the consequences would be unthinkable!
Sunfyre let out a pained, unwilling whimper. His golden eyes stared anxiously at his restrained rider, and after hearing the command, he dared not advance another step.
Pressing Aegon down, Lothorne's throat rumbled louder and louder, carrying the cruel amusement of a predator toying with its prey.
The claw beside Aegon's cheek applied a bit more pressure, the sharp talon tips nearly piercing the skin.
Only then did Aemond step forward, walking to Aegon's side at an unhurried, measured pace.
He lowered his head, looking down at his elder brother—pinned firmly to the ground by the black dragon hatchling, terror written across his face, utterly disheveled.
"When I say you are," Aemond said coldly, "then you are."
Aegon stared up at Aemond. Beside his cheek lay the cold, hard dragon claw; at his nose, the scorching, fetid dragon breath; upon his brow, the burning, sticky dragon saliva.
All his anger, resentment, and grievance were ground to dust at this moment by the most primal fear.
He had no doubt that with the slightest shift of Aemond's will, this seemingly young black dragon could end his life with ease.
"…Yes," he said, closing his eyes and forcing the word out through clenched teeth.
"When I say you are, then you are," Aemond repeated.
"…If you say I am, then I am." Aegon trembled from head to toe, utterly submitting.
Aemond raised his hand slightly.
Lothorne immediately loosened his claws, sprang away with agile ease, and lightly returned to Aemond's side. Yet those dark red vertical pupils remained fixed tightly on Aegon, tail lifted high in wary alert.
The crushing weight and mortal threat vanished in an instant. Aegon collapsed limply on the ground, coughing violently, his entire body shaking uncontrollably from lingering fear.
A hand extended toward him.
The fingers were long, the joints distinct—steady and strong.
Aegon lifted his tear-blurred eyes and saw Aemond looking at him.
The frostlike coldness on his brother's face seemed to have eased somewhat.
"I do not care what you think in your heart, Aegon," Aemond said, his expression gentler, yet his words heavy. "But some things, from the moment you were born, were already placed upon your shoulders. There is no escaping them."
"Remember your identity. Remember your position."
He paused, meeting Aegon's still-shaken gaze, and added: "Even if you truly are nothing but mud that cannot be plastered onto a wall…"
"You are still my elder brother."
"When you reach the edge of a cliff, I will still pull you back."
Aegon stared blankly at that outstretched hand, then at the seriousness on Aemond's face.
Silence spread through the damp, oppressive air of the Dragonpit.
Not far away, Vhagar settled back down, her mountain-like body lowering as she closed her eyes once more.
Sunfyre let out anxious, low murmurs, yet ultimately did not dare come closer.
After a long while, Aegon raised his hand and grasped Aemond's.
That hand was steady, powerful—and with a single pull, hauled him up from the cold ground.
"Come," Aemond said, turning away first, his usual cold detachment returning. "Back to the Red Keep. Mother has been waiting for you for some time."
"And besides… Rhaenyra and her whole brood have already arrived."
"Tonight's family supper would not be nearly entertaining enough if anyone were missing."
Aegon brushed the dust from his clothes with some effort, then let out a final sigh.
He looked back once more at Sunfyre, who kept up his low, frequent murmurs, and forced himself to lift a hand in reassurance.
The Greens and the Blacks, the Iron Throne and the succession…
All he wanted was to live as he pleased—drink freely, ride his dragon through the skies, and indulge in pleasure.
But fate had decreed it otherwise.
He was the eldest son.
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