At the gates of the Dragon Tower, Valar and Rey stood guard before the towering entrance, blocking Aegon and Rhaegor. Valar gently lifted his nephew, cradling Rhaegor in his arms, while Rey fixed Aegon with a stern gaze.
"Your Grace, if you're planning to ride a dragon and chase after my brother, he's already left specific orders. It's not allowed."
"Why not, Uncle Rey? Vermax is my brother's dragon, and I am the head of House Targaryen and the King of the Seven Kingdoms. It's my duty to protect our family's dragons," Aegon argued, his tone tinged with frustration. He knew that with Rey and Valar standing guard, there was no chance he could mount Stormcloud and join the pursuit.
"Precisely because you are the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Your Grace," Rey replied, shaking his head. "According to Tigarro's intelligence, the men who attempted to steal our dragons are high-ranking nobles of Volantis, even prominent figures within the Tiger faction. If Your Grace, as King, were to kill them within the realm of the Seven Kingdoms — especially before they succeeded in their theft — it could spark a grave diplomatic crisis. Leave it to my brother."
Aegon huffed and plopped down before Rey, his cheeks puffed in frustration. He was clever, and Rey's explanation quickly made sense. If he were still a prince, there would be no issue in pursuing dragon thieves. But as king, there were things he could do, and things he couldn't.
"And besides, Your Grace, you have other responsibilities." Rey produced a long scroll of parchment. "Before leaving, Draezell tasked me with delivering this to you."
"What is it?" Aegon asked curiously, taking the parchment. His eyes widened at the sight of the densely packed list of names and sigils.
Rey smiled as he explained. "Ser Steffon Darklyn's ship will dock at Brandyport tomorrow and reach the Summerfield in three days. Your Grace, you need seven Kingsguard knights. Right now, the order only has two members. We must fill the ranks of the White Cloaks."
Aegon scanned the list again before standing abruptly, determination flashing in his eyes. "Uncle Rey, can I organize a tournament to choose them? I'll cover the expenses."
Having lived through the Dance of the Dragons, Aegon understood that those who guarded him need not hail from prominent noble houses but had to be capable fighters. The best way to determine true skill was through combat. He had no interest in knights who only claimed glory on the battlefield. He wanted warriors worthy of the Kingsguard of Jaehaerys I and Aegon I.
Rey chuckled. His elder brother was right — Aegon might still have a childlike demeanor, but he also displayed their family's characteristic wisdom and decisiveness. "As you wish, Your Grace."
---
Dragonstone
Daemon ordered several Dragonstone soldiers to carry the exhausted Ser Robert Quince out of the cavern. Meanwhile, he followed a group of Dragonkeepers carrying fresh meat as they cautiously entered the cave rumored to house a newly hatched dragon.
The cave's dark walls were lined with jagged outcrops and spikes, while strange, unnamed liquids trickled ominously down their surfaces. Deeper within, crimson magma flowed in silence, casting a faint, eerie glow.
This seemed to have once been a lair for a wild dragon, later claimed by a larger one. The remnants left behind were unmistakable — sticky, tar-like substances that were likely dragon dung, along with hardened droppings turned to stone and unrecognizable bones scattered throughout the cave. Daemon's experienced eye immediately discerned that dragon eggs had been present here, and not just one. Unfortunately, the once plump and bulging spots where the eggs had lain were now deflated, with fragments of various shapes scattered nearby.
It appeared that the newly hatched dragon had consumed the remaining eggs to survive.
"Which dragon used to live here?" Daemon asked, turning to a grizzled Dragonkeeper beside him.
The elder thought for a moment before replying, "It should be Syrax, though Syrax rarely stayed in this cave. Most of the time, it resided at its old roost."
Syrax. Daemon nodded in understanding. That made sense. As one of the Targaryens' most prolific egg layers, it wasn't surprising for Syrax to lay a clutch here without much notice.
Daemon suddenly halted as a faint cry reached his ears. The Prince knelt down, his body low to the ground, and began to hum an unknown song in High Valyrian.
From the sticky black sludge, a small dragon with shimmering purple-gold scales slowly crawled out, letting out weak cries. The dark mud slid smoothly off its scales, leaving no trace behind.
Daemon, however, frowned. There was something familiar about this little dragon. Its head, though small, sported two smooth, forked horns, with exactly eight tendrils hanging from its jaw, lending the creature an air of majesty. Its body, however, bore a striking resemblance to Sunfyre. Daemon soon dismissed the thought — Sunfyre was long dead, and this hatchling symbolized the slow revival of House Targaryen's dragons.
"Gaelithox," Daemon said softly, "I name you in the name of the gods of fire, stars, moon, sun, and dawn." He edged closer to the hatchling, which responded with a small burst of flame. Daemon dodged nimbly, the fire missing him entirely. The hatchling attempted to flee but was distracted by the sight of meat in a Dragonkeeper's hands. Drawn by the scent, it slowly crawled toward the offering.
"A lively little thing. Dragonkeeper, bring it to the courtyard. Once it's strong enough to roast and kill sheep with its fire, have it sent to the Dragonpit in King's Landing by ship," Daemon instructed, clearly in good spirits despite being covered in mud.
As Daemon emerged from the cave, a piercing dragon roar suddenly echoed from above. The Prince looked up to see Tyraxes screeching in fury as it flew southward, cutting through the skies over Dragonstone.
Daemon rubbed his temples. It seemed word had reached Driftmark, and his stepson couldn't contain himself. After all, it was his most beloved elder brother's dragon that had been targeted. How could Joffrey not be enraged?
"Faster, Tyraxes!" Joffrey shouted, his voice filled with urgency as the young purple dragon roared, diving low to let him scan every passing ship.
Tyraxes let out a sharp roar, and Joffrey looked up just in time to see Seasmoke respond with a cry of its own. The silver-gray beast, however, lost interest when Tyraxes did not approach, letting out a half-hearted snarl before flying back toward Dragonstone.
Joffrey's eyes locked onto two warships sailing in tandem ahead, their forms growing clearer as the shadows above the clouds began to coalesce.
Vermithor descended toward Blackwater Bay.