The sky over the Gullet was a bruised purple as the trio of dragonriders banked toward the jagged silhouette of Dragonstone. Aegon signaled to Helaena with a sharp wave of his hand, and she brought Dreamfyre into a trailing formation behind the Golden. They descended through the sulfurous mists, the great beating of wings echoing against the obsidian cliffs of the Dragonmount.
Upon landing, Dreamfyre sought the familiar, suffocating warmth of the lower pits, while Sunfyre remained at the threshold, his golden scales dulling in the twilight as he lowered his belly to the soot-stained earth.
"Helaena," Aegon said, sliding from the saddle and catching his breath. "What possessed you to fly so far from the city? And with the Blue Queen, no less?"
Helaena practically tumbled into his arms, her voice a fragile murmur against his doublet. "I saw it in the hearth... the shadow above the clouds. It was black as coal and hungry for the sun. I could not let it swallow you."
Aegon stiffened, a chill that had nothing to do with the sea air prickling his skin. He had known his sister was 'different,' but to foresee the Cannibal's ambush and summon the courage to challenge a wild terror for his sake... it stirred a fierce, protective warmth in his chest. He cupped her small, pale face in his hands and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to her brow.
"You have my thanks, sister. Truly."
Helaena's eyes curved into soft crescents of joy, while beside them, Aemond stood with his jaw set in a hard, envious line. The boy's hands were balled into white-knuckled fists; Aegon knew that look. If Aemond had possessed a beast of his own, he would have spent the afternoon painting the clouds with the Cannibal's blood.
"Prince Aegon, Prince Aemond, Princess Helaena." A Dragonkeeper emerged from the shadows of the mount, bowing low with the practiced reverence due to the blood of the dragon. "The Keep is prepared. Shall I summon the litters?"
"See to the carriages," Aegon commanded, his voice regaining its princely iron. "But first, tell me—is the Silver Lady within?"
"She is, my Prince. She rarely stirs from her lair save to hunt. Is it the Prince Aemond who intends...?"
"It is," Aegon cut him off.
The Keeper's expression soured with hesitation. The memories of Princess Aerea and the horror of her return on Balerion still haunted the order; they had been sworn to prevent any Targaryen from claiming a mount without the King's explicit seal.
"I have the King's leave," Aegon lied, the silver of his tongue as sharp as his blade. "Now, fetch five of your veterans. We descend."
The air grew thick with the smell of old stone and dragon-musk as they delved into the heart of the mount. At the entrance to a high-vaulted cavern, the Keepers called out in the tongue of Old Valyria.
Silverwing emerged slowly, her scales shimmering like polished pewter in the gloom. She was a creature of immense grace, her movements lacking the jagged, predatory twitching of the younger drakes. She was the "Gentle Lady," a remnant of a more peaceful reign.
"She is the antithesis of the Bronze Fury," a Keeper whispered. "A lady of high breeding and soft temper."
Aegon stepped forward first, his palm open and trembling with a feigned vulnerability. "Silverwing... dohaerās," he crooned in low Valyrian.
The she-dragon sensed the golden fire of Sunfyre clinging to Aegon's skin, yet she leaned down, allowing him to stroke the velvet-soft hide of her snout. She let out a contented huff of warm air. Aegon looked back and nodded to Aemond.
The boy took a shuddering breath. He stepped into the light of the cavern, his eyes wide and pleading. He reached out, his small fingers inches from the silver scales—but then, the air shifted.
Silverwing's pupils contracted. A low, vibrating growl started in her throat—not of malice, but of a strange, inexplicable rejection. She recoiled, snapping her head back into the darkness of her lair with a suddenness that sent Aemond sprawling into the soot.
"Prince!" The Keepers rushed to hoist him up, but the damage was done.
Aegon stood frozen. By all rights, the beast should have accepted him. Aemond was of the blood; he was bold, and he was desperate. Why had the Silver Lady turned?
Aemond didn't shout. He didn't rage. He simply hung his head, the "little pearls" of his tears carving tracks through the ash on his cheeks. "I am sorry, brother," he choked out, the weight of his perceived failure crushing him. "I have shamed you. After all you did... after the black dragon... I am nothing."
Aegon felt a pang of genuine pity. He stepped forward and gripped his brother's shoulder, shaking him gently. "Dry your eyes. You are a Prince of the Realm, not a common squire. You are my blood, and you are as capable as any man who ever wore a crown."
He forced a smile, trying to lift the gloom. "A dragon is but a beast of skin and fire. Effort and steel—swordsmanship, horsemanship, the art of command—those are the things that make a king. You shall have them all."
They emerged from the Pit to find Helaena waiting. She looked at her brother's tear-streaked face and, in a rare display of physical affection, stepped forward to wrap him in a thin, spindly embrace.
"Do not weep, Aemond," she whispered into his ear, her voice sounding as if it came from a great distance. "Everything is already woven. The threads are fated. You do not need to turn a blind eye... brother will help you."
Aemond pulled back, blinking in confusion. He understood nothing of blind eyes or woven threads, but the sincerity in her voice stilled his heart.
Aegon, however, felt a cold knot tighten in his gut. He knew the histories. He knew of the brawl in the darkness, the flash of a blade, and the sapphire that would one day replace a lost eye. Helaena was dreaming again—seeing the blood before it was spilled.
"Enough of this," Aegon barked, masking his unease. "The both of you, go to the Stone Drum Tower. Play in the gardens. I have business with the smallfolk in the village below."
"But Aegon—" Aemond started.
"It was not a request," Aegon said, gesturing to the guards. "Escort them. See that they are fed and rested."
As the carriages pulled away, Aegon turned toward the resting form of Sunfyre. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the shadows of Dragonstone were long and sharp. He mounted the Golden and took flight, heading toward the flickering lights of the fishing hamlets. He had seen the future through Helaena's eyes, and he had no intention of letting the Fates have their way.