Dragonpit

King's Landing's Dragonpit was forever steeped in the smell of sulfur and ash.

When Daemon Targaryen descended from the sky atop the Blood Wyrm Coraxes.

The Dragonkeepers had already prostrated themselves, heads buried deep, not daring to meet the gaze of the Rogue Prince, famed for his volatile temper and inscrutable ways.

Coraxes, the bloodthirsty dragon of black and red, exhaled sulfurous breath as his fearsome form slowly lowered.

Daemon slid off the dragon's back with practiced ease, his travel-worn dark red leather armor catching the wind as his silver-gold hair whipped wildly in the gales stirred by the dragon's wings.

He patted the rough scales on his beloved dragon's neck. Coraxes let out a low growl in response, then strode with earth-shaking steps toward his own vast cavern.

Daemon turned, his gaze sweeping the Dragonpit out of habit.

Then his eyes froze.

Outside the Dragonpit, in a temporary open shelter, Vhagar lay sprawled.

That legendary dragon was now resting with closed eyes, dozing leisurely.

But what seized Daemon's full attention was not Vhagar herself.

It was the small black figure curled beside her massive head—a stark contrast in size.

A dragon.

A young dragon, its body covered in ink-black scales, the edges shimmering with an eerie dark red luster. It was about two meters long, with a sleek, flowing build. Its head was slightly large for its proportions but already hinted at sharp, fierce contours. A row of small but keen bone spikes ran along its spine to the tip of its tail.

At this moment, it was nestled against Vhagar's jaw, one foreleg even resting atop Vhagar's boulder-like claw, its posture intimate and natural.

And Vhagar—that old dragon known for her violent solitude, whom even other dragons gave a wide berth—actually allowed this little black creature to snuggle up to her. The breath from her nostrils gently brushed the young dragon's scales.

Daemon's pupils abruptly contracted.

A black dragon?

Pure, unblemished black?

In the history of House Targaryen, dragons with pure black scales were exceedingly rare.

How could there be a young dragon beside Vhagar? And a black one at that?

As far as he knew, Vhagar had long passed the age of laying eggs. She hadn't produced a single dragon egg in over half a century, let alone successfully hatched one.

Moreover, given Vhagar's temperament, she would never tolerate another dragon—let alone a hatchling—coming so close, much less being this affectionate.

"Rosso," Daemon said.

Rosso, the Dragonkeeper Commander, who had been bowing at a respectful distance, immediately hurried forward and knelt on one knee: "Your Highness."

Daemon didn't look at him. His gaze remained locked on the black young dragon.

"That dragon," he tilted his chin toward the black one, "when did it appear? Where did it come from?"

Rosso followed Daemon's gaze. He swallowed, speaking with obvious caution: "Reporting to Your Highness, that is... Lothron. He appeared beside Vhagar about half a year ago."

"Half a year?" Daemon whipped his head around, his sharp violet eyes fixing on Rosso. "Vhagar's egg? When did she lay another egg? Why was I not informed?"

"No... it's not a newly laid egg, Your Highness." Sweat beaded on Rosso's forehead as he forced himself to explain. "It is... a dead egg from fifty years ago."

"A dead egg hatched?" Daemon's brows knitted tightly, disbelief written all over his face.

Dragon eggs turning to stone and becoming dead eggs was not uncommon. But a dead egg hatching anew?

He also recalled that dead egg.

When his late wife Laena rode Vhagar, the dragon had insisted on keeping that dead egg by her side...

This was almost unheard of, defying all common knowledge about dragons.

His gaze returned to the black young dragon. The confusion in his eyes gradually gave way to a light mixed with surprise and possessiveness.

"A dead egg reborn, a black dragon appearing in the world..." Daemon murmured to himself, a smile slowly curling at the corner of his mouth. "An auspicious sign."

"This must be a blessing from our ancestors, a portent that the child of Rhaenyra and me—the future Aegon—is about to arrive."

"This black dragon, Lothron? An omen? The name is quite good."

"Mm... It will be the dragon belonging to my son, Aegon."

But Rosso, still kneeling, trembled slightly. His lips moved hesitantly:

"Your Highness... I'm afraid... I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"What?" Daemon's smile froze on his face. "What won't be possible?"

"It's been so many years since I last returned to King's Landing."

"It seems you've all forgotten who I truly am."

Yet Rosso bowed his head deeply:

"But Lothron... he... he seems to have already... bonded."

"Bonded?" Daemon asked incredulously. "To whom?"

There were only so many Targaryens. He couldn't for the life of him think of who else could have claimed a dragon.

Rosso seemed to have thrown caution to the wind, and said, "It's... it's Prince Aemond."

"We observed for a long time. Lothron only allows Prince Aemond to approach, to touch, and even... to obey his simple commands."

"Vhagar also... also does not reject Prince Aemond approaching both of them at the same time."

"We all saw it... Prince Aemond, he... he can simultaneously..."

Rosso's voice dropped lower and lower as he said, "Ride two dragons."

"Utter nonsense!!!"

Daemon erupted in a violent rage, cutting him off with a harsh shout.

He grabbed Rosso by the collar, nearly lifting the kneeling Dragonkeeper Commander off the ground.

"One man, one dragon! That is an iron law! An iron law from the dragonriders of Old Valyria itself! There has never been a single exception!"

"What has Aemond done to deserve, to dare...?" He was so furious he could barely form a complete sentence, his chest heaving violently.

Rosso, choked and struggling to breathe, dared not resist and could only explain in fragments: "It's absolutely true... Your Highness... we didn't believe it at first either... but the facts are just as I say..."

"His Majesty the King... His Majesty is also aware of this matter, and strictly ordered us not to spread it."

Daemon's face had shifted from ashen to a terrifying gloom.

He slowly turned his head, looking once more at Vhagar and that black young dragon, Lothron.

A trace of intense wariness, one he himself was unwilling to admit, rapidly took root and grew in his heart.

One man riding two dragons?

He didn't believe that nonsense.

Daemon Targaryen would never believe such an absurd thing. He had to see it for himself.

He took a step, walking straight toward where Vhagar and Lothron were.

Yet, just as he stepped within forty paces of Vhagar—

"ROAR!!!"

Vhagar, who had been feigning sleep, suddenly snapped her eyes open!

Those enormous, molten-gold vertical pupils held a cold warning and rejection.

She raised her massive head, a low, thunderous growl rumbling from her throat. Hot air thick with the smell of sulfur blasted forth, whipping Daemon's robes wildly and nearly knocking him off balance.

At the same time, the black young dragon Lothron beside her also rose. Though small in size, it showed no fear, letting out a sharp, hostile hiss at Daemon.

Its mouth opened, revealing teeth that were fine but already sharp, glinting coldly, while a faint, dark red light flickered deep in its throat.

One large, one small; one old, one young—two dragons, in the most direct way, made their stance clear: his approach was not welcome.

Daemon's steps were rooted to the spot.

Faced with Vhagar's undisguised threat, even he dared not advance any further.

His "Blood Wyrm," Coraxes, might not fear a fight with Vhagar, but charging head-on at Vhagar would be suicide.

He stared fixedly at the black young dragon baring its teeth at him, then at Vhagar watching him warily.

Finally, his gaze slowly swept over the dragonkeepers kneeling far away, silent as cicadas in winter.

Rosso's words, the dragons' reactions—woven together, they forced him to believe.

It seemed... it was true.

Daemon slowly backed away a few steps.

Until he was out of Vhagar's clear warning range.

One man riding two dragons... unheard of, unseen before.

...He must warn Rhaenyra. This half-brother of hers was likely far more dangerous than they had ever imagined.