Aegon did not advance with the fleet.
Several miles from the Torture Abyss, on the lee side of a deserted island, he ordered the fleet to anchor temporarily and took King Ghidorah ashore onto a beach strewn with black rocks.
There was not enough room aboard ship, nor could the ships bear the weight generated when King Ghidorah spread his wings and took flight.
The sea wind carried the tang of salt and the heavy stillness before rain, snapping his blood-red cloak behind him. Aegon turned to look at the pale golden figure beside him, now so enormous that his presence was suffocating.
King Ghidorah stood quietly, his three heads slightly lowered, Aegon's reflection caught in six molten-gold Slit Pupils.
He had grown at an unimaginable rate. Standing alone, he was now taller than two men, and his long necks and tail stretched out, casting a vast, menacing shadow beneath the dim sky.
The scales covering his body were dense and cold, their edges shimmering with a muted golden sheen.
Aegon reached out and stroked the cold scales beneath the central head's jaw.
"This time, we're fighting for real," he murmured.
A response came through their mental link, indistinct yet unmistakable.
Understanding, solemnity, and a long-suppressed yearning to unleash his power.
This time, King Ghidorah showed no sign of mischief. He quietly lowered his body and turned his central head aside, giving Aegon room to climb onto his back.
Aegon drew a deep breath, pushed off, and swung himself up.
His Valyrian steel armor scraped against the dragon's scales with a faint metallic rasp.
The hollow where neck met body was just large enough for him to straddle, with hard, raised spinal plates beside him to grip.
There was no saddle, only direct contact with the cold scales.
Almost the