Just then, a clear dragon's cry rang out overhead.
It was not the bright call of a young dragon like Sunfyre, but the long roar of an adult dragon, heavy with overwhelming might. It pierced the winds and waves of the Narrow Sea and made the deck tremble faintly.
That was all a little exaggerated, of course, but to Aegon's young body, it certainly felt that way.
Sunfyre raised his head at once, his golden eyes turning toward the sky. A cheerful answering cry rose in his throat, and his tail wagged like a large dog that had spotted another of its kind.
Syrax was indeed one of his kind, and a prolific female dragon at that. But all this was simply Aegon indulging his mischievous imagination. After all, Sunfyre was the most magnificent dragon in the history of Westeros. Paired with Syrax's prolific breeding, the quality of House Targaryen's future dragons hardly bore imagining.
Of course, that depended on Aegon successfully preventing the Dance of the Dragons and the extinction of the dragons.
Aegon sat up on Sunfyre's back, raised a hand to shield himself from the wind overhead, and looked toward the sky.
A golden figure swooped down from the clouds. From Aegon's perspective, her already enormous wings blotted out the sky, and her golden scales shone brilliantly in the sunlight. It was Rhaenyra's Syrax.
The dragon's wings whipped up a gale, forcing the sailors on deck to grab nearby railings. Yet she landed precisely and steadily on the empty deck at the stern of the lead ship, her enormous claws making only a faint sound as they touched the planks.
Rhaenyra sat on her back, dressed in black-and-red riding clothes. Her long silver-gold hair streamed in the wind, and her purple eyes shone like the midday sun over the Narrow Sea. Gripping the saddle handles, she looked down and spotted Aegon sitting on Sunfyre's back. A smile instantly curved her lips.
"Aren't you cold up there, little one?" She swung down from Syrax's back, walked over to Sunfyre, and reached up to scoop Aegon off his back and into her arms.
Her cloak carried the chill of high altitudes, but her embrace was still warm. Aegon wrapped his arms around her neck and buried his face against it, rubbing off the salt left on his cheeks by the sea breeze. "No. Sunfyre's warm. Sister, you've been flying so long. Did you see Claw Isle?"
"I did." Rhaenyra carried him to the rail and pointed toward the sea to the northeast. "Over there, beyond those reefs. We'll be there in two hours at most. Earl Celtigar's ships have already come out to meet us."
Aegon followed her pointing finger. Sure enough, several ships flying banners bearing red crabs on black had appeared on the gray horizon and were sailing toward their fleet.
Claw Isle was the seat of House Celtigar, one of House Targaryen's oldest vassals and one of the three Valyrian houses of Westeros.
Long before Aegon the Conqueror landed in Westeros, House Celtigar had already been sworn to Dragonstone. They had followed the Conqueror's fleet along the coasts of Westeros and remained at House Targaryen's side through the Conquest, Maegor's tyranny, and Jaehaerys's golden age.
Aegon remembered it clearly: in the future Dance of the Dragons, House Celtigar would be among the Blacks' staunchest supporters and a core part of Rhaenyra's naval strength.
"The Celtigars are much easier on the eyes than the Lannisters." Rhaenyra glanced down at him, as though she had seen through his thoughts. Her voice held a touch of disdain. "At least they won't pile gold in front of me and treat me like a gold mine they can exchange for Casterly Rock."
Aegon blinked and reached up to pinch her cheek. You might be disappointed there, he thought before saying slowly, "You never thought much of them in the first place, did you, sister?"
Rhaenyra snorted, pinched his little cheeks, and gently pulled them outward. "Aren't you clever? We've met so many young noblemen over these four months, from the Reach to the Riverlands. Tell me, did any of them catch your eye?"
"What good would that do?" With his face stretched between her fingers, Aegon's words came out muffled. "They need to catch yours. Anyway, I've looked at all of them, and not one is worthy of you."
Rhaenyra laughed at that. She released him and bent to kiss his forehead. Most of the weariness and irritation in her eyes vanished at once, leaving only tenderness. "Such a sweet tongue. If I'd known this whole journey would be one tiresome farce after another, I'd have taken you and Sunfyre and flown to the Free Cities on Syrax instead. We could have seen the squares of Pentos and the Titan of Braavos."
Aegon's heart gave a jolt.
Of course he knew that, in the original story, Rhaenyra had indeed accompanied Laenor after their marriage to visit Daemon and Laena, who would later become a couple. The exiled Daemon and Laena had flown across the Narrow Sea on their dragons and traveled through the Free Cities for years.
Of course, calling it travel was generous. In truth, Westeros had no room for Daemon after he had "murdered his wife to remarry" and seduced a "respectable maiden." So, almost as soon as they wed, Daemon took Laena with him and began a life of wandering.
But now Laena was still in the stormlands, lobbying for reinforcements for the war in the Stepstones. Daemon and Laenor were still fighting amid blood and fire in the Stepstones, while Rhaenyra remained trapped in one matchmaking farce after another, bound hand and foot by her position as heir to the Iron Throne.
He was about to say something when footsteps sounded behind them.
Tyland Lannister closed the book in his hands, rose, and bowed slightly to Rhaenyra. His movements were so proper that no fault could be found with them, and his face betrayed no unnecessary emotion. His former shyness and fluster were gone. "Princess, Earl Celtigar's pilot ship is approaching. Shall we slow down and wait for it to lead the way?"
"Proceed as you see fit." Rhaenyra's voice instantly returned to its usual calm detachment. She nodded and said nothing more.
Tyland bowed again, then turned toward the bow to discuss the arrangements with the captain. He did not look at Rhaenyra again, nor cast so much as a glance toward Aegon, as though the siblings were merely the lieges he served, nothing more.
Watching him walk away, Aegon could not help whistling inwardly.
Well, look at that. He really has shut his heart away and devoted himself to his career.
"Look at him. He's finally making something of himself." Rhaenyra looked down at Aegon, a note of surprise in her voice. "Back in King's Landing, he couldn't even get a full sentence out when he saw me. Now he can handle things on his own."
"People change," Aegon said, silently adding that this was better than following that fool of a brother of his and ending up with his head cut off.
Just then, another set of footsteps approached, accompanied by the sharp tapping of a cane against the planks.
Larys Strong limped out of the cabin, leaning on his oak cane. He still wore a black coat, and his gray eyes looked especially deep in the dim daylight. His gaze swept across the deck before settling on Rhaenyra and Aegon.
He first bowed slightly to Rhaenyra, then looked at Aegon. A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips.
"Princess. Prince." His voice was steady, with a trace of hoarseness. "A raven has just arrived from King's Landing, bearing a letter in His Majesty's own hand."
Rhaenyra's brows drew together at once, and her arms tightened around Aegon. "What does Father have to say this time? Is he urging us to return again?"
Over the past four months, Viserys's letters had never stopped. At first, he had reminded them to stay safe. Later, he had begun asking roundabout questions about her search for a husband. In the most recent letters, every line had urged them to return to King's Landing.
"Not merely that." Larys stepped forward and offered her a roll of parchment sealed with royal wax. An unreadable gleam flashed in his gray eyes. "His Majesty says this year marks the fifth anniversary of his marriage to Her Majesty the Queen, and he intends to hold a grand celebration in King's Landing this autumn. He hopes you will first send the prince back to the queen, who misses her eldest son, then proceed to the Vale as soon as possible to continue selecting suitable candidates for a husband, and return to King's Landing before the celebration begins to take part."
Their fifth wedding anniversary?
Aegon's heart sank.
Of course he remembered this celebration.
The Blacks and the Greens had first taken shape at a tourney in 111 AC.
To commemorate the fifth anniversary of his marriage to his second wife, Queen Alicent Hightower, Viserys I had held a grand tourney in King's Landing.
At the feast that opened the tourney, Queen Alicent had worn a green gown.
In contrast, Rhaenyra, Viserys I's daughter by his first wife, Aemma Arryn, had appeared in Targaryen red and black.
From then on, the two factions contending over the succession to the Iron Throne had been called the Greens and the Blacks: the Greens supported the queen, and the Blacks supported the princess.
Aegon knew that the schemes lurking in the shadows of the Red Keep would gradually surface during this grand celebration.
He could not let Rhaenyra remain away and hand the power vacuum in King's Landing to outsiders.
At the very least, he could not surrender it to the "Rogue Prince," Daemon Targaryen, who might also return to the royal fold that year.
He had to go back and sever, one by one, every sinister hand reaching for him and Rhaenyra.
At the very least, he had to try to shift from helping Rhaenyra sabotage her search for a husband to securing a betrothal between the two of them.
Rhaenyra studied his earnest gaze and fell silent for a few seconds. Finally, she sighed and reached up to ruffle his hair. "All right. We'll do as you say. Once our visit to Claw Isle is over, we'll return to King's Landing through Blackwater Bay."
She casually passed the parchment to Floris behind her, then raised her head to look at Claw Isle, now close at hand.
The fleet had passed through the reefs, and Claw Isle lay clearly before them. Unlike Dragonstone, it was not covered in volcanic rock, nor did it boast a bustling port like Driftmark. Black reefs lined its shores, and a castle built of black stone stood at its center, its towers reaching toward the sky like crab claws. House Celtigar's warships filled the harbor, their masts rising like a silent forest.
A welcoming crowd already filled the docks. At its head stood a gray-haired old man in black formal attire embroidered with a red crab: Alamond Celtigar, Earl of Claw Isle.
His father, Earl Edwell Celtigar, had served as Hand of the King to Maegor Targaryen I, as well as Master of Coin and lord treasurer to Jaehaerys I.
His elder brother had originally been their father's heir, but had died of the Shivers in 59 AC, only days before their father's death. His two other elder brothers and three grown nephews had already succumbed to illness before then.
Behind him stood his heir and eldest son, Bartimos Celtigar, who would later join the Black council in support of Rhaenyra and become her Master of Coin.
Notorious though he would become, he had still earned a place on the royal council. Viewed that way, the old earl was really a man of middling ability.
Behind Bartimos stood the other members of House Celtigar and the island's knights, all bowing slightly as they awaited the arrival of the kingdom's heir.
Syrax gave a low roar, beat her wings, and rose from the deck, circling once above Claw Isle's harbor. The people on the docks lowered their heads and bowed to the dragon and princess overhead. No one dared raise their eyes to look directly at the true dragon of House Targaryen.
Sunfyre answered with a clear cry, eager to follow, but Aegon stopped him with a look. He gave a plaintive whine and settled back onto the deck, though his golden eyes never stopped following Syrax.
Holding Aegon in her arms, Rhaenyra sat on dragonback and looked down at Blackstone Castle and the harbor below, at the vassals bowing to her. At last, the light befitting the kingdom's heir kindled once more in her purple eyes.
Aegon nestled in her arms, watching Claw Isle draw ever closer and the respectful figures waiting on the docks. His thoughts, however, had already flown back to King's Landing.
He knew that plots were already brewing in the Red Keep, that the prelude to the fifth-anniversary celebration had begun. The war that belonged to him and Rhaenyra would formally begin the moment they returned to King's Landing.
But he was not afraid.
He had Sunfyre, Rhaenyra, and Syrax. He had the people he had already befriended, who were destined to stand with them in the future.
He would not let the tragedy of the original story repeat itself. After all, what easier way was there to end a war than to bring its two sides together before it began?
He would not let Rhaenyra end up being fed to a dragon, nor let the flames of the Dance of the Dragons consume all of House Targaryen.
The wind swept in from the Narrow Sea again, carrying the chill of Claw Isle's black stone. Syrax descended slowly onto the open ground beside the harbor and folded her enormous wings. The gust she raised sent everyone's hems fluttering on the docks.
Rhaenyra swung down from her back with Aegon in her arms. She looked up at Earl Celtigar as he approached, a courteous yet distant smile befitting the kingdom's heir settling on her face.
Leaning against her, Aegon looked up at the highest point of Blackstone Castle on Claw Isle, then turned his gaze toward King's Landing.
His hand quietly closed around Rhaenyra's fingers at her side.
Sister, let's go home.
Before you continue