The sunset's lingering glow slowly spread across the ridges of Dragonmont, painting the volcanic rock a warm orange-red, but Aegon's thoughts had long since drifted far away on the evening breeze.
The sight of Tessarion, Daeron's brief and tragic life, and the two names etched deep into his memory-Hugh Hammer and White Ulf-circled through his mind again and again, leaving him restless.
It was seeing Tessarion, remembering Daeron, that had brought those two names back to him once more.
He could never forget the betrayal that lay ahead in the original story. Two lowborn bastards, one an ignorant smith who hammered iron on Dragonstone, the other a destitute drunkard on the streets of King's Landing, had taken advantage of Rhaenyra's foolish decision to recruit dragonseeds. By sheer luck, they had mounted Vermithor and Silverwing, and for a time, the Blacks had hailed them as "heroes."
But their ruthless ambition had finally driven them to turn their cloaks at Tumbleton. They had burned the Blacks' army with dragonfire and used the great dragons beneath them, whose honor they had sullied, to reach for the Greens' throne. Their actions had utterly overturned the course of the war, brought Rhaenyra's rule-and even that of House Targaryen-crashing down, and plunged the entire dynasty into endless blood and fire. These two men had also caused the greatest catastrophe of dragon deaths on the battlefields of the Dance of the Dragons.
Those two brutal, incompetent wretches had dreamed of usurping the true dragon's throne. When Aegon's beloved little brother Daeron denounced their treacherous ambitions, Hugh Hammer in particular had dared to sneer at his own fifteen-year-old prince: "Adults are talking. What's a child butting in for? Clearly that little brat's arse hasn't been beaten enough. I'll see to that later!"
At the thought, Aegon's fists tightened once more. His nails dug deep into his palms, leaving faint red marks as anger and cold dread churned together within him.
He turned toward Rhaenyra, who was gently playing with Sunfyre beside him, and could not help sighing inwardly. His family's "Realm's Delight" had ultimately made far too many foolish decisions in the struggle for power, sowing countless seeds of disaster with her own hands.
It seemed that he would have to protect the shattered family of the future himself. He would also have to rewrite the ending of the inevitable Dance of the Dragons.
It looks like I'll have to be the one to hold this family together.
And now that he had remembered Hugh Hammer and White Ulf, he could not allow history to repeat itself.
"Hammer" and "the White." Now that I've remembered those two... then...
He was on Dragonstone at this very moment. Those two future traitors might be hiding somewhere on the island even now.
They were still nobodies: one spent his days swinging a hammer in a smithy, steeped in smoke and soot;
the other drank cheap wine in dingy alleys, drifting through life in a stupor. They had not yet had the chance to approach Dragonmont, to mount those glorious dragons, or to unleash that deadly rebellion.
Aegon knew perfectly well that he had a chance to stamp out this threat before any of those tragedies happened.
He could keep those two men from ever approaching Dragonmont, strip them forever of any chance to tame a dragon, and ensure they never mounted Vermithor or Silverwing. He could even make them vanish from the island altogether, as though they had never existed, cutting off that betrayal at its root and protecting Rhaenyra and Daeron, along with the innocent dragons and their kin.
His steps stopped without his realizing it. Aegon looked up at Rhaenyra beside him, his purple eyes holding a seriousness and resolve far beyond the years written on his childish face.
He gently tugged at Rhaenyra's sleeve. His voice was quiet, but every word was clear. "Sister."
Rhaenyra had been gazing absently at Syrax circling overhead. His voice brought her back, and she looked down at him, her eyes full of tenderness. "What is it, Aegon?"
"Could we stay on Dragonstone a few more days before going back to King's Landing?" Aegon tilted his head up and met her gaze with clear eyes. There was a hint of hope in his voice, but far more unmistakable resolve.
Rhaenyra paused, then looked down at the little brother in her arms, a gentle smile instantly filling her eyes. Deep down, she had never wanted to return to King's Landing, to leave Aegon in the Red Keep with all its hidden currents, to face the endless matchmaking schemes in the Vale, or to deal with her father's urging and the nobles' hollow courtesies.
At that moment, all she wanted was to stay on Dragonstone with Aegon, to remain in this ancestral homeland that belonged to the Targaryens alone. She wanted to set aside her position as heir to the realm, fly freely over the Narrow Sea and through the skies on dragonback, and simply be a sister quietly protecting her little brother.
She crouched down and gently pinched Aegon's soft little cheek. Her smile was warm and indulgent, utterly free of the distance and wariness she usually wore at court. "Why do you suddenly want to stay longer? Do you like the scenery here, or do you just not want to go back to all the trouble in King's Landing?"
"Both." Aegon nestled into her embrace, wrapped his small hands around her neck, and leaned close to her ear. In a whisper only the two of them could hear, he said, "I want to spend more time with you, and I want Sunfyre to stay on Dragonmont a little longer so he can get to know his home properly. And... there are a few things I want to do."
He did not say what he wanted to do, and Rhaenyra did not ask. The little boy's affection and dependence swept away all her concerns. Court politics, marriage negotiations, the celebrations in King's Landing, and every demand for her return-all of it vanished from her mind.
She held Aegon close and bent her head to kiss his smooth forehead. Her voice brimmed with undisguised affection as she agreed without hesitation. "All right. Whatever you want. We'll stay as long as we like, and no one is going to hurry us away."
Aegon rested in her arms, feeling the warmth of his sister's embrace. The childish innocence in his eyes slowly faded, replaced by a cold, sharp edge.
He looked back into the depths of Dragonmont, toward the smoke-wreathed volcanic caverns, the castle, and the harbor of Dragonstone. That chilling exchange from the future echoed through his mind again and again.
Jon Roxton: "My condolences, Lord Hammer."
Hugh Hammer: "For what?"
Jon Roxton: "For your unfortunate death in battle."
Hugh Hammer. White Ulf.
Your ends have already been written in history, stained with treachery and filth.
But in this life, with me here, you will never get the chance to betray us. I will never let you defile our ancestors' dragons, much less destroy the Targaryen realm.
The sun slowly sank into the Narrow Sea, turning its entire surface into a dazzling expanse of molten gold. In the gathering dusk, Dragonmont's silhouette grew ever more solid and imposing.
Syrax and Sunfyre let out long cries together, their voices ringing across the island's skies. Their golden forms circled through the sunset's lingering glow, tracing graceful arcs.
With Aegon in her arms, Rhaenyra slowly followed the mountain path toward the castle, her steps calm and steady.
Behind them, Arryk Cargyll, Willem Fell, and Alyn continued to follow at a measured distance, like three silent, loyal shadows guarding the brother and sister ahead.
The wind swept over Dragonmont's volcanic rock, carrying the scent of sulfur and dragons. Resting his head on Rhaenyra's shoulder, Aegon watched the sky darken and silently made an oath that remained unfulfilled.
He would protect Dragonstone, protect the Targaryen dragons, and protect the people he cared about. Above all, he would rewrite that fate of blood and fire. Those destined tragedies, those vile betrayals-from this moment onward, he would put an end to them with his own hands.
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