The night on Dragonstone was torn apart by the winds and waves of the Narrow Sea and the sulfurous fumes of the volcano.
Cold winds battered the castle's black stone walls with a mournful howl. The smell of burning pine mingled with sulfur rising from the restless volcano below, spilling out of the fireplace and filling every corner of the Sunrise Tower.
Rhaenyra sat on the edge of the bed draped in black sable, holding a book of dragon legends written in the tongue of Old Valyria. She had just finished reading Aegon the story of Aegon the Conqueror's landing at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush. As she had on countless nights before, she reached out to tuck his blanket around him and coax him to sleep.
But Aegon clutched the corner of the blanket and drew back a little.
"Sister," he said softly, with a firmness she had never heard before, "I want to sleep by myself tonight."
Rhaenyra's hand froze as she turned a page.
The tender warmth she had shown while soothing him vanished from her violet eyes, replaced by bewilderment. As though she had misheard, she leaned down slightly and asked again, "Aegon, what did you say?"
"I said I want to sleep by myself in the room next door." Aegon raised his head and met her gaze, his young face entirely serious. "I'm grown up now."
Rhaenyra went utterly still.
She looked at the four-year-old boy in her arms. Ever since his birth, he had scarcely ever left her embrace.
Back in the Red Keep at King's Landing, no matter how many times his mother, Alicent, sent maids to fetch him, he would cry and insist on sleeping with his sister. Every night, he had to clutch the hem of her clothes before he could sleep peacefully.
Even throughout their royal progress, whether they slept out in the elements, endured exhausting journeys by carriage and horse, or stayed in local inns and lords' castles, he had always clung to her, unwilling to leave her side for even a moment.
Yet now, he was asking to sleep alone.
An indescribable ache wrapped itself around Rhaenyra's heart. It was the same hurt and heaviness she had seen countless times on the face of her former friend Alicent, as though someone had stolen a precious treasure. Only this time, she was the one feeling it.
She could not stop her thoughts from running wild. Had I done something wrong? Was it because I was so absorbed in Vermithor and Silverwing on the Dragonmont today that I neglected to talk to him?
Or had he really grown up and no longer needed me, his sister? Or had I already lost the appeal I once held for him?
"It's all right. I'll go next door tonight... get some sleep..."
Her expression slowly darkened. Without another word, she closed the book, rose slowly, straightened her skirts, and turned toward the door.
Her back was rigid. Her long silver-gold hair fell forward, hiding her reddening eyes, and even her steps carried a suppressed sense of hurt.
Watching her push open the door, Aegon felt as though a hand had seized his heart and squeezed.
How could he not want to sleep beside Rhaenyra? At first, he had clung to her with the calculating intention of preventing the Dance of the Dragons. But by now, he had long since come to see this sister, who protected him with all her heart, as his only light in this cold world.
As time passed, Rhaenyra had grown dependent on him, and he had grown dependent on her. But tonight, he truly could not let her be disturbed.
Because what he had to do tonight was too dark, too bloody, too shameful to bear the light.
He did not want even a speck of that filth to stain Rhaenyra, much less for her to be startled from sleep and glimpse the savage ruthlessness hidden beneath his childish appearance-the madness that belonged to the Targaryen half of his dragon blood.
He bit his lip, but in the end, he could not keep himself from calling out, "Sister!"
Rhaenyra stopped, but did not turn around. With her back still toward him, she spoke in a muffled voice, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible tremor of excitement. "What? Have you changed your mind again?"
Aegon jumped off the bed and landed barefoot on the thick Myrish carpet. In a few quick steps, he ran up to her and tilted his head back to look at her reddened eyes. He said nothing, only reached out his little hand and tightly grasped the hem of her clothes. Then he rose onto his toes, summoned more courage than he ever had in this life, and leaned up to brush the lips she had lowered toward him.
It was not one of the childish kisses he usually planted on her cheek or forehead. For the first time, it landed on her lips, soft and fleeting.
It carried the sweet scent of honey bread and the warmth unique to a child.
Rhaenyra froze where she stood, as though she had accidentally been scorched by Syrax's dragonfire. She even forgot to breathe. Her long silver-gold hair fell forward, concealing cheeks that had instantly flushed scarlet. Her violet eyes filled with incredulous shock, and even her fingertips trembled.
Aegon panicked too. His heart pounded as though it might leap out of his throat, and his cheeks burned.
He did not dare look into Rhaenyra's eyes again. Turning, he bolted through the door, his short legs moving furiously, and plunged into the room next door, which had long since been prepared. He slammed the door with a bang, then leaned against the cold wood, gulping down breath after breath.
Rhaenyra remained standing in the doorway, her fingers unconsciously rising to her lips as the flush spread from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.
She stared at the closed door for a long while. At last, she could not help lowering her head and laughing. The disappointment and heaviness in her eyes vanished, leaving only a tenderness so full it threatened to overflow.
That little rascal.
She shook her head and returned to her own room. But instead of going straight to bed as usual, she sat by the window, watching the dim yellow light spilling from the room next door, unable to suppress the smile on her lips.
In the neighboring room, Aegon finally steadied his breathing.
The fire blazed in the hearth, the pine logs occasionally giving a soft crackle as they drove away Dragonstone's damp nighttime chill. Sunfyre lay on the carpet before the fireplace, his enormous golden body curled up, his golden eyes half closed. As Aegon approached, he immediately raised his head and gently rubbed it against Aegon's palm, a docile rumble sounding in his throat.
Aegon stroked his warm scales, then walked to the window and looked out at the ink-black Narrow Sea and the flickering volcanic glow atop the distant Dragonmont.
The moon had risen late into the night. Most of the castle's servants had retired, leaving only the patrolling guards to pass through the corridors now and then, the soft clink of their armor soon fading into the wind.
The wind blew on, and the darkness deepened, soon slipping into the dead of night.
Dragonstone's deepest night was likewise filled with the sulfurous odor of the volcanic dragon lairs and the low murmurs of breathing dragons.
The sea wind continued sweeping in from the Narrow Sea, striking the castle's black stone walls with an unending, mournful howl. Warm vapor rising from cracks in the rock condensed into white mist in the cold air, then seeped through gaps around the window, mingling with the scent of pine burning in the hearth and the smell unique to dragons that rose from Sunfyre-a blend of sulfur and flame.
Candlelight cast wavering shadows across the stone walls. Aegon sat in an oak chair draped with black bear fur, his small body sinking into the soft pelt. Yet his violet eyes were startlingly bright, without a trace of the sleepiness a four-year-old ought to have felt.
He was waiting for someone...
As for Sunfyre, whom he had "stashed" here well in advance, he now lay at Aegon's feet, his enormous golden body curled halfway around the chair and his head resting on Aegon's legs. His golden eyes watched the door warily, and a low, warning rumble rose from his throat. Only when he recognized the footsteps outside did he gradually quiet down.
Inside the room, the atmosphere hung as still as a frozen sea...
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