Dusk spread down from the upper reaches of the Trident, staining the river dark red.
Leon walked over the gravel. Every step crunched beneath his boots. Shells breaking, like shattered bones.
"We've been searching for four hours," Tyrion panted behind him. "Downstream is nothing but reed beds, and it'll be completely dark soon. If he was swept into a side channel-"
"He wasn't."
Leon cut him off.
Something lay beyond the river bend. Like a candle about to go out, but still burning.
"There." He pointed at a stand of reeds taller than a man.
Thea drew her sword and hacked a path through. Her shoulder wound had yet to heal, and her brow creased with every swing, but she made no sound.
Sandor followed, his greatsword dragging through the mud, plowing a furrow.
Deep within the reeds, the river bent and washed over a stretch of shallows.
Rhaegar Targaryen lay there.
Half his body was submerged, his long silver-gold hair spreading like water weeds, tangled with dead branches and silt.
His breastplate was shattered. Not one of its three hundred rubies remained, only twisted scraps of metal embedded in his flesh.
Leon crouched beside him.
He was still alive.
His breathing was faint, his chest rising only after long intervals. He had lost too much blood. At least three ribs were broken, and one had pierced his lung. His internal organs were bleeding.
A quarter of an hour at most.
Rhaegar's eyes stirred.
Those deep purple eyes were clouded now, as though veiled in dust.
But they recognized Leon.
"...Little... lion..."
His voice was as faint as wind passing through reeds.
Leon bent down, bringing his ear closer.
"Dragon... egg..."
Rhaegar's fingers twitched. He could not lift his hand, only turn his eyes toward his waist.
A leather pouch hung there, swollen with water but tightly fastened.
Leon untied it and opened it.
Inside was a sheet of parchment wrapped in oilcloth. Unfolded, it revealed a hand-drawn map.
The Red Mountains of Dorne, east of the Prince's Pass, a place marked with a red dot.
Beside it were the words: Tower of Joy.
"This is..."
"The last one."
Rhaegar's lips curved faintly, as though he wanted to smile. "The last dragon... Valyria... five... you found Steffon's... this is... mine..."
Leon's heart skipped a beat.
Five.
The one he had found at Massey's Hook had come from Steffon Baratheon's sunken ship.
Rhaegar had another. The remaining three-
"Braavos." Rhaegar seemed to read his thoughts. "Three... across the sea... but I don't know... who has them..."
His breathing began to quicken.
Tyrion peered out from behind Leon. His eyes went round at the sight of the map, but he said nothing, only bit his lip.
Rhaegar's gaze moved from Leon's face to the dwarf.
He looked at Tyrion, something indescribable in his eyes-something more complicated, an acknowledgment that came close to regarding him as an equal.
"You... are half, too..." he whispered.
Tyrion froze.
Rhaegar did not explain. His gaze returned to Leon's face.
"That gold coin..."
Leon took the gold dragon minted in 276 from inside his clothes.
Rhaegar looked at it, and light suddenly filled his deep purple eyes. Faint, yet bright, like the last flicker of a dying candle.
"You... kept it..."
"Yes, I kept it," Leon said.
Rhaegar's lips moved. He tried to speak, but blood welled up in his throat, choking him into a violent coughing fit. Blood spilled from the corners of his mouth, staining his pale face red.
Leon gently helped him up and let him lean against his shoulder.
"Rhaenys..." Rhaegar's voice began to break. "Aegon... my children..."
Leon's fingers tightened slightly.
Rhaenys Targaryen. Aegon Targaryen.
The daughter and son of Rhaegar and Elia Martell. They were in the Red Keep in King's Landing now.
"King's Landing..." Rhaegar's lips brushed his ear, his voice so low that only the two of them could hear. "Save them..."
Leon was silent for a second.
"Lord Tywin will attack the city. My father."
Rhaegar closed his eyes, then opened them again.
There was no resentment in those deep purple eyes, no anger, only an almost peaceful resignation.
"I know..."
"I might not be able to save them."
"Please... try..."
Rhaegar's fingers moved. With the last of his strength, he closed Leon's hand around the gold dragon. His hand was ice-cold, but the strength of his grip was astonishing.
"With this... buy... a promise..."
Leon looked down at the gold dragon. The Mad King's profile was engraved on the coin.
Eight years ago, in the Saltwater Cod Tavern in Lannisport, he had pushed it toward a three-year-old child and said, "You're still young. You can take your time thinking it over."
Eight years later, he used it to buy a promise.
"...All right," Leon said.
Rhaegar's hand loosened.
He leaned against Leon's shoulder, gazing at the darkening sky. The last streak of sunset was reflected in his deep purple eyes.
"Lyanna..." he whispered.
Leon knew what he was asking.
"Robert said he'd brought her back. That was a lie. He lied to you."
Rhaegar smiled.
The smile was light and faint, like a fallen leaf drifting into the river.
"I'm sorry..."
His eyes slowly closed.
They never opened again.
Leon sat on the riverbank, holding Rhaegar's body, and did not move for a long time.
The sunset sank below the horizon. The river still flowed, its rushing unchanged through the ages.
In the distance, scattered campfires flickered, and snatches of song drifted over.
Tyrion crouched beside him and remained silent for a long time.
"What did he tell you?"
Leon handed him the parchment.
Tyrion deciphered the writing by moonlight, and his breath caught sharply.
"The Tower of Joy... in Dorne..." He looked up. "Another dragon egg?"
Leon nodded.
"What else?"
Leon was silent for several seconds. "He bought a promise from me with this gold dragon."
Tyrion watched him, waiting for him to continue.
"To save his children. Rhaenys and Aegon. In King's Landing."
Tyrion's mouth opened, closed, then opened again.
"You agreed?"
Leon nodded.
Tyrion took a deep breath and slowly let it out.
"Do you know what that means? Tywin will attack the city. Our father will attack the city. By the time Robert's army reaches King's Landing, that city will be prey about to be torn apart. You want to rescue two Targaryens from it?"
Leon did not answer.
"Do you know what will happen to them?" Tyrion kept his voice very low. "If Robert wins, the Targaryens will be traitors, remnants of the old regime, something that must be rooted out completely. If the Mad King wins-"
"The Mad King can't win," Leon cut him off.
Tyrion closed his eyes.
"Father's letter. The army of the Westerlands is already on the march. King's Landing won't hold."
Tyrion swore. "Then why did you promise him?"
Leon turned to look at him.
Those pale purple eyes were as calm as two deep wells in the darkness, but something burned at their depths.
"Because I owe him. Eight years ago, in that tavern in Lannisport, he treated us like normal people."
Tyrion froze.
"Back then, he was the first... the first person to look at us as though we were normal. He asked if I'd figured it out. I still haven't. But I know he treated us as people."
He glanced down at Rhaegar's body. "And... I hastened his death."
Tyrion was silent for a long time.
Then he sighed and plopped down beside Leon, not caring that the muddy water soaked his trousers.
"You know we'll be branded dragon loyalists."
"I know."
"You don't know shit." Cursing, Tyrion pulled out the wineskin he had swiped from the Peach, took a drink, and handed it to Leon. "Have some. Warm yourself up."
Leon took it and sipped. A fiery sensation burned from his throat to his stomach.
"Five dragon eggs," Tyrion said suddenly.
Leon looked at him.
"I read accounts of dragon eggs in the maester's tower. The last dragon, the 'last dragon' of King's Landing, left five eggs when it died."
Leon's heart clenched.
"Three ended up in Braavos, changing hands among merchants before disappearing. The maesters speculated that they might be hidden in some Sealord's vault, or perhaps sold to a triarch of Volantis. No one knew their exact whereabouts."
He held up a fourth finger.
"Steffon Baratheon bought one from a merchant from Lys. He thought he'd bought a fossil and wanted to take it back to King's Landing to present to the Mad King. But his ship sank near the Stepstones, and the egg went to the bottom of the sea."
He stared at Leon. "And you fished it out."
Leon gave a slight nod.
Tyrion held up a fifth finger.
"There's no record of the last one. But I suspect Rhaegar found it long ago in some cave on Dragonstone. Because that was when he began obsessing over prophecies about dragons. He found that egg and hid it. Even the Mad King didn't know."
He looked at the parchment in Leon's hand. "He probably moved the dragon egg to the Tower of Joy after he eloped with Lyanna."
Leon looked down at the map.
The Tower of Joy. Deep in the Red Mountains of Dorne.
"Why did he hide it there?"
Tyrion thought for a moment.
"The estate beside the Tower of Joy belongs to Ser Gerold Hightower's great-niece, Alerie Hightower. Mace Tyrell's wife.
"House Hightower and the Targaryens have intermarried for generations. They're absolutely loyal. And it's remote. No one would search there."
He paused, then suddenly frowned. "Wait... Gerold Hightower..."
Leon knew what he was thinking.
Gerold Hightower should have been with the other two Kingsguard at that moment. They were protecting Lyanna at the Tower of Joy.
"Arthur Dayne. The Sword of the Morning. And Gerold Hightower. And Oswell Whent. If they're still alive..."
"They're at the Tower of Joy," Leon said.
Tyrion's face went white. "Seven Hells... Lyanna Stark is there too."
Leon did not answer.
He simply gazed south, toward the unseen Red Mountains of Dorne.
Rhaegar was dead. Lyanna was still in the Tower of Joy, carrying Rhaegar's child. Three Kingsguard guarded her, and guarded that egg.
And Robert Baratheon...
"Rhaegar carried Lyanna off," Tyrion said, lowering his voice. "He hated Rhaegar so much he smashed him to a pulp. If he finds out Lyanna is at the Tower of Joy, if he finds out she's carrying Rhaegar's child..."
He did not finish.
But Leon knew.
The children in King's Landing would die. Lyanna would die. Eddard Stark would return alone to the North, bearing his sister's body and the secret of the bastard.
Leon tightened his grip on the parchment.
That egg would be waiting for him beneath the Tower of Joy.
"Do you want to go?" Tyrion asked.
Leon was silent for a long time. "Yes. But not now."
Tyrion nodded. "We need to go to King's Landing now. Save those two children."
Leon looked at him.
Tyrion grinned. His smile looked especially eerie in the darkness.
"Don't look at me like that. I gave you my word. You owe me a life. So wherever you go, I go. Besides..."
He paused, a complicated gleam flashing through his mismatched eyes. "Some promises matter more than life."
Leon looked at him for a long time.
Then he gave a slight nod.
"Let's go. Bring Rhaegar back."
Tyrion froze for a moment. "Bring him back? To whom?"
Leon looked toward the camp on the northern bank. Robert's tent was brightly lit, and bursts of cheering drifted from it.
"To Robert. He needs to see the body."
Robert's tent was packed with people.
Eddard Stark sat in a corner, his face expressionless. Jon Arryn was speaking quietly with Hoster Tully. A group of knights crowded around the long table, fighting over wine jugs and roast legs of lamb.
Robert sat in the middle, swathed in bandages, but he gripped a wine jug, his face flushed red from drinking.
When the tent flap lifted, everyone fell silent.
Leon walked in, followed by Sandor and Thea.
Sandor carried something human-shaped over his shoulder, wrapped in a cloak.
Robert's wine jug stopped in midair. "What is that?"
Leon stepped aside.
Sandor laid the person on his shoulder on the ground in the middle of the tent and pulled back the cloak.
Rhaegar Targaryen's face was revealed.
His long silver-gold hair was caked with mud, his pale face utterly bloodless, his deep purple eyes closed forever.
A deathly silence filled the tent.
Robert stared at that face. The wine jug in his hand fell to the ground with a thud, spilling wine everywhere.
He rose, staggered over, and stopped before the body.
He crouched down.
Everyone held their breath.
Robert reached out and gently brushed the lock of wet hair off Rhaegar's forehead. His touch was light, as though he feared hurting him.
"He..." His voice was as rough as sandpaper scraping stone. "He's really dead."
No one spoke.
There was an expression on that face Leon had never seen before. Weariness, emptiness, sorrow?
"Drag him out. Burn him."
Several guards stepped forward and lifted Rhaegar's body.
Robert stood, returned to his seat, and picked up the wine jug from the ground, only to find it empty.
He hurled it hard against a tent pole.
"Bring wine!" he roared.
No one dared move.
"I told you to bring wine!"
Leon stepped forward, took the flask Tyrion had given him from inside his clothes, and handed it over.
Robert took it, tipped his head back, and swallowed a great mouthful. He looked down at Leon.
"Where did you find him?"
"In the reeds downstream."
Robert stared at him for a few seconds. A complicated light burned in those blue eyes.
"You're fucking... clever. You knew to bring the body back."
Leon said nothing.
Robert took another swallow, then leaned back in his chair and stared at the roof of the tent.
"What did he say before he died?"
The tent fell silent. Everyone looked at Leon.
Leon was silent for a second.
"He said he was sorry."
Robert froze.
"Sorry?" he repeated. "Who was he sorry to? Me? Lyanna? His wife? That mad father of his?"
Leon did not answer.
Robert stared at him for a long time, then suddenly laughed.
There was none of his usual boisterousness in that laugh, only weariness and bitterness.
"Fuck his apologies. He's dead. What good is sorry now?"
He waved a hand. "Get out. All of you. Leave me alone."
As though granted a pardon, everyone filed out of the tent.
As Leon reached the entrance, Robert's voice came from behind him.
"Little Leon."
Leon stopped.
"You..." Robert paused. "You're a good lad."
Leon did not turn around.
He left the tent and walked into the night.
When Leon returned to the riverbank, Tyrion was crouching beside the reeds, staring blankly at the water.
"Handed him over?"
Leon nodded.
"What did he say?"
Leon was silent for a few seconds. "He said I was a good lad."
Tyrion froze for a moment, then laughed. "A good lad. Listen to that. The Lord of the Stormlands called you a good lad."
Leon sat down beside him.
The moon had risen, turning the river silver-white.
In the distance, Rhaegar's body was burning, the flames dancing against the night sky like a dying dragon.
"Tomorrow, the army breaks camp. South to King's Landing."
Leon nodded.
"Have you figured out how to save those two children?"
Leon shook his head.
"Then why did you agree?"
Leon looked at him. "Have you got a better idea?"
Tyrion thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. We'll have to rely on Pudding Face."
They sat in silence, watching the river.
In the distance, the flames consuming the body gradually dimmed.
Rhaegar Targaryen, the dragon prince, the hope of the Seven Kingdoms, the prince of prophecy, had become a heap of ashes.
"Five Dragon Eggs," Tyrion said suddenly. "You have one, there's one at the Tower of Joy, and three in Braavos. If we could gather all five-"
Leon interrupted him. "Then what?"
Tyrion froze. "Then... wake the dragons?"
Leon gazed at the river.
"Rhaegar wanted to wake the dragons. Because he believed in a prophecy... 'The dragon has three heads.' He thought the Targaryens needed three dragons to save the world."
"Save the world?" Tyrion frowned. "Save what world?"
Leon was silent for a long time. He could not say it now.
"I don't know. But he believed it."
Tyrion looked at him. "Do you believe it?"
Leon shook his head. "I owe him a life. I gave him my word."
Tyrion was silent for a long time.
He reached over, took the gold coin from Leon's hand, turned it over a few times to examine it, and gave it back.
"Then let's save them. Neither of us knows how long we'll live anyway. Do some good before we die, and perhaps the gods will let us live to a hundred."
The corners of Leon's mouth lifted slightly.
It was not a smile. But Tyrion knew it was his younger brother's way of saying thank you.
In the distance, the last flicker of fire went out.
In the darkness before dawn, the Trident flowed quietly, carrying away Rhaegar Targaryen's blood, and with it the last trace of warmth from this False Spring.
Leon tucked the gold coin back inside his clothes and stood.
"Let's go. We have more traveling to do tomorrow."
Tyrion stood and brushed the mud off his backside.
"King's Landing. First fucking time in my life I've dreaded going to King's Landing this much."
They walked back to camp side by side.