Hour of the Nightingale = Dawn
“Aegon?” Helaena called out to the figure of her husband on the Iron Throne.
The throne room was cloudy and empty.
There was no ceiling above them, only thick, heavy clouds and cold stars that shone through the darkness.
“Helaena, I have missed you so much,” the figure said.
He rose from the swords, but as he walked down the steps toward her, his movements were jerky and unnatural.
Red silky strings dangled from the clouds high above, blindly jerking his limbs forward.
The silk threads yanked him into an embrace.
He held her tight, burying his face to smell her hair.
“I have missed you so, so much. Oh, Helaena…”
Even as the figure held her, a thick, impenetrable veil hung over him, completely blocking her from seeing his face.
“Mother, I’ve missed you as well,” a small voice echoed from above the figure’s head.
Helaena looked up and saw him clearly.
Perched on the puppet’s shoulders was her late son, Jaehaerys.
His skin was deathly pale, and a pair of dark, black dragon wings against his back.
He smiled down at her, clutching his little wooden toy as his hands dangeld on the figure head.
Helaena broke free from the embrace, but as she stepped back, her foot caught on something hidden in the gray haze below.
She tripped.
As her hands brushed the ground, the thick clouds parted, revealing what lay beneath.
Some were charred black, others lay headless in pools of blood, and some were entirely encased in frost.
“My Helaena,” the figure said.
His body jerked downward, scooping her up from the pile of bodies and pulling her back into an embrace.
As he lifted her, blood began to flow freely from his split palms, pouring down like a river over the corpses below.
Helaena looked at the figure holding her, the horror of the room closing in.
“Who are you?” she asked.
The figure buried his face against her neck.
“My beloved, I’m nobody.”
“Hahaha… hahhahhahahaha!” Aegon laughed, ripping the armor right off the charred corpse.
“Your Grace… Aegon,” Tyland called out, doing the exact same thing a few feet away.
Aegon had been laughing in this state for some time now, and he was worried.
They pulled the twisted steel off the bodies one by one, tossing the scrap aside and piling the bodies together to feed Sunfyre.
Behind them, Sunfyre let out a heavy rumble, his golden eyes locked on the pile of bodies.
Tyland rose up from the ground, wiping the sweat off his face with the back of his arm.
His hands were blackened with dry soot.
He turned and looked at Sunfyre.
He had never seen a dragon so close before, he could feel the heat of its breath against his skin, its golden eyes locked straight on him.
It was terrifying, and impossibly beautiful.
“What… what do we do now?” Aegon asked, looking down at his own black hands.
“I wasn’t prepared for this.”
“I don’t know, Your Grace,” Tyland said. Find the original chapter at g.com.
They both had walked onto this field resigned to die.
Yet now, they had burned half the Mooton host, seized their supplies, feasted, and fed the dragon.
And neither of them knew what to do next.
“But I do know,” Tyland continued, “our travels will be safer and harder in equal measure now. We have to feed a dragon and travel with one, which isn’t easy to hide. And if our enemies learn where we are, they will be upon us with dragons of their own.”
“I care not,” Aegon said as he rose and limped to Sunfyre, leaning on his snout.
Sunfyre gently moved its head against him.
“We can fly at the Hour of the Nightingale. Then there should be no dragon in the sky other than Sunfyre, and even if we were seen, they won’t know what dragon it is if we fly high enough.”
“Yes, but go where, Your Grace?” Tyland asked.
It was the more important question, the only logical one.
Go where?
To the Stormlands, where the Baratheons were still dragging their feet and their allegiance wasn’t confirmed?
If pushed, they might just turn him in to save their own skins.
Or fly across the Riverlands to the Reach to meet with Daeron?
Or head to Harrenhal to meet with Aemond?
But if he went to Aemond, he would only be dead weight all over again.
If enemies closed in, or if that bitch queen decided to end the war, they could target Sunfyre, forcing Vhagar into an unfavorable battle just to protect him.
“Ser Tyland, give me a silver coin,” Aegon suddenly asked, his hand outstretched.
yland was taken aback for a moment before taking a coin from his purse and placing it in his hand.
Taking the coin, he looked Tyland in the eye.
“Are you a gambling man, Ser Tyland?”
“Not particularly, no, Your Grace,” Tyland answered, confused.
“Well, today you are”