The ground outside Tumbleton shook as five dragons descended almost as one.
The heavy, bone-deep thud of Vhagar and Vermithor landing sent plumes of dust billowing over the charred field, their massive wings fanning the smoke away.
Silverwing and Tessarion touched down with grace.
while Sunfyre, battered, scorched, but glorious, landed beside her, his golden scales catching the hazy sunlight through the smoke.
All around them, the Hightower host erupted into deafening cheers.
Thousands of soldiers beat their swords against their shields, shouting the names of their princes and the lords of Oldtown, as the greatest concentration of dragon power since Old Valyria stood outside Tumbleton’s gates.
But for the princes, there was no joy in this victory.
They sat their saddles side-by-side with dragonseeds, lowborn bastards wielding their house dragons, and turncloaks who had just proven how easily their allegiance could be bought.
Through the town gates, Lord Ormund Hightower stepped out from the cheering ranks of his men with bold John Roxton behind him, a broad, knowing smile on his face.
He strode casually past the massive, smoking dragons, making his way straight toward Aegon as the King unbuckled his riding chains and dismounted from Sunfyre’s back.
Aegon dismounted with a groan.
As much as he wished he could have burned more rebels, he couldn’t push Sunfyre any further, flying alone was a strain and a cruel task for Sunfyre.
Ormund came to a halt, his eyes tracing the Valyrian steel crown on Aegon’s head.
His smile widened into a look of absolute, unshakeable triumph.”The ravens from King’s Landing carry nothing but the weeping of old women, it seems,” Ormund said, his voice carrying clearly over the cheers of the infantry.”They spoke of a dead king.
Yet you drop from the morning clouds like Aegon the Dragon himself, leading a host that would make the Old King weep with pride.
Welcome to Tumbleton, Your Grace.
The field is ours, and your throne waits for you.”
“You honor me, Uncle,” Aegon said, reaching out to grasp Ormund’s hand firmly.
He looked past him toward Vermithor and Silverwing.
Ormund followed his gaze without breaking his composure.
“It’s a trivial matter, nephew,” Ormund said with a smooth smile.
“Worry not about it now.”
“Now then,” Aegon said.
“Let us march on King’s Landing to get my wife and my mother back.”
“As you command, Your Grace,” Ormund replied, bowing his head.
“I will ready the men for a forced march at once. Time is of the essence before the Pretender learns of what happened here and flees.”
Aegon turned away from his uncle, his gaze falling on Daeron.
Unlike himself or Aemond, the youngest prince looked entirely untouched by the horror of the war, no horrific burn scars, no lost eye, his silver-gold hair intact.
“Your grace” Daeron said as he bowed slightly
“None of that, you lucky bastard,” Aegon said, stepping forward and pulling his younger brother into a tight, heavy embrace.
“Look at you… all grown up, with two intact eyes, unburnt skin, and uncharred hair.”
“What’s wrong with one eye?” Aemond interjected from the side, stepping up to them with his hand resting on his pommel.
“Look at my beautiful sapphire of an eye.”
“It is beautiful,” Aegon admitted.
“But I still prefer two eyes that can actually see where they’re going.”
Then Aegon turned his attention to the dragonseeds, who had been standing at attention for some time, watching the princelings unite.
Aegon stared at them strangely, stretching the silence into an uncomfortable, heavy quiet.
“Your Grace,” Hugh said, bowing first.
Aegon didn’t reply.
Instead, he stepped closer, studying their faces.
“I know you, Hugh was your name correct?,” Aegon finally spoke.
“You’re the blacksmith who petitioned me for an advance payment.”
“I am, Your Grace,” Hugh said, his voice deep and entirely respectful as he bowed his head again.
“I… I never expected you to remember. I only did what I had to do to protect my wife.”
“Protect your wife?” Aegon repeated.
“And did you succeed in doing that?”
Hugh went silent for a moment.
“No, Your Grace. I lost her.”
“I see,” Aegon said softly.
“Then I dare say we have more in common than being dragonriders.”
“Queen Helaena is alive, Your Grace,” Hugh added quickly.
“The last I heard, she was in confinement, but she wasn’t mistreated.”
He turned his attention to Ulf, a strange look coming over his face as he recognized the man as well.
“I know you too,” Aegon said, pointing a finger at him.
“You toasted to me in a tavern. Or was it a brothel?”
“Actually, Your Grace, it was a tavern,” Ulf said with a smirking grin.
“Not a brothel. Though if you had enough coin, it could be a brothel.”
“Ulf,” Hugh reprimanded quietly from the side, shooting him a warning glare.