the tired dragon

132 AC – Harrenhal

Point of View: Daemon Targaryen

The cursed halls of Harrenhal groaned in the wind.

Daemon stood at the ruined tower's edge, overlooking the gods-forgotten lake. Below, his men moved like shadows, rebuilding makeshift palisades, tending to the wounded, dragging the dead into pyres. Smoke rose in black columns — offerings to no gods he cared for.

He didn't speak much these days.

He watched. He waited. He sharpened Dark Sister in silence.

Rook's Rest was a wound. Shipbreaker Bay, a scar.

He had lost Jacaerys. And now, Rhaenys too.

The war was slipping through their fingers like ash.

A raven came at dusk.

The message bore no seal — only fire-blackened parchment. Five words:

"Balerion flies to end this"

Daemon read it once. Then again.

He did not smile. But something behind his eyes stirred.

He looked to Caraxes, coiled and restless in the shattered courtyard below. The Blood Wyrm lifted his head toward the east, nostrils flaring at a scent on the wind that hadn't been smelled in years — dread, ancient and burning.

"Old man," Daemon muttered, "if this is truly your last flight… let the sky break open in fire you old fool"

---

132 AC – King's Landing, the Red Keep

Point of View: Hugh the Hammer

The gates of the city groaned open for him — not with celebration, but unease.

Hugh rode through the streets like a conqueror, Vermithor behind him, wings folding with a hiss like coiled steel. The people watched from windows and doorways, silent. Uncertain.

He could feel it. They didn't cheer him. They didn't hate him either.

They feared what he represented: a dragonrider who owed no lord, no crown. Only himself.

At the throne room doors, Lord Larys met him with his usual twisted grin.

"Quite the entrance," the Clubfoot said. "Will you kneel, Ser Hugh?"

"I kneel to no one," Hugh answered, pushing past him.

Inside, Queen Alicent waited. Her face paler now, lips pinched. Aegon sat slumped on the Iron Throne, still swaddled in bandages. Beside him, Aemond stood straight-backed, silent and watchful.

"You'll have your rewards," Alicent said. "Land, coin, keep. The Crown is grateful—"

"The Crown is bleeding," Hugh said bluntly. "And it was my fire that won Shipbreaker."

Aemond stepped forward, one eye gleaming. "You fought well. But you left Rhaenyra breathing."

He turned to leave when a breathless maester burst into the chamber, eyes wild.

"My lords A raven. Urgent."

"What now?" Alicent asked.

The maester unfurled the scroll with trembling hands.

"Balerion has been seen coming. Aenar Targaryen rides approaches "

The room went cold.

Even Aemond's calm faltered. He spoke slowly. "Balerion… the Black Dread?"

"Impossible," Alicent whispered. "He should be dead."

"He was dying," Aemond corrected. "Not dead."

Hugh, for once, said nothing. The fires of arrogance dimmed in his eyes. Even he understood.

You could play at being a dragonlord.

But Balerion was fire incarnate.

Aegon winced on his throne, the pain of his wounds suddenly more real.

"What do we do?" Alicent asked.

Aemond didn't answer.

He was already walking toward Vhagar's roost, his steps swift and sure.

132 AC – Skies over Blackwater Bay

Point of View: Aenar Targaryen

The wind tore at his cloak, the sky whispering like a dying god.

Balerion's wings cut the air with deep, rhythmic force — slower than once they were, but steady. Every beat shook Aenar's bones. Below, the sea churned like ink, the waves black with the promise of storm. Ahead, King's Landing rose like a wound — gold domes, high towers, and the Red Keep, jutting up like a crown of thorns.

Aenar sat still in the saddle, hands loose on the worn reins.

His eyes were on the city — but his thoughts were far away.

He remembered the day he first saw Balerion, as a boy. The fear. The awe. The bond that had never broken. Not with age. Not with exile. Not even with death breathing down both their necks.

He remembered his mother's face. Cold. Unsmiling. How she turned her back as the court whispered Aenar the Unwanted.

He remembered the day he left Dragonstone in silence. The Narrow Sea. The free cities. The laughter of women he never loved. The faces of men he once called friends, now long buried in places whose names he had forgotten.

He remembered the day he returned. The day lucerys fall. The sky rip apart and mourned.

He looked down at Balerion's neck. The scales were still black as midnight, though dulled with time. Scars marked the beast's body — old wounds, deep and ancient. But the fire still smoldered.

It would burn once more.

One last time.

"I was never crowned," Aenar muttered into the wind. "But I was always a Targaryen."

He leaned forward, pressing a hand to the warm scales beneath him.

"Let's remind them what the black dread

means."

Balerion rumbled in reply.

132 AC – The Red Keep, King's Landing

Point of View: Aemond Targaryen

The chamber reeked of ash, sweat, and iron.

Aemond stood before the long bronze mirror in the armory, buckling the last of his scaled black armor. His sapphire eye gleamed with cold fire.

Behind him, Aegon groaned as squires adjusted the golden armor across his scorched, half-healed chest.

"Damn this—" the king hissed. "I can barely breathe in this."

"You'll breathe when in the sky," Aemond said flatly.

Aegon sneered but said no more.

Across the chamber, Hugh the Hammer towered above the others, already armored and ready. His black dragonplate was scorched from Shipbreaker Bay, but he wore it proudly — like a badge.

He cracked his knuckles and grinned. "So this is it. The old bastard's really coming."

Aemond nodded once. "Aenar. Balerion."

"He's ancient," Hugh said. "They both are. Slower than us. We take him from above."

Aemond didn't answer immediately.

The people didn't cheer. They didn't cry. They prayed.

"Don't underestimate him," Aemond said finally. "He may be old. But Balerion isn't just a dragon. He a legend himself "

Aegon slammed his goblet down, fire in his voice. "He's one dragon. We have three. And this is our city. We end this."

A squire burst in then, pale and breathless.

"My lords. Balerion… he's circling. He's just outside the walls."

Silence fell.

Hugh's grin faltered for the first time.

Aemond stepped toward the doors, hand on his sword. "Then let's go meet him."