Dance of Four Flames

The morning sun filtered through the high windows of the Red Keep, casting long, golden streaks across the stone floors, but within the walls of the royal quarters, there was only a rising tide of panic and fury. The King's Guard was in chaos, darting through the halls, searching desperately for the Prince and Princess. The Gold Cloaks scoured the city with a grim efficiency, leaving no tavern, inn, or alley unchecked.

Ser Harrold Westerling, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, moved swiftly through the corridors, his face grim. He was no stranger to the weight of duty, but today that weight felt unbearable. He approached the royal quarters, knocking firmly before entering the room, where he found King Viserys and Queen Aemma already awake as they began their morning routine, tension filling the space like a living thing.

Informing them of the news with a heavy heart, they suddenly found no strength to stand, Viserys, for the moment, slumping and sitting on his bed while Aemma slumped into a chair that looked over the rising sun.

The Queens face was pale and stricken with grief. She clutched the arms of the chair tightly, her knuckles white, her eyes distant as if the weight of her worst fears had returned, old specters haunting her once more. She had known since that daunting day on Dragonstone ten years prior that this day would come. Rhaenyra had always been a fiercely independent soul, and with Aegon at her side, their bond was unbreakable, malleable to each other like an unset clay sculpture. They're kind of love held it's share of dangerous. Her lips trembled, the thought of her unborn grandchild, the life growing within Rhaenyra that Aegon knew not of, making the fear that much worse.

"The Kingsguard have scoured the keep and surrounding castle, assisted by household guard. The gold cloaks are searching the city, but we have found no sign of them. It is believed they have...taken flight. The princess using Syrax and the cover of dark to slip past all defenses and detection."

For a moment, Viserys said nothing, but his face darkened with fury. His eyes burned with an intensity that made the room seem smaller. He shot to his feet, turning to and approaching Ser Harrold, his anger barely contained, and when he spoke, it was with venom in every word. "You mean to tell me that both my children, both ten and six, have slipped past the Kingsguard under your watch? Just as they did under Ryam Redwyne's? This is negligence, Ser Harrold! Negligence, or worse!"

Ser Harrold's jaw tightened, but he bowed his head. "Your Grace, I take full responsibility. The Princess has always had a way of—"

Viserys cut him off with a sharp gesture, his voice rising with each word. "I know exactly where they've gone! I know what this is!" He spat the words as if the realization itself was a bitter poison. "The Stepstones... they think they can fight my war, win glory and recognition that will turn to but dust in their mouths."

He paced, his hands flexing with barely restrained fury. His heart ached, torn between fear for his children and the insult of their disobedience. His own uncle, Aemon, had died in much a similar way, with a simple arrow to the throat, a bitter end to a valiant man who only sought to fight for his house and kingdom. He had explicitly forbade Aegon from joining the war effort, knowing full well what awaited anyone who became ensnared in the conflict.

Aegon was too much like his parents, and perhaps uncle. Viserys never felt the call of battle or blade, for he sought to sharpen his mind throughout the years after the black dread had passed, but this plagued him with guilt, guilt of the absence of never being truly tested, a small realization presented itself, perhaps he was trying to force that on Aegon also, but a good king needs balance of these things to truly rule not only the realm, but it's peoples hearts. 

Aemma finally spoke, her voice small but clear. "Viserys... they're only doing what they believe is right. What Aegon believes is his duty. You knew this day would come...we both did".

Hesitation hung to Aemma like a piece of game on a meathook. With a deep breathe, she told Viserys Rhaenyra's secret, something she knew would deepen his strife, but finally add a bottom to it, something they could overcome together as to not strike harder in the future. 

The King's face softened slightly, but the pain was still there, as raw as ever. He turned to his wife, her grief mirroring his own. "Rhaenyra..." he said, almost to himself. "Our daughter... she is with child... What madness has taken hold of her to fly into a battlefield with Aegon? Does she think herself invincible?"

Aemma's eyes filled with tears, but she said nothing, for she too knew the stubbornness of their children.

Viserys drew in a deep breath, forcing himself to think clearly. His sorrow and anger that mixed into unparalleled frustration had to be tempered, for it would serve no purpose now. He knew where they had gone, and he knew the stakes. But more than anything, he knew he had to act swiftly. "Send word to the Stepstones immediately," he ordered, his voice cold and commanding. "Send an attachment, the largest we can muster without alarming the realm. The Prince and Princess are to return at once to face their father. No more games, no more disobedience."

Ser Harrold nodded firmly, bowing as he moved to leave, already organizing the right men strategically in his mind.

As the door closed behind the Lord Commander, Viserys stood in the center of the room, his fists clenched on his knees. "They are our legacy, something that could be snuffed out like candle. Aegon, believing his power of old infallible, risks the dream, the conquers crown atop his head... did we fail, Aemma?," he muttered.

Aemma rose from her chair, moving to stand beside her husband. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, her touch grounding him. "They're our children, Viserys. And they love each other...They are not lost to us yet. We must trust them."

Viserys exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. "They are too much like us," he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. "I only hope the realm is kind enough to let them return."

Far to the southeast, over the sea, the sun rose over the Stepstones. Aegon and Rhaenyra flew high above the waters, their dragons cutting through the air with powerful strokes of their wings. Vermithor and Syrax, ancient and fierce, carried their riders toward the horizon where battle awaited. The cold wind whipped against their faces, but Aegon and Rhaenyra flew with a singular purpose, their hearts entwined as tightly as their fates.

Aegon looked over at his wife, the light of the morning sun catching the silver of her hair. He had no words for her, but he didn't need them. In the silence of the sky, there was only the rhythm of dragon wings and the unspoken vow between them, to win, to survive, and to return home, no matter the cost.

Later that morning. 

The long flight across the expanse of open sea had been both daunting and awe-inspiring. The sun had risen behind them to the south-east, casting a golden hue on the water, while the shorelines appeared like delicate threads stretching into the distance. Aegon marveled at the beauty below, an odd juxtaposition to the grim task ahead. Vermithor cut through the air powerfully, while Rhaenyra, ever the daring one, dozed atop Syrax, strapped in for safety. Aegon smirked to himself at the sight, admiring her audacity. He would have loved nothing more than to rest as she did, but his mind was preoccupied with the thought of battle, the looming weight of what awaited them at the Stepstones.

The journey stretched across hundreds of miles, the chill of the upper atmosphere biting at them, though it did nothing to slow their dragons' progress. By noon the next day, they finally descended upon the war-torn shores of the Stepstones and the Velaryon garrison of Grey Gallows. The dragons landed with heavy thuds, their wings folding in as they exhaled clouds of smoke and heat. Syrax and Vermithor, now alongside Caraxes, tired from their long flight, eagerly took to feeding on the mounds of old, scorched fish that had been prepared for them, dragons not concerned with such things as fresh or rotten. The dragons, it seemed, preferred their meals cooked over raw, as the smell of charred meat filled the air.

Aegon and Rhaenyra dismounted, their boots hitting the gritty ground of Grey Gallows, one of the smaller islands. They were greeted by a raucous applause that echoed through the war camp that sprawled over the island, tents numbering in the dozens. A show of respect from the men who had grown weary of waiting. The applause lasted for several minutes, with soldiers banging their shields and cheering for the Prince and Princess. It was a sight that filled Aegon with pride, though he remained composed, offering nods of acknowledgment. Rhaenyra, still catching the tail end of her nap, stretched and shook off the fatigue, but she too smiled at the reception.

As they approached the war table, the sight before them was a mixture of familiar and unexpected faces. Laenor Velaryon, now a young man of fourteen, stood tall and proud, the rider of Seasmoke, his presence radiating confidence. Beside him, Vaemond Velaryon, ever the stern strategist and one of the three commanders of the Velaryon fleet. He nodded in greeting. Lord Corlys, the Sea Snake, was focused, his mind on strategy. But it was the sight of Daemon that stirred tension in the air.

The Rogue Prince stood with his usual arrogance, a mischievous smirk hidden beneath his helm. Though Aegon had mostly moved past their recent conflict with ease, knowing their bond as family would inevitably survive, Rhaenyra was not so forgiving. She shot daggers at Daemon with her eyes, a cold aggression brewing within her. Daemon, ever the provocateur, met her gaze with a smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement at her ire. It was a tense moment, but it was clear they had all gathered for a common purpose: to rid the Stepstones of the parasites that plagued them.

Corlys wasted no time briefing the twins. "Craghas Drahar," he began, his voice steady, "commands the Triarchy forces. They are a mix of mercenaries and levies from the Free Cities, and though ragtag, they have proven effective in holding these islands. Drahar has dug in deep on Bloodstone, the largest of the islands. Every time we attempt a ground assault, they retreat into their fortifications beneath the earth, making it impossible to fully dislodge them."

As Corlys spoke, a smile began to curl on Aegon's lips. The others exchanged glances, curious as to what had caused his amusement. It wasn't Drahar's forces that pleased him, it was the fact that the Crabfeeder and his men hid beneath the very earth that Aegon could bend and command to his will. The Triarchy forces had no idea what they were about to face.

"They burrow under the earth?" Aegon asked, his voice laced with confidence.

Corlys nodded, continuing, "Yes, they retreat into caverns and underground tunnels. We've tried flushing them out with fire, but they are cunning, and their defenses are well-fortified."

Aegon stepped forward, placing his hands on the edge of the war table, his fingers brushing over the map. "The earth is their shield," he said, his voice carrying a weight that drew everyone's attention, "but it will also be their tomb."

Rhaenyra, standing beside him, knew what her brother was thinking. Aegon had always had a unique connection with the land and fire both. His affinity for the elements was unmatched, a power he had harnessed from a young age. Where others saw the ground as mere dirt and rock, Aegon saw it as a weapon, an extension of his will, and almost as an old friend.

Laenor raised an eyebrow, curious. "And what do you intend to do cousin?"

Aegon looked up, a glint in his eye. "We don't need to flush them out. I'll collapse the large flat ledge-like cliffs, bury them where they hide. Vermithor, Syrax and any others who decide to partake will bring fire from above, and I will bury them, if they decide to sully forth and greet us for a drink and...warm banter, all the better" 

Daemon's smirk widened, his interest piqued. "Ambitious, nephew," he said, leaning back with a chuckle. "I quite like the prospect, and become you" 

Rhaenyra, ever the pragmatist, folded her arms and gave Aegon a sidelong glance. "It won't be as easy as you think, brother. The Crabfeeder has allies in Lys and Myr. They won't go down without a fight."

Aegon nodded, acknowledging her point. "I know. But we're not here for easy. We're here to win."

Corlys stroked his beard, thinking. "We need to strike soon, while the Triarchy is still gathering themselves. If we can deal them a crippling blow now, the war could shift in our favor."

The room grew quiet as all eyes turned to Aegon and Rhaenyra, by no means the leaders of this campaign, but certainly a fresh set of thoughts and power. The benevolent tension between them, the silent bond they shared, all present could see that it was palpable. They didn't need to speak to know that they were in this together.

Rhaenyra finally broke the silence, her eyes softening as she looked at Aegon. "Well...let's get on with it and end it before it can begin" 

Aegon met her gaze, his smile fading into a serious expression. "Together."

The war council concluded, the plan was set. Aegon and Rhaenyra would lead the charge, with Vermithor and Syrax raining fire from above, while Aegon's command over the earth would seal the Triarchy's fate. The rogue prince, Daemon and Laenor, the Heir to Driftmark, would take to the skies with Caraxes and Seasmoke, sowing chaos among the enemy forces, while Corlys and the Velaryons led the naval, then ground assault.

As the afternoon sun began its descent toward the horizon, Aegon and Rhaenyra shared a quiet moment away from the others, standing at the edge of the camp, overlooking the sea. The winds whipped at their cloaks, and the scent of salt and fire filled the air.

"Are you ready for this?" Aegon asked, his voice low.

Rhaenyra looked at him, her silver hair catching the dying light of the sun. "I was born ready," she replied, her lips curving into a smirk. "Are you?"

Aegon chuckled softly. "With you? Always."

The dragons roared in the distance, a reminder of the power they wielded, and together, the twins prepared to bring fire and fury to the Stepstones. The battle for the realm, one of salt and fire, had only just begun.

Later that night.

Under the cloak of night, four dragons took to the skies, their massive forms blending into the darkness as they soared high above the battlefield. Daemon, Aegon, Rhaenyra, and Laenor each rode their fierce companions, silent and deadly as they prepared to rain destruction upon the Triarchy forces below. The trap had been set, hundreds of Triarchy men had swarmed a recently beached Velaryon vessel, eager to loot what they believed to be an easy prize. They had no idea they were walking into the jaws of a deadly ambush.

As the signal was given, the dragons unleashed their fury.

"zaldrīzes!" Some among them shouted, but it was far too late. 

Flames of varying intensity lit up the night, turning the once calm beach into an inferno. Syrax's fire was a bright, searing gold, Vermithor's a deep, raging red, while Caraxes and Seasmoke bathed the scene in their own unique hues of devastation. The airstrike was unlike anything ever seen before, the coordinated attack turning the field into a sea of fire, where none could escape the blazing wrath of the dragons.

In a daring move that left Laenor's eyes wide with shock, Aegon leaped from Vermithor as they skimmed low over the ground, landing softly as torrents of flame from each hand slowed his descent onto a ridge formed by the ancient volcanic activity of Bloodstone. His feet barely touched the ground before he let loose another torrent of gaseous, roaring flames, incinerating a group of archers hidden along the ridge. The Triarchy men had no chance, his precision and power unmatched. Their screams were swallowed by the roar of dragonfire as Aegon systematically bathed and scorched the ridge, ensuring no survivors remained.

Once the field below was nothing more than a charred wasteland, filled with the disintegrating bodies of Triarchy soldiers, Aegon paused. He stood motionless for a moment, surveying the destruction they all had wrought. The sight of burning men, their flesh melting from bone, weighed heavily on him. Despite his power, the gravity of what he transpired gripped him. But he couldn't let it stop him now. There was no time for doubt.

With a deep breath, Aegon pressed his hand to the earth. His connection to the land surged through him, allowing him to sense every vibration, every movement below the surface. The chaos of battle sent shockwaves rippling through the earth, and Aegon used those disturbances to map out the underground network of tunnels where the Triarchy men had taken refuge. Every nook and cranny where they burrowed was revealed to him.

Rising to his feet with newfound resolve, Aegon prepared to unleash his most devastating attack yet. The Velaryon troops arriving at the battlefield watched in awe, frozen as they witnessed the prince raise his foot and deliver powerful, precise slams into the earth. Each strike sent violent tremors through the ground, and with every quake, the solid rock beneath him began to crumble as weak points were exploited. The ridge, stretching for hundreds of meters, started to cave in as if it had been hollow all along. Aegon's power was unmistakable. The mountain collapsed in on itself, burying countless Triarchy forces alive.

Amidst the devastation, Aegon propelled himself into the air with a blast of fire, narrowly avoiding being caught in the collapse. The cliff that had once stood as an impenetrable stronghold was now nothing more than a vast rubble slope. There was nothing left of the tunnels or the men who had hidden within them.

The Velaryon soldiers, along with Daemon, Rhaenyra, and Laenor, watched in stunned silence from their varied vantage poitns, None had ever witnessed such power. Aegon Targaryen, their prince, wielded a force that seemed nearly apocalyptic. His command over the earth, combined with the fire of his dragon, made him a weapon unlike any the realm had ever seen.

Aegon rocketed back onto Vermithor's back, his mind already calculating the next steps. As they took to the skies again, he noted that many more cliff formations remained standing, each harboring more of the Triarchy's hidden forces. But he was unbothered by the scale of the task. He had time. And with every strike, with every slam, he would bring the entire mountain range crashing down if need be. The Triarchy had underestimated him, and soon, they would pay the ultimate price.

An hour later. 

The Velaryon troops combed through the battlefield, their senses alert despite the lingering heat and smoke left by the dragonfire. Any Triarchy soldiers who managed to survive the inferno were quickly dispatched, the fear instilled by the dragons giving the Velaryon forces an undeniable edge. The victory was decisive, the battlefield theirs by the moons climax that night. 

Returning to Grey Gallows later that night, after the chaos had settled, Rhaenyra dismounted Syrax with urgency in her steps. She rushed toward Aegon, her heart pounding not from battle but from the awe she felt. She leapt into his arms, her face aglow with excitement and admiration. Their first victory of many together had been unlike anything she had ever experienced, and as they locked eyes, both knew they were witnessing the beginning of something monumental, just as expected. 

But there was something more. As they embraced, a thought crossed her mind, a thought she could no longer keep to herself. Urging him to their private tent, Rhaenyra pulled Aegon inside, her hands trembling with both joy and nerves. Once inside, she settled on his lap, cupping his face and kissing him deeply, savoring the moment before pulling back. Her violet eyes shimmered as she prepared to speak the words that would change everything.

"Aegon," she whispered, her voice soft but steady. "I'm with child."

A long silence followed. Aegon's eyes widened, and for a moment, it seemed as if the weight of her words hadn't fully registered as all air was drawn from his lungs like bellows. But then, slowly, the realization dawned. His expression transformed from shock to overwhelming joy.

"I...I'm...going to be a f-father" He stumbled over his words with a slight horsiness in his voice. 

Without warning, he shot to his feet, lifting Rhaenyra in his arms as he let out the loudest cheer she had ever heard from him.

"I'm going to be a father! I'm having a child!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the camp as he rushed outside, holding Rhaenyra close as if she were lighter than air. The soldiers around them, hardened by battle only hours prior, broke into cheers and laughter as Aegon shouted the news again and again, without a care in the world. "I'M GOING TO BE A FATHER!"

The men around them, some still holding their weapons from the skirmish, joined in the celebration, their applause and congratulations filling the night air. Daemon, who had stood aloof in the background, allowed a small, genuine smile to creep across his face, but not like the one prior that was smeared with antagonism. Though he was not as outwardly ecstatic, even he could not deny the happiness of the moment, quietly pleased for his niece and nephew.

Aegon, overcome with emotion, finally placed Rhaenyra back on the ground. Her face radiated happiness, brighter than it had been since their wedding night. They shared a moment, gazing into each other's eyes, until Aegon suddenly fell quite, his legs giving way as he fell backward. The weight of the news, combined with the exhaustion of battle and the surge of adrenaline, finally caught up with him. His armor clanked as he hit the ground, unconscious but with a smile on his face.

Rhaenyra gasped before laughing softly, kneeling beside him. She stroked his hair gently as the soldiers nearby looked on, some laughing, others shaking their heads in amusement. Aegon had passed out from sheer happiness, and in that moment, Rhaenyra knew that no matter what battles lay ahead, they were bound by something stronger than victory, by family, by love, and by the life they had created together.