At Dragonstone, a horn blast split the air, sharp and sudden, cutting through the island's stillness like steel across flesh.
When the sentries glimpsed the vast black shape descending from the clouds, the alarm was raised at once.
The Cannibal, black as a moonless void, swept over Dragonstone's towers and courtyards. Its immense leathered wings beat the air into a roaring gale as it descended into the outer yard of the castle.
"Land, Cannibal," Aegon commanded.
The dragon folded its wings and settled heavily into the courtyard. Nearby, the mutilated corpse of Sunfyre still lay where it had fallen.
The Cannibal loosed a satisfied bellow. Its meal was secured.
It was a sinful appetite, truly. Dragons and dragon eggs were the most precious treasures House Targaryen possessed.
The Cannibal stood still, allowing its rider to dismount.
Only then did all present behold the dragon in full.
Shock and terror seized them alike. It was as though a nightmare had taken flesh, a hell-beast dragged into the waking world.
The Cannibal was a monochrome dragon, an extreme rarity.
Most dragons bore more than one hue. Two-toned dragons were common enough, with crests, claws, bellies, and wings differing in shade.
Meleys the Red Queen, for instance, wore scarlet scales and pink wing membranes, her horns and talons gleaming like polished copper.
But the Cannibal was something else entirely.
Enormous. Overbearing. Evil.
That was the first impression it inspired.
Its scales were black as endless night, its wings vast beyond measure, the plates gleaming like jet. Its head was massive and feral, its black teeth long and sharp as swords. It could no longer swallow a mammoth whole, but a warhorse would vanish down its throat without effort.
Its horns curved backward in elegant rows, and a ridge of spines lined its back like a crown of black scimitars.
And its eyes.
A sickly green, like wildfire burning in darkness, eyes that spoke of arrogance, savagery, and a king's lonely reign.
Anyone who met that gaze would swear they had seen the Black Death itself.
Aegon leapt from the dragon's back like a victorious general returned from triumph.
Princess Rhaena, Ser Harold, and the guards alike were overcome with joy. None of them could quite believe it. Prince Aegon had returned alive, and with the most fearsome dragon still living.
Aegon patted the Cannibal's snout. "Go on, partner."
The dragon lifted its head, cast a disdainful glance at the tiny insects crowding the yard, and then lingered, its gaze settling upon Princess Rhaena.
Silver-haired and violet-eyed, Rhaena felt a chill creep up her spine. Any living soul would feel their breath falter before such a creature.
"Do not look at my sister's dragon eggs," Aegon said sharply, smacking the Cannibal lightly on the brow. "They are all precious."
Only then did he understand.
The Cannibal wanted to eat dragon eggs.
Beside Rhaena rested a small casket containing a pink dragon egg, the most vibrant of them all. The Cannibal's attention lingered there.
To the Cannibal, dragon eggs were the greatest delicacy of all.
Priceless treasures, exquisite beyond measure. And yet the Cannibal had doubtless devoured more than its share over the years. A dreadful habit.
The dragon snorted in displeasure and turned away, resuming its feast upon Sunfyre's golden flesh. A freshly slain dragon was not to be wasted.
Aegon resolved to break that habit one day. There were no she-dragons left now, and dragon eggs were finite. Even Sunfyre's corpse was a once-only indulgence, best savored.
"Aegon." Princess Rhaena wrapped her arms around her brother. "You are back. Thank the gods."
She had endured too many farewells already. Jace and her brothers, her father, her mother.
In all the world, only a handful of Targaryens remained.
Those who had once shared joy together were now mostly dead or gone.
"I am back," Aegon said with a grin. "And I brought my dragon."
The sunset gilded his face. In that moment, Aegon possessed a singular and undeniable charm, bright and keen as a freshly drawn sword.
From that day forward, none would outshine him.
House Targaryen's history had gained a new page, and his name was written upon it.
"You succeeded. You rode a great dragon back," Rhaena said, tears mingling with laughter. "But it was too dangerous. Do not be so reckless."
Fear still clung to her. Her three brothers had been brave and headstrong as well, and all had died young in war, mistaking battle for sport. She could not bear to lose another.
"I promise you, Sister," Aegon said lightly.
He was still handsome, though the bald scalp and missing eyebrows gave him the look of some dark sorcerer newly risen from legend.
"Could someone bring me clothes?" he added sheepishly. "I look like a beggar."
Ser Harold promptly produced a set of black-and-red Targaryen garments.
"Your hair. Your eyebrows," Rhaena said, studying his head with concern.
"Burned away by the Cannibal's fire," Aegon replied calmly. "They will grow back."
She let out a breath of relief. A permanently bald Aegon would have been a tragedy indeed.
"That dragon," the maester said, unable to stop himself. "It truly obeys you?"
"Yes," Aegon answered simply. "My dragon. My partner. I rode him back myself."
The words struck like thunder.
The Blacks had gained another dragon, and an ancient one at that. The Greens' cause was finished.
Fear. Awe. And Reverence.
High risk, high reward. The reckless Targaryen youth had proven his courage. He would rival his forebears and carve legends of his own.
Once word spread that the Blacks' first heir commanded the king of the wild dragons, a beast rivaling the Black Dread itself, allegiances would follow without question.
The realm was weary of war. No one wished to burn again.
In that moment, the war was already decided.
"Congratulations, my prince," Ser Harold said, beaming.
The knights of the Vale found their voices and began to cheer. "The Seven have spoken. Prince Aegon has claimed the Cannibal. This is the gods' will."
Victory was all but assured.
"But hear me," Aegon said firmly. "No one speaks of this. No ravens. No word to Oldtown. Especially not you, Maester."
He trusted the maester least of all. The Hightowers held sway over the Citadel, and Aegon despised Oldtown's influence.
"Yes. Yes," came the hurried replies.
A new dragonrider required time, time to bond, to train, to protect himself. This secret had to remain sealed.
"At the proper moment," Aegon said, "we will release the news, and it will shake the world."
"But Baela and Grandfather are still in King's Landing," Rhaena said anxiously.
"They will be safer there for now," Aegon replied. "With House Arryn and the fleet."
He would not rush King's Landing. He would keep flying and keep growing stronger.
The city was a festering boil, swollen with mouths to feed. The Greens' tyranny would only make the Blacks seem merciful by comparison.
When the city finally burst, he would return as a savior.
As for the mob, Aegon felt no love for them.
He had fed them faithfully, and they had named him Dragonbane for his restraint.
Very well.
He would give them the king they wanted, a king like the Conqueror, like the Judge, unmatched and terrible.
"Keep an eye on my friend," Aegon told the guards. "Sunfyre should nearly fill him. If not, prepare cattle and sheep."
"Yes."
The guards treated the Cannibal as a god, or a demon.
"Where will you sleep tonight," Aegon asked, "here, or upon Dragonmont?"
The Cannibal lifted its head from its bloody feast, black teeth dripping meat. It turned its gaze toward Dragonmont and roared once.
"Dragonmont, then," Aegon said, nodding. "Come for me tomorrow. We will fly again."
The dragon snapped its jaws once in answer and returned to its meal.
"Come, Sister. I am starving," Aegon said, taking Rhaena's hand.
"I want to hear everything that happened," she replied, walking beside him.
Aegon to the left.
Rhaena to the right.
Ser Harold following behind.
"Will you not change your dragon's name?" Rhaena asked. "Cannibal is rather blunt."
Targaryen dragons were often named for gods and grandeur, Balerion, Meraxes, Vhagar, or for beauty and symbolism, Sunfyre, Moondancer, Silverwing, Quicksilver, Dreamfyre.
Wild dragons bore names given by smallfolk and fishermen, Cannibal, Sheepstealer. Crude, but fitting.
"No need," Aegon said. "He likes it. And it suits him. Just keep watch over our dragon eggs. Do not let him steal them."
-------
A/N:
Read ahead on Patreon, 23 advance chapters available, with the first 2 free.
patreon.com/Captain_Lag