In the silent, pre-dawn hours of Dragonstone, the candles in Aegon's study burned low. He was obsessively refining his administrative blueprints when Helaena appeared, her footsteps ghost-quiet. She moved behind him, her cool fingers massaging his tension-knotted temples.
"Still awake?" she whispered.
Aegon leaned back, pulling her into his lap. "Not tired yet. Why are you up?"
Helaena leaned her head against his shoulder, her eyes unfocused. "I had a dream. A snowstorm from the North that swallowed the stars... and from the South, endless grey figures. Aegon, I'm afraid. There were corpses scattered over the mountains like autumn leaves beneath their feet."
Aegon's hand stilled. He knew of the Others—the cold threat from beyond the Wall that had haunted the Targaryen bloodline since the Conqueror's dream. But the grey figures from the South? "Did you see who they were? Dornishmen?"
"No," Helaena murmured, her breathing already beginning to even out as sleep reclaimed her. "I couldn't see... I'm sorry."
Aegon carried her to bed, but sleep eluded him. He spent the remaining hours scouring A History of the Strange and Mysterious World. He found no mention of "grey figures" that fit, save for descriptions of Greyscale. But Greyscale was a plague, not an army. The unknown nagged at him, a splinter in his mind that no amount of logic could pull.
The East District: A Discovery in the Dirt
By mid-morning, the East District—the settlement for Aegon's naval officers and knights—was a hive of activity. Unlike the North District, where refugees scraped by on rations, the East was flush with "resettlement gold" Aegon had distributed.
Ser Arryk was personally supervising the foundation of the fertilizer plant. To some, it was a lowly task, but Aegon had promised that with enough nitrate-rich soil, the Stepstones could yield 180 pounds of grain per acre—surpassing even the Reach. Arryk was determined to prove it.
"My Lord! Something's happened at the waste disposal site!" a guard shouted, skidding to a halt.
Arryk's exhaustion vanished. "What now? A cave-in?"
"No, Sire. You... you need to see it."
Arryk followed the man to the excavation pit. He looked down and his jaw dropped. In the dark earth lay a massive, obsidian-hued curve of bone.
"Stop digging!" Arryk roared. He leaped into the pit, brushing away the soil from what looked like a snout. It was a dragon's skull. "Gods be praised... get the Prince! Now!"
Aemond burst into Aegon's room just as he had finally closed his eyes, holding a bacon and honey-sauce sandwich.
"Aemond, you'd better have a very good reason for this," Aegon groaned.
"They found a skeleton in the East District. Arryk says it's huge."
Aegon was dressed and on Sunfyre in minutes. When he landed near the pit, Arryk met him with wide eyes.
"How big?" Aegon asked, skipping the pleasantries.
"I've seen Balerion's skull in the Red Keep, Your Highness," Arryk said, his voice trembling. "This snout... it's similar. Perhaps even larger."
Aegon stood at the edge of the pit. Even partially buried, the sheer scale of the vertebrae and the blackened, iron-hard texture of the bone was staggering. This wasn't just a dragon; it was a leviathan from an age before the Doom.
"Cordon off five hundred meters," Aegon commanded, a sharp, predatory joy rising in his chest. "No one enters but our most trusted men."
To most, dragon bones were relics. To Aegon, they were weapons. Dragonbone was lighter than wood and as strong as steel. A bow carved from this could double the range of a standard longbow. If the skeleton was complete, he wouldn't just have a collection; he would have a corps of archers capable of raining death from distances no enemy could reach.
The Royal Edict
Three days later, the excitement of the find was tempered by a letter from King's Landing.
Aegon sat in his study, rereading Alicent's frantic handwriting. Viserys had issued an edict: Rhaenyra and Daemon's wedding would be held on July 7th—the exact same day as Aegon and Helaena's engagement feast.
Helaena entered, placing a plate of peeled grapes on his desk. "It's too quiet without Daeron chattering," she remarked.
Aegon pulled her close, kissing her cheek. "It won't be quiet for long. Mother says Rhaenyra and Daemon are coming here. They're holding their wedding alongside our engagement."
Helaena pulled back, her brow furrowing. "Together? I don't like her, Aegon. She's always... cold. Malicious."
"She's a thief," Aegon said, his voice devoid of anger, replaced only by a chilling disdain. "She clings to the power Father gave her because she knows it isn't hers by right. She's afraid of me, Helaena. She's afraid that the true heir will finally stand up."
Helaena cupped his face, her silver-gold hair catching the light. "Let her come. Let her bring her rogue prince."
She kissed his forehead, her voice firm. "If Father wants them to see us on our day, then we will show him who the true master of the Iron Throne is."
Aegon smiled. The discovery of the skeleton was an omen. The old dragons were dead, but the new ones were just beginning to roar.
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