In the dead of night, Sara was startled from her sleep by a series of urgent, frantic knocks at her door.
She sat up instantly, her hand darting toward the dagger she kept on her bedside table.
The knocking ceased, replaced by a hushed, breathless whisper.
"Miss Sara. A letter from Tyrosh."
She threw a heavy cloak over her shoulders and pulled open the solid oak door.
Standing outside was a youth barely in his teens. He remained entirely silent, thrusting a tightly rolled parchment into her hand before turning on his heel and vanishing into the fortress's pitch-black corridors.
Sara closed the door and hastily unfurled the parchment.
The message was brutally short, containing only three lines:
'Your son is in our hands.If you want him to live, take Silverwing and Vermithor back to Tyrosh. Tell no one. Bring no one.If the Blacks find out, your son is dead.'
Sara's face turned deathly pale in an instant. Her son. Little Jacaerys.
The infant was only a few months old, the child Queen Rhaenyra had just formally recognized as her grandson, and the child Sara treasured far more than her own life.
Now, her only son...
Her heart plummeted into the abyss. Sara felt the room spin violently and nearly collapsed.
She propped herself against the heavy stone doorframe, gasping for air, desperately forcing her panicked mind to calm down.
Who had done this? Regardless of their identity, their objective was glaringly obvious: they wanted the dragons.
Silverwing and Vermithor. They were using her child to sever her from the Blacks and bend the great beasts to their own will.
Sara gritted her teeth, tears falling uncontrollably down her cheeks.
She knew what logic dictated: she should immediately find Prince Daemon and inform the Queen.
But the final line of the letter was carved into her mind like a jagged blade: If the Blacks find out, your son is dead.
She couldn't take the risk. He was her only son, her only hope in this cruel world. She could not gamble with his life.
Wiping away her tears, Sara made her decision.
She fastened her black cloak, belted on her sword, and slipped out of her room without a sound.
Even if it meant breaking every vow she had just sworn, she would do it.
Deep inside the caverns of the Dragonmont, Silverwing was already awake.
The silver she-dragon seemed to sense her rider's unease, letting out a low, crooning whimper.
Nearby, Vermithor raised his massive head, his bronze scales glinting with an eerie luster as moonlight filtered through the cavern roof.
The two dragons were inseparable; wherever Silverwing flew, the Bronze Fury followed.
As Sara climbed into the heavy leather saddle, she stole one last, agonizing look back at the dark fortress.
'I'm sorry, My Queen. I'm sorry, Prince Daemon. I must save my child.'
Silverwing unfurled her vast wings and launched into the sky, with Vermithor following close behind.
The silhouettes of the two great beasts melted seamlessly into the night as they flew desperately toward the east.
It was the dead of night. Within the sprawling forest surrounding Rook's Rest, the dense, interlacing branches were so thick that even the moonlight could not penetrate the canopy. Hidden deep within these woods lay an abandoned iron mine.
The entrance was choked with overgrown weeds, and rusted iron tracks emerged from the cavern's maw, disappearing into the surrounding gloom.
This had once been a highly profitable iron mine for House Staunton, supplying vital ore for weapon forging.
But months ago, the vein had run dry, the miners had scattered, and the site had been left to rot.
Tonight, however, the ruins were far from silent.
Two figures lurked near the mouth of the cave, their silhouettes entirely swallowed by the darkness.
Only their rapid, shallow breathing betrayed their underlying tension.
Near the cave entrance, a pair of massive eyes was watching them.
They were golden eyes with slitted vertical pupils, glowing startlingly bright in the pitch-black like two burning coals.
The owner of those eyes was Morghul.
The black dragon's dark scales merged perfectly with the night; only his glowing eyes and the occasional puff of hot, sulfurous breath betrayed his towering presence.
Aemond Targaryen stood beside the beast.
A single sliver of moonlight filtered through a gap in the trees, illuminating him. His long silver hair was tossed by the chilling night wind, gleaming with a sharp, metallic luster in the pale light.
His single purple eye was deep and intensely focused as he gazed down at the two men kneeling in the dirt before him.
"Rise and speak," Aemond commanded softly.
"We are on the same side; there is no need for groveling here."
At his word, Kermit and Cat stood up, though they kept their heads respectfully bowed.
They had served as Aemond's hidden eyes and ears for years; they knew exactly when to speak and precisely how to act.
"Lord Regent," Kermit began first, his voice a low murmur.
"Some days ago in the capital, the Blacks sent assassins."
Aemond's eyebrow twitched slightly, but he remained silent.
"The targets were Princess Helaena, Queen Mother Alicent, and Queen Aelyn," Kermit continued, delivering the grim news.
"Tyra has already thwarted their plot. There were three assassins in total. Two were killed on the spot, and the third bit down on a poison tooth, taking his own life shortly after being captured."
Aemond was silent for a long moment before letting out a soft, dark chuckle.
"He knew it would fail," Aemond said dismissively.
"My uncle merely wants to provoke me. He hopes to keep us in a state of constant panic, forcing us to waste our focus and energy on defense."
Kermit and Cat exchanged a fleeting look but said nothing.
"Then, send our own men to assassinate Rhaenyra," Aemond ordered smoothly, his gaze fixing squarely on Kermit.
Kermit faltered. "Lord Regent, this... Dragonstone is heavily fortified."
"I know," Aemond interrupted.
"The men we send will die. But this isn't purely an attempt to kill her; it is a warning. To let them know that I, too, possess the reach to threaten them in their own beds."
Kermit nodded grimly. "Understood. I will see to it immediately."
"Furthermore," Aemond continued, "strengthen the security of the Red Keep. Increase the guard shifts from three to four. Rotate the passwords daily. Every single person entering or leaving the keep, regardless of their noble status, must pass through three strict levels of inspection. If Tyra's manpower is insufficient to handle it, draw loyal men directly from the garrison here at Rook's Rest."
"It will be done, My Lord."
Aemond pondered for a moment, his eye narrowing.
"What of the Faith, and that Grand Maester I ordered you to watch?"
Kermit's posture stiffened slightly. He knew exactly how crucial this question was.
"Grand Maester Noren..." he began, choosing his words with utmost care, "is acting perfectly normally. He attends the Small Council on time, diligently reports on his duties, and everything he says and does falls entirely within the expected purview of a Grand Maester. There is absolutely nothing suspicious about him."
"Nothing suspicious?" Aemond repeated, a dangerous trace of amusement coloring his tone.
"Then that is the greatest suspicion of all."
Kermit blinked, realization dawning on his face.
"The Lord Regent means..."
"To be entirely without flaw is abnormal," Aemond said flatly.
"Continue to watch him closely."
"Yes, My Lord."
Aemond shifted his stance.
"And the Faith?"
Kermit took a deep breath, knowing this was the true core of tonight's report.
"The Faith..." he hesitated for a fraction of a second, "the Faith has made a move."
"What move?"
Kermit lowered his voice to a grave whisper.
"They have bought up every ounce of the grain that His Majesty Aegon had requisitioned for the commoners of King's Landing."
Aemond's brow furrowed into a deep, dangerous knot.
Aegon had specifically seized that grain to pacify the starving smallfolk of the capital and prevent a full-scale winter famine.
To acquire it, his foolish brother had already provoked the North into open rebellion.
Aemond was furious at the political blunder, but Aegon had already paid the price in blood for his sheer stupidity.
If the North rebelled, so be it; as long as the Targaryen dragons ruled the skies, those mortal, earthbound armies posed no existential threat.
In Aemond's awareness of the original history, it was only ever in the grueling later stages of the war, after both factions were entirely exhausted and their dragons slain, that these territorial armies truly became the deciding factor.
According to Aegon's original plan, the seized Northern grain was supposed to be supplied to the commoners of King's Landing at a fair price, both to win the hearts of the masses and stabilize the volatile city.
But now, the Faith of the Seven had bought it all up?
-----
A/N:
If you are enjoying the start of the story.
Drop some stones to help this book reach higher.
You can read upto 40+ Chapters. + Images
You can also read "+2 Free Chapters".
www.patreon.com/
LastDreamer