The sky had just begun to brighten.
The battlefield at Rook's Rest still smelled of the smoke that had not dissipated from yesterday. The scent of dragonfire, thick with sulfur... The remnants of the siege towers lay twisted beneath the city walls, still smoking. Before them, on the plain in front of Rook's Rest, corpses lay scattered everywhere—soldiers, some knights, impossible to tell who was who. Crows had already begun to gather, a black mass pressing down, perching on the battlements, waiting for their feast.
Aemond had come to Rook's Rest, to the forest on the west side, where the temporary camp was. He had just arrived on Lothron. He had not slept all night; his eyes were bloodshot. Rhaenys was dead by his hand, and now he needed to know the fate of Aegon the Second. At this moment, the Greens could not lose their king. Otherwise, it would be a severe blow to the entire Green faction. Aemond also hoped that Aegon was well, even if his brother was somewhat foolish. But for Aemond, he was the perfect puppet to control—unless he killed himself... Aegon the Second would obediently listen to him. Besides, he was still his brother...
Outside the camp, the guards on duty had just seen the black dragon in the sky and were terrified, thinking it was another Black dragonrider. Now the whole army wanted to retreat, but His Grace Aegon the Second was grievously wounded, forcing the army to take the risk and camp in place.
"Is that the Blacks' dragon?" a guard asked curiously.
"Fool! That's Lothron! It's the prince's dragon!" A veteran smacked the recruit on the back of his head.
The guards, seeing it was Prince Aemond, bowed their heads in greeting and immediately opened the gates.
"Prince."
"It's the prince who's here."
"Prince..."
A group of soldiers watched as a figure in battered armor entered—Prince Aemond, with his long silver hair reaching his waist.
Aemond was expressionless, did not respond, simply walked forward.
Nearby, two soldiers crouched by a tent, starting a fire, watching the approaching Prince Aemond and murmuring quietly.
"I heard His Grace is still alive?"
"Being alive is as good as dead. Falling from such a height and surviving is a miracle."
"His Grace must thank his dragon. Without his dragon, His Grace would surely have died."
"What about the dragon? That golden one?"
"Sunfyre? Even worse. I looked from a distance—his belly was nearly ripped open, his intestines almost spilling out. He also lost an eye."
"Seven gods... Can he still live?"
"I don't know. The maesters are all around the dragon."
"Those maesters? Can they treat dragons?"
"Can they treat people? They still can't heal a dragon?"
"A dragon is still a dragon... Their constitution is certainly different from us mortals."
Another soldier approached them and lowered his voice.
"You two talk... Who is the prince?"
"Who? A man who knows how to fight."
"Knows how to fight? Why didn't the prince join the battle yesterday?"
"My good brother pushed me away yesterday, but he was burned alive by dragonfire." The soldier's eyes were somewhat dark.
Another veteran comforted him, patting him on the shoulder, and said, "Be glad you survived the attack of two dragons, boy."
The soldier nodded. "May the Seven Gods bless us..."
The soldier who had just arrived spoke.
"I've heard it now—His Grace..."
"What happened to His Grace?"
"Just now I heard from the lords and officers that the prince is to be Regent."
"Regent? That's not..."
"Shh... Quiet."
The three secretly glanced at Aemond's back and dared not speak again.
---
Aemond walked to the clearing where Sunfyre lay.
Sunfyre lay in the open space, surrounded by several maesters and attendants. The golden dragon was covered in blood, his scales shattered, a huge wound on his belly where flesh and blood were clotted, the organs within faintly visible. His right eye was closed, blood still seeping from the socket—clearly blind.
He heard footsteps and slowly opened his left eye. The golden pupil saw Aemond and let out a soft cry.
Aemond walked over immediately.
The maesters quickly stepped aside.
"Prince, he is too seriously wounded," the army's attending maester said, shaking his head. "The bones in his right wing are all shattered, the wound on his belly is too deep, his internal organs are damaged, and his right eye cannot be saved... We have done our best, but..."
Aemond did not speak. He crouched down and looked at Sunfyre. Sunfyre's eyes also looked at him. In those eyes were pain, exhaustion, and a faint plea. He did not want to die. He did not want to die.
"You saved that fool," Aemond said, crouching to look at him, whispering.
Sunfyre blinked his one intact left eye, then let out a discontented cry, as if he understood but was displeased with Aemond calling his master Aegon a fool.
Aemond was silent a moment.
Then he drew a dagger from his belt.
The surrounding maesters were frightened and stepped back.
Aemond cut the palm of his left hand. Blood gushed out.
He pressed his hand to Sunfyre's mouth.
"Drink."
Sunfyre was stunned. He felt a familiar scent. There was something strange in the blood that made the blood in his body boil, and the pain in his wounds lessened slightly. He extended his barbed tongue and gently licked it. Then he began to drink.
The blood flowed over his tongue, into his mouth, down his throat, into his body. He felt a surge of warmth spread through his body, felt his wounds slowly healing, felt the fire of life burning again.
Aemond crouched motionless, letting him lick gently.
He knew his blood would keep Sunfyre alive. He still had high hopes for Sunfyre; his rider was loyal, and his combat ability was also very high.
The surrounding maesters were stunned.
"This... this..."
"Seven above..."
Aemond turned his head and glanced at them.
The maesters were too frightened by Aemond's look to speak, and quickly retreated.
Hal had already arrived with his bodyguards and noticed this. Hal knew what to do. Killing a few maesters—wasn't that routine?
Suddenly Aemond said, "Forget it."
Hal was somewhat surprised.
"You killed them all, then who will treat His Grace?"
"Just warn them. If word leaks, their entire families will be executed."
Hal nodded.
Nearby, Sunfyre had finally drunk enough.
Sunfyre closed his eyes and lay on the ground, his breathing gradually steadying, his left eye closed as if he were sleeping.
Aemond stood. His hand was still bleeding.
Hal quickly stepped forward and handed him a bandage. Aemond took it and wrapped it himself.
"Keep an eye on him," he said. "Feed him meat. Fresh meat."
Hal nodded repeatedly. "Yes, yes, Your Grace, don't worry."
---
Aemond turned and walked toward the royal tent, not far away.
Though it was morning, the light inside the tent was very dim.
Aegon lay on a campaign cot, his face pale as paper. His legs were splinted and wrapped in bandages; dried blood was at the corners of his mouth. Two maesters stood aside, looking exhausted.
Seeing Aemond enter, they quickly rose.
"Prince."
Aemond went to the cot and looked at Aegon.
"His Grace—how is he?"
The elder maester spoke. "His Grace's life is fortunate," he said. "Falling from such a height, protected by his dragon, he did not die. But the internal bleeding was very severe, and his chest was damaged..."
The maester hesitated for a while.
"His Grace needs to recover. At least until he is well, he cannot leave his bed, cannot exert himself, cannot... do anything."
"And in the future?"
The maester hesitated for a moment. "In the future... he will also be weak."
He did not finish. This internal bleeding—though Aegon the Second was blessed and fated, he was not sure what would come next...
But Aemond understood.
Aegon was crippled. Even if he lived, he was useless. But as long as he did not die, the Greens still needed Aegon the Second's banner.
He looked at Aegon.
Aegon's eyes were closed, his brow furrowed, as if caught in some nightmare.
Aemond remembered the battle at Dragonstone not long ago. At that time, he had felt that although this brother was foolish, he was not bad. Though he hesitated somewhat, he still stood on their side.
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