House of the Dragon: son of flames and destruction

The mood on Dragonstone had soured.

Since the Shadow's explosive ascent into the clouds, neither side had spoken much in public. But the courtyards, halls, and high towers whispered constantly, the Greens and Blacks, each regrouping behind closed doors, plotting, fuming, spinning tales of what might have been.

He had rejected them all.

And that was what made him so dangerous.

In the Queen's Chambers, Alicent Hightower stood by the window, watching the sea storm below.

"He growled at Aemond," she said at last.

Otto stood beside her, hands folded in the sleeves of his maester-gray robe. "A creature like that doesn't growl for sport. It understands. That's no wild beast. That's a force."

"He's unbound. No saddle. No blood tie," Alicent said. "And now, Rhaenyra's sons stand closer to him than ours."

Otto's expression darkened. "Then we must act before that bond is forged with that beast"

"A prince," she snapped, before lowering her voice. "We say bastard, they say heir. The realm listens to whoever controls the dragons. And he is no ordinary dragon."

"Even Vhagar would hesitate."

"Aemond will not."

Otto regarded her. "We must be careful. If he is the size they say, he's no longer an asset. He's a deciding blow. Whichever side he lands on"

"ends the war before it begins."

Elsewhere, in the heart of the Stone Drum, Rhaenyra paced the chamber with a glass of Arbor red untouched in her hand.

"He looked at Lucerys like a lion watching a hare," she said.

"Yet he didn't strike," replied Daemon's absence a silence all could feel but none could fill.

Jacaerys sat near the fire. "He knew us. Or at least… he recognized something."

Harwin Strong leaned against the door, arms crossed. "He recognized a threat. That boy" he meant Aemond, "stood too bold. Too eager. A dragon that size doesn't trust eagerness. Only strength."

"And patience," Rhaenyra added. "We must give him no reason to turn away."

Lucerys looked down at his boots. "He didn't want us, either."

"He didn't want anyone," Jace reminded him. "He flew. That's what dragons do when they've made their mind up."

"And yet," Rhaenyra said slowly, her eyes narrowing, "he remains near us. He roosts at our doorstep."

A beat.

"Perhaps he's watching."

That evening, tension hung like fog across the castle.

The Black Council gathered again in private: Rhaenyra, Corlys Velaryon, Rhaenys, Lord Celtigar, and a handful of trusted voices. Meanwhile, the Greens began drafting letters to Oldtown and the royal court, their whispers growing colder, edged with desperation.

That was when the raven came.

A black-feathered arrow in the sky, bearing the sigil of House Velaryon.

The news was swift, and it was cruel.

Lady Laena Velaryon was dead.

Rhaenyra's breath caught as she read the seal.

Rhaenys staggered, catching herself on the table.

"She flew… Vhagar," Corlys whispered, staring down at the note. "She chose fire."

Silence.

Harwin bowed his head. Even Otto Hightower stood still, the edge of triumph caught on his lips like a man who'd stepped too close to a cliff.

"Where?" Rhaenyra asked hoarsely.

"Essos. Pentos. She was with Daemon. Their daughters… Baela and Rhaena… survived."

"They'll return," said Corlys, voice heavy. "They must."

That night, the storm over Dragonstone broke.

Thunder rolled across the island, echoing through its caves and towers. Wind howled. Somewhere above, unseen in the clouds, the Shadow roared once, long and low, a sound of fire.

But all heard it.

And the Blacks and the Greens paused in their scheming.

Because they all understood something unspoken.

The world was shifting again.

And the dragons felt it first.