"Laena!" Daemon shouted, startled by his wife's sudden arrival.
Without a moment's hesitation, Laena called out crisply, "Dracarys!"
"Roar…" Vhagar swooped down, unleashing Dragonfire that shattered the defenses of several watchtowers before quickly taking to the air again. Laena, with her silver hair flowing in the wind, rode gracefully in the saddle, her shoulders bound in chains for security. Restricted by her pregnancy, she wore no armor, only a thin white dress.
Vhagar, like a protective mother, flew fast and steady, ensuring Laena's safety. Daemon stared for a moment before quickly grasping his wife's intentions.
"Roar…" Caraxes, sensing the unity, shot up into the sky, following Vhagar and spewing Dragonfire in synchronization.
Over the eight years of traveling the Free Cities, the bond between Daemon and Laena had deepened, mirrored by the connection between their dragons. Vhagar and Caraxes frequently soared together, displaying scenes of two dragons dancing in perfect harmony.
Rewind twenty to thirty years, and the masters of these two dragons were Aemon and Baelon, known for their legendary achievement in the "Hundred Candles Battle."
"Dracarys!" Laena's eyes were resolute as she commanded Vhagar to break through the harbor's defenses, carving a flaming path of destruction.
Vhagar roared repeatedly, its vertical pupils indifferent to the chaos, its huge body a relentless killing machine.
Even Caraxes, powerful as it was, dared not approach too closely, instead flanking to provide support. Despite Vhagar's age and gradually aging body, it displayed an unparalleled destructive force, living up to his name as the Goddess of War
"Attack!" Daemon shouted. "Siege the free city…"
With the two dragons dancing in deadly harmony, the morale of their forces soared. They charged into Tyrosh, following the scorched path left by Vhagar's fiery wrath.
In moments, Tyrosh descended into chaos.
...
A squad of guardsmen rushed up the tower, aiming their scorpion crossbows at the sky.
"Roar!" Vhagar's war consciousness was strong, and the dragon's head aimed at the tower, spewing black smoke and rolling Dragonfire.
Laena crouched low, protecting the child in her womb. She had received secret messages from several of her cousins about Daemon's intent to wage a private war. Each day, her worry and depression grew.
Now she understood how Vhagar felt. Determined to correct her husband's mistake, she mounted Vhagar's back, fulfilling her duty as both wife and dragon rider. With a mournful whimper, Vhagar carried her across the Narrow Sea. The old dragon had finally returned to the battlefield.
"Laena, help the army in the alleys!" Daemon, worried, urged his wife to stay out of range of the scorpion crossbows. Vhagar was too large, easily becoming a living target among the tall towers.
At 170 years old, Vhagar's scales had hardened over time, becoming harder than steel. Even the Cannibal's strengthened scales were not as thick. Age had not only weakened Vhagar's body, it had also increased his ability to survive.
Daemon shook his head and smiled. His wife, inheriting his cousin's quick mind, was much smarter than him. The couple rode their dragons, destroying towers as they soared above the city. With dragon support, the army's morale soared, driving them straight into the city.
Within an hour, the army defeated the defending forces and surrounded the Archon's mansion on the west side of the city. Caraxes landed boldly, stepping into the mansion's vestibule.
Daemon looked around. The mansion was silent, a scene of abandonment.
Bang! The mansion gate was violently broken down, and soldiers poured in.
Daemon's face darkened as he ordered coldly, "Search every corner. Don't spare a single soul!"
Archon Milov had insulted him with numerous letters. Daemon was determined to roast him alive.
...
Tyrosh, a hidden beach on the east side.
"Move quickly."
"Hurry, or it will be too late."
Hundreds of well-equipped mercenaries fled, led by the brash Milov. They carried crates of gold, silver, and jewelry, and in the middle of the group, seven or eight rich prisoners were bound and dragged along.
Milov looked back at the city and saw the huge green dragon hovering like a massive mountain, pressing down on Tyrosh.
"Gulp." Milov swallowed hard, envy and jealousy twisting his face. "Damn it, how come Targaryen has so many dragons?"
He had thought he could barely resist with only Daemon attacking the city. The Sealord of Braavos had sent a message urging him to defend the city-state to the death, promising support from a hidden fleet in the Narrow Sea.
Bullshit! Sealord Braavos was clearly swindling him, using him as bait to attract the Iron Throne's attention. As a mercenary, he knew when it was time to cut and run.
Clap Clap Clap...
The tide surged onto the beach, and several small sailing ships hid outside the reef.
"Get on board, and don't lose my treasure and hostages!" Milov shouted, drawing his sword to deter his men with his remaining authority.
"Roar--"
Suddenly, a pair of pitch-black wings covered the sky, and the beach echoed with a flood of roaring.
Rhaegar looked down and immediately saw the fleeing mercenaries. Smoke churned in the city, signaling that the war was nearing its end.
"Dracarys," Rhaegar said in a clear, cold voice.
Cannibal's green vertical pupils glowed coldly, and spewed raging Dragonfire.
Zira...
The green Dragonfire descended like smoke and mist. Upon contact, it wrapped around its victims, scorching flesh and turning bodies into dry, charred corpses.
The mercenaries wailed in agony, unable to escape, rolling around in vain attempts to extinguish the flames.
"Ah! It hurts!"
A mercenary, his upper body engulfed in Dragonfire, screamed as he ran, colliding with Milov like a headless fly.
Milov was knocked to the ground, the Dragonfire instantly clinging to his leather armor and spreading to his head and face.
"Bastard, what kind of fire is this!"
His tight skin burned through, and Milov screamed in agony, convulsing as if having a seizure. The flames burned through his skull, and the convulsions gradually ceased.
Boom...
Cannibal landed with a crash, scattering gravel everywhere. The dozen or so remaining mercenaries were terrified, their legs trembling as they looked up at the evil dragon before them. The rich had long since gone limp, men, women, and children wetting their pants.
Screams filled the air, and the vision of green flames flickered, as if they were in the seventh layer of hell.
Rhaegar took a few glances and said blandly, "Are you the rich merchants of Tyrosh?"
The only ones who could escape at a time like this were the elite of Tyrosh. Those who could be bundled up and taken along were naturally the wealthy within the city-state.
A bearded man nodded furiously and hurriedly said, "Honorable Dragonlord, we have money!"
"We also promised Black Swan our allegiance to you," another person immediately added, afraid they would miss their chance if they spoke too late.
The rest of the rich people rolled onto their knees and bowed in fearful submission. With such a large dragon in front of them, their respect and honor seemed exceptionally fragile.
Rhaegar's eyes twinkled as he said, "Don't worry, with your allegiance to me, blood and fire will not befall you."
Sweeping his eyes over the trembling mercenaries, he coldly said, "The same goes for you. Forsake evil and protect these people, and I will forgive your sins."
"Yes, merciful Targaryen Dragonlord!" The dozen or so mercenaries knelt down in surprise, as if they had been reborn.
"You all stay here and wait for my men to pick you up afterward," Rhaegar ordered, patting the dragon's back and taking off towards the city.
As he rode the dragon over the beach, he unconsciously hooked his lips into a smile. He had thought the pigs they raised had been slaughtered, but fortunately, a few lucky ones had survived.
...
Meanwhile, the entire western city center of Tyrosh was captured. The remaining six thousand troops were divided into three groups: three thousand to the southern city, two thousand to the northern city, and one thousand stationed in the western city.
In the Grand Army Residence, Vhagar had destroyed most of the towers and slowly landed in the mansion's vestibule.
"Laena," Daemon called out as he immediately climbed down from the dragon's back, his armor clinking with every step.
Laena, her forehead beaded with sweat, unlocked her shoulder chains and began descending the soft ladder. Before she could land, Daemon took her by the legs and back, smoothly catching her.
Looking at his wife, whom he hadn't seen in a long time, Daemon yanked his helmet off roughly and asked eagerly, "Laena, why are you here?"
Laena's expression was complex as she stared at her husband in silence.
"Why aren't you saying anything?" Daemon asked, confused.
Her eyes filled with disappointment, Laena finally questioned, "Daemon, Rhaegar's military order was to surround but not attack. How dare you start a private war!?"
Daemon frowned slightly, unhappy with the turn of events. "I blocked the news. Who told you?"
"Daemon, I am your wife!" Laena's frustration boiled over. "My family has risked their lives for you. Do you think you can hide this from me?"
Growing impatient, Daemon said in a deep voice, "I fought for honor, to win a territory that belongs to me and to the child in your womb!"
"You only have honor and your pride in your eyes. Don't use me and the child as leverage!" Laena's disappointment turned to anger as she shouted, "For the sake of your pride, you'd rather sacrifice the soldiers who follow you. You're only doing this for your own selfish desires."
Having been his wife for many years, she understood his personality better than Daemon did himself. Beneath the lonely, arrogant, and magnificent exterior of the Rogue Prince was a selfish, paranoid, and reckless man—sometimes less understanding than a child.
Daemon's temper flared. He glanced at Laena's swollen belly and forced himself to say, "Whatever you say, I've already struck down Tyrosh."
"You struggled to make peace with the king. Have you thought about how you're going to face your brother after this battle?" Laena's anger was palpable, her breath growing sharper.
Fed up with wandering and her husband's constant foolishness, she felt a sudden warmth between her legs. Laena's face blanched. Ignoring the soldiers around her, she reached under her skirt, fumbling.
When she pulled her hand out, her fingers were stained with blood.
Daemon froze in place, his expression turning to one of shock and fear.
Laena's pale lips quivered. "I seem to be in labor."
She had been sleepless and depressed for the past month. After the argument with Daemon, her water broke.
Daemon's face changed drastically. He rushed to Laena, picked her up, and carried her to a nearby attic building, shouting anxiously, "Go call the accompanying maester, quickly!"
The soldiers didn't dare to be slow, rushing out of the mansion to summon help.
...
Not long after, Cannibal soared above Tyrosh, surveying the chaos below.
"Roar..."
A wail full of emotion echoed far and wide.
Cannibal's green vertical pupils locked onto the Archonh's mansion in the western city center.
Rhaegar was stunned for a moment, then said suspiciously, "Vhagar?"
He recognized Vhagar's grief-filled wail immediately.
"Cannibal, rush over."
Rhaegar frowned, sensing something was wrong.
Cannibal turned and soared away.
Soon, the dragon landed outside the mansion's gate.
"Prince..."
The soldiers guarding the gate brightened up and saluted.
Rhaegar nodded and barged straight into the mansion.
As he entered, Vhagar's huge, distressed form was conspicuous, lying among the rubble and wailing uncontrollably.
From hundreds of meters away, Rhaegar saw Daemon standing grimly in front of an attic door, at a loss for words and flailing around.
Rhaegar stepped forward, about to speak.
"Ah! Come out quickly..."
Laena's anguished scream echoed from behind the door, filled with heartbreaking pain.
Rhaegar winced, choking back the words that came to his mouth.
There was only one thought in his mind:
"She's giving birth! It must be hurting like hell!"
(Word count: 1,993)