A Song of Black and Golden Dragon

-Sunset Sea. One Week Later-

A massive shadow fell across the sea, darkening the waves as the roar of a titanic beast echoed through the air. It was a dragon, black as midnight, its size defying all reason and sense. This creature, a force of nature unto itself, served but one master—the man who rode upon its back.

The rider laughed, a sound of pure exhilaration that carried on the wind. His white hair gleamed like silver under the sun, a stark contrast to the black armor he wore. Together, man and dragon seemed to shine with an otherworldly light, as though the heavens themselves had blessed their union. The dragon's mighty wings beat the air, sending tidal waves crashing across the sea, as if the very elements bowed before their power.

"Faster, Alduin!" the man commanded, his voice filled with joy. The great beast obeyed without hesitation, surging forward with a speed that belied its colossal size. Waves churned in their wake, the sea itself trembling beneath the dragon's might.

Dragons had long been a boon to the Empire, their fiery breath and magical essence harnessed to create wonders beyond imagination. Yet, for all their utility, they remained creatures of destruction, their power as terrifying as it was awe-inspiring.

But even the mightiest of dragons had bent to the will of the first Emperor, Tyber Alargon. Since then, Alduin had chosen no rider but the man who now guided him through the skies. Their bond was unbreakable, forged in fire and blood.

"It has been too long, old friend," the man said, his voice softening as he patted the dragon's scaled back. His golden eyes scanned the horizon, narrowing as they caught sight of distant land. "Westeros is but a few hours away."

With a mental command, he urged Alduin higher. The dragon obeyed, climbing through the clouds until they soared above the world, hidden from mortal eyes. Alduin roared, a sound that shook the heavens, as he unleashed his full power, cutting through the sky with unimaginable speed.

The rider's grin widened, his heart racing with the thrill of the flight. The wind howled around them, but he felt no fear. For he was Cyrus Alargon, Crown Prince of the Achaemedian Empire, and the skies belonged to him.

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-King's Landing. Red Keep-

Dalia enjoyed the supper laid out before her, the king and his family gathered around the table. She treated this journey as a respite from the bureaucratic labyrinth of the Empire, finding a strange ease in the viper's nest that was King's Landing. It was a welcome change, though not without its own intrigues.

Her mood had lifted further upon receiving word the previous day that her brother was en route, accompanied by three of the Dragon Knights. The meeting of two dragon-riding houses would be a historic moment, and Dalia could not help but feel a thrill at the thought. What a time to be alive.

"Princess Dalia?" Rhaenyra's voice broke through her reverie, pulling her back to the present.

"Yes, Princess Rhaenyra?" Dalia replied, her smile soft and composed.

"You seemed lost in thought, my lady. Is something amiss?" Rhaenyra's question drew the attention of the entire table. Though unintended, the interruption was not unwelcome.

"It is my brother," Dalia explained, her gaze sweeping the room. "He has insisted on visiting. He brings with him three Dragon Knights."

"Dragon Knights?" Viserys asked, his tone cautious.

"Dragonriders, if you prefer, Your Grace," Dalia clarified. The room grew tense, the weight of her words settling over the assembled lords and ladies.

"Dragonriders... How many, Princess?" Viserys leaned forward, his interest piqued.

"Four, including my brother," Dalia replied simply.

"Which brother do you speak of, Princess?" Rhaenyra asked, her curiosity unmistakable.

It was no secret that the Targaryen princess had developed something of a fascination with the Crown Prince. Tales of his grand adventures across the continent had only deepened her admiration. Cyrus was a man who cherished freedom, but Dalia knew there was more to her brother than his charming exterior. Beneath his affable demeanor lay something darker, something she had glimpsed only once—and it had haunted her ever since. There was an inhuman quality to his soul, a shadow that even she could not fully comprehend.

Before the Targaryens could press further, a deafening roar shook the Red Keep to its foundations. The room erupted into chaos as servants and guards scrambled for safety or to protect the royal family. Yet, the Achaemedians remained calm, their composure unshaken. Dalia allowed herself a small smile.

"Do not fret, my lords and ladies," she declared as the tremors subsided. "There is no danger. Let us go to the balcony and greet them."

The Targaryens exchanged uneasy glances but followed Dalia to the largest balcony in the Red Keep. As they stepped into the open air, a massive shadow descended from the sky, eclipsing King's Landing in darkness. The beast emerged from the clouds, its black scales glistening like polished obsidian. Spikes jutted from its body, each one a testament to its lethal nature. The dragon's sheer size dwarfed even the Red Keep, its presence a declaration of power.

Alduin, for it could be no other, soared above the sea, its wings stirring waves that crashed against the city's walls. With a roar that shook the very foundations of King's Landing, the dragon landed near the castle, its gaze fixed on the Targaryens below. The royal family stood frozen, their forms swallowed by the shadow of the beast.

"That's enough, Alduin," a regal voice called from atop the dragon. The creature let out a low growl but obeyed, its massive head lowering slightly.

The voice's owner came into view, his black armor a masterpiece of craftsmanship, more art than mere protection. The helmet bore the sigil of the Empire—a twin-headed dragon—while the chest plate was adorned with intricate steelwork depicting mythical creatures, each detail rendered with unparalleled skill.

"Brother," Dalia said, her smile radiant.

"Ah, sister. I didn't see you from up here," the man called down, his tone apologetic. His gaze then shifted to the Westerosi royals, and he inclined his head slightly. "Pardon me, Your Grace. I couldn't find a suitable place to land my dragon."

The words snapped Viserys out of his awe-struck reverie. He had been captivated by the sheer majesty of the creature before him, a dragon that not only dwarfed Balerion the Black Dread but radiated an ancient, primal power that stirred something deep within his blood. It was a humbling sight, one that filled him with both admiration and unease.

"I assume you are Cyrus Alargon," Viserys said, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions within him. The armored prince gave a slight nod in acknowledgment. "We can make proper introductions once you've... parked your dragon near the Red Keep, Prince."

"Very well," Cyrus replied. With a mental command, Alduin spread his colossal wings and took to the sky once more, his shadow sweeping over King's Landing as he moved toward a more suitable landing site.

As the black dragon withdrew, three more dragons appeared on the horizon. Though smaller than Alduin, they were still larger than Balerion, their forms sleek and powerful as they cut through the clouds. The sight of them struck Viserys like a blow, a stark reminder of how far House Targaryen had fallen from the heights of Old Valyria.

"How far we have fallen," Viserys murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes grew watery, the weight of history pressing down on him.

Dalia, standing nearby, heard the king's quiet lament. She offered him a sympathetic smile. If the records of her grandfather were to be believed, Old Valyria had once mirrored the ancient Lorensia Empire—a realm of unimaginable power, where dragons of colossal size and magic beyond comprehension were commonplace. In those days, dragons larger than the Black Dread were not uncommon, and Valyrian magic had allowed them to grow even more formidable.

"Your Grace," Dalia said gently, drawing Viserys's attention. "We must greet them."

"Of course... of course," Viserys replied, his tone somber but resolute. He straightened his shoulders, the weight of his crown feeling heavier than ever as he prepared to welcome the dragonriders of the Achaemedian Empire.

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"Attending Crown Prince Cyrus of House Alargon, Warden of the Durendain Mountains, Guardian of the Iron Hills, Keeper of the Sacred Flame, Lord of the Black Fortress, and Protector of the Realm," the announcer declared, his voice booming through the hall.

Cyrus stepped forward, his helmet now removed, revealing a man of striking beauty and regal bearing. His fair skin and sharp features mirrored those of his sister, Princess Dalia, but it was his golden eyes that truly captivated—those orbs shimmered with an intensity that seemed to burn with hidden emotions. Behind him stood the Dragon Knights, their armor pitch black and adorned with blood-red capes. Like their master, their armor was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, etched with intricate designs of dragons that seemed almost alive in the flickering torchlight.

"Sister," Cyrus said, opening his arms. Dalia stepped forward, embracing him with a light, affectionate hug.

"You took your time," Dalia teased, her smile warm but playful.

"Father has his own way of doing things," Cyrus replied with a weak smile, his tone carrying a hint of exasperation.

"I see," Dalia murmured, her expression softening before she regained her composure. "Brother, allow me to introduce you to the monarch of this realm."

Cyrus's gaze shifted to the man standing behind Dalia—a figure clad in regal attire, a golden crown resting upon his head. The young prince quickly assessed the situation, then offered a slight bow.

"I am King Viserys of House Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men," Viserys said, his voice warm and welcoming. "I humbly greet your arrival, Prince Cyrus."

"The honor is mine, King Viserys," Cyrus replied, his voice carrying a note of genuine respect. His golden eyes glimmered with a passion that seemed to light up the room.

"We have prepared a feast in your honor, Prince Cyrus," Viserys continued, his smile broadening. "Though, I must admit, your arrival was unexpected. I hope you will find it to your liking."

"Nothing to worry about, Your Grace," Cyrus said, his smile widening. "I've heard tales of the feasts of Westeros—lavish affairs worthy of kings. I expect nothing less from the House of the Dragon."

Viserys chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "And are you not also of the House of the Dragon, Prince Cyrus?"

Cyrus laughed, a rich, hearty sound that filled the hall and drew smiles from those around him. The room seemed to warm at the sound, the tension melting away as the king and the crown prince exchanged pleasantries. Dalia watched the interaction with a mixture of surprise and admiration. Her brother had always possessed a charm that set him apart from the rest of their family—a gift for swaying hearts and minds, all while concealing his true intentions. In that moment, he reminded her of Cyrus the Builder, the ancient Emperor whose legacy still shaped their Empire.

As Cyrus walked alongside the king and his family, engaging them in conversation and drawing laughter with his wit, Dalia could only sigh. The web of intrigue she had woven with the Hydra's network spanned the nobility of Westeros, a labyrinth of information and manipulation. Yet here was her brother, dancing effortlessly through its center, fully aware of its threads but seemingly indifferent to their pull

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-Later Evening-

The Alargons and the Targaryens dined together, sharing stories and laughter as the evening wore on. While Princess Dalia remained guarded, carefully measuring her words, Crown Prince Cyrus seemed far more at ease, freely recounting tales of his homeland. His stories of Alduin, in particular, captivated the room.

"Alduin is a dragon unlike any other," Cyrus began, pausing to take a bite of his meal. "If the tales are to be believed, the Lorensians poured all their knowledge of dragonlore into his creation. As a result, Alduin is deeply connected to the magic of the world itself."

"What does that mean, Prince Cyrus?" Rhaenyra asked, her violet eyes alight with curiosity.

"When Lorensia fell, Alduin refused to yield," Cyrus explained, his golden eyes locking onto hers. "His power alone held back three imperial legions—the I, X, and XV Legions, renowned for breaking the unbreakable. It is said that Alduin's roar commands the very forces of nature. With that power, he purged much of the Lorensian capital."

"Why do you refer to Alduin as 'it,' my prince?" Rhaenyra pressed, her voice soft but insistent.

Cyrus paused, his gaze drifting to the flickering candles on the table as he considered his answer. "Because Alduin is neither male nor female," he said at last. "Yet, it can produce as many dragon eggs as needed. More than that, it possesses the power to ensure those eggs hatch."

"Do you mean Alduin can lay eggs at will?" Rhaenyra asked, her astonishment evident. Her voice carried across the table, drawing the attention of the others.

"Yes," Cyrus replied, his tone almost casual. "If I command it, the eggs will come."

Viserys, who had been listening intently, felt a spark of hope ignite within him. He had long dreamed of restoring the power of Old Valyria to House Targaryen. Now, faced with a civilization like the Achaemedian Empire, he could not help but yearn to grasp even a fraction of its majesty.

"Prince Cyrus," Viserys said, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the table. "I would request an audience with you after this dinner."

"Of course, Your Grace," Cyrus replied, his tone sincere. "I would be honored."

Viserys smiled, raising his goblet high. "To the prosperity of our houses," he declared.

The gesture was echoed by everyone at the table, their glasses lifted in unison. Yet, for Dalia and Cyrus, the implications of the king's words were clear.

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-King Viserys's office-

Cyrus entered the king's office, a Kingsguard trailing silently behind him. Viserys sat in his chair, a warm smile on his face as he gestured for the prince to join him. Cyrus returned the smile, his golden eyes glinting with curiosity.

"Your Grace," Cyrus greeted, his voice respectful.

"Please, take a seat," Viserys said, gesturing to the chair across from him. Cyrus obliged, leaning back comfortably as he settled in.

"How may I assist you, Your Grace?" Cyrus asked, his tone polite but inquisitive.

Viserys hesitated for a moment, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of his chair. Then, leaning forward slightly, he spoke. "Tell me, Prince Cyrus... is there a way to... unite the House of the Dragons?"

At this, Cyrus smiled—a slow, knowing smile.