SUN'S FIRE.

They had clad his boy in rubies and iron, stripped out the wastrel and hoisted the ghost of their own belief, the construct of the youngling they desired, before a baseborn clamouring crowd. Their cries of joy, that whooping wordless song, had buoyed the dawn's wings as he had soared, gleaming and bright, in that great grand loop -- see how they cried for his boy! See how they wept for his beauty, stroked the well-fed beast of his pride!

Finally was his boy revered, loved as he ought to be, yet Sunfyre was not sated.

His great golden head dipped low, serpentine neck coiling in protection around Aegon's frame. Though the dragon had been some distance removed, waiting patiently in the glinting sun, he had not missed the wet tracks upon his rider's face, had not ignored the tremble to both hands and frame as he walked that crowd of swords -- a plume of smoke billowed in a rough snort from the drake then, as much in anger as in dedication, hard-edged and jagged, adoring and with great warmth. His boy's kin thought him kept, instructed enough beneath too many of Aegon's shouted words to no longer bite and tear and screech, but still Sunfyre remembered the ghost of a red palm upon his boy's face; still he remembered the howling echo of duels fought in shouts and harsh tones.

"Lo nyke find zȳhon, nyke jāhor ossēnagon zȳhon." came the harsh promise, low and rutted like the earth's scraping. The pretender Queen, who stood yet as foe to Aegon, her false, vile, mount they claimed to be as gold as he in turn: both would fall to Sunfyre's maw and flame.

After the coronation, the remaining Kingsguard escorted Aegon to his mount, a splendid creature with gleaming golden scales and pale pink wing membranes. 'Sunfyre' was the name given this dragon of the golden dawn.