Dragon Egg

King's Landing, Rhaenys Hills, the Dragonpit.

The vast dome covered half the hillside, spacious enough for several dragons to lie side by side.

But for Vhagar, it had already grown too cramped.

Her mountainous frame could no longer squeeze through the Dragonpit's entrance, so she spent her days sprawled on a specially made open-air stone platform outside.

Around the platform, the Dragonkeepers on duty wore fire-resistant leather armor, their faces unable to hide their awe and fear.

In the presence of this Mother of Dragons, they only dared to approach cautiously when pushing wooden carts laden with livestock for feeding; the rest of the time, they kept their distance.

Vhagar was too old. The years had granted her a size no dragon could match, but also a near-stagnant lethargy.

She slept most of the time, each breath like a muffled thunderclap from deep underground, carrying a heavy Sulfur Smell.

Only the scent of fresh blood and raw meat could rouse her slowly, revealing molten-gold slitted pupils as she fed at a leisurely pace, then sank back into slumber.

But today was clearly different.

When Aemond climbed the hill with three attendants, Vhagar was already awake.

The old dragon raised her forebody, her thick neck craning high, fixing her gaze on the dusty Dragon Egg lying on the sand.

A low growl rumbled continuously in her throat, and the gaps between her scales glowed with an ever-brightening ink-red light.

The next moment, a jet of searing Dragonflame, nearly black-green, burst forth, engulfing the stone egg completely.

"By the Seven..." Alyn Haigh gasped behind him, instinctively stepping back half a pace, all color draining from his face.

He had seen honorable Knights joust in tournaments, but never faced such raw, pure destructive force head-on. The wave of heat that struck him made his knees weak, nearly buckling.

Aleric Hightower clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stand still.

House Hightower had always prided itself on wisdom and legacy, but before such power, he felt his learning and birth weigh as light as dust.

So this was the dragon Aemond rode...

The faint disdain in his heart instantly turned to panic—the dragons the Targaryens possessed were something they could never match.

Even the usually composed Garth Lannister held his breath, blue eyes reflecting the firelight, filled with shock.

In the distance, the Dragonkeepers had already retreated behind cover, watching Vhagar, this ancient dragon, with wary eyes.

Even the oldest Dragonkeeper Commander had never seen Vhagar focus so intently on burning a dead egg.

Just then, Vhagar suddenly stopped her flames.

As if sensing something, her massive head slowly turned, those molten-gold slitted pupils locking precisely onto Aemond.

"ROAR!!!"

A bellow rolled forth with a blast of hot air, whipping Aemond's robes and silver hair.

Aemond raised his eyes, his violet gaze meeting the dragon's stare head-on.

He showed no fear. Instead, amid that inhuman exchange of looks, he walked toward her, reaching out to touch her rough scales.

But Vhagar suddenly extended her tongue, its barbed surface brushing against his palm with restrained yet still forceful pressure.

Blood instantly seeped from his palm.

"Your Highness!" the Dragonkeeper Commander shouted in alarm.

The attendants sucked in sharp breaths.

These faint sounds clearly annoyed Vhagar.

She turned her gaze to the ants behind Aemond.

These ants usually brought her food every day.

But that didn't mean they weren't ants.

A deep rumble rose from the depths of her throat, the Sulfur Smell thick and pungent, flames ready to spew at any moment.

"Quiet."

Aemond raised his uninjured hand, and all commotion instantly ceased.

Vhagar's agitation also subsided. Her massive pupils first looked at him, then shifted to the Dragon Egg on the sand—now faintly glowing dark red after being scorched by Dragonflame—before slowly returning to his face.

My blood?

Watching Vhagar's shifting gaze, Aemond suddenly understood.

Without hesitation, he clenched his bleeding hand and walked step by step toward the Dragon Egg still radiating intense heat.

The closer he got, the more he felt the abnormal warmth emanating from the shell—the lingering heat of Vhagar's just-breathed flames.

Vhagar lowered her head, her eyes fixed intently on him.

Standing before the Dragon Egg, Aemond placed his bloodstained palm upon it.

Blood dripped down, but instead of sliding away, it was quickly absorbed into the gray, mottled shell lines, as if drawn by something.

Dark red blood vessels spread like a spiderweb, tracing fleeting patterns across the shell's surface before vanishing completely.

So, she's using me as a blood bag.

To help her hatch this future dragon.

All around was dead silence, everyone holding their breath as they watched this scene beyond comprehension.

Just then, a clear, lingering cry rang out from the sky.

A graceful silver-blue figure descended lightly, its scales shimmering with the luster of pearls and moonlight—it was Dreamfyre.

She folded her wings and let out a few low, soft calls toward Vhagar.

Vhagar answered with a short, deep roar from her throat.

This was the surge of blood-bond between mother and daughter dragons.

Dreamfyre was Vhagar's first offspring.

Helaena slid down from the dragon's back.

She wore a white riding outfit, a silver-thread-embroidered leather jerkin glinting faintly in the sunset, her silver-gold hair tousled by the wind, her cheeks flushed red from the cold high-altitude ride.

Then she saw Aemond, and his blood-streaked hand pressed against the dragon egg.

"Aemond!"

She hurried forward, not even pausing to acknowledge the servants' bows, and directly grasped his wrist, lowering her head to examine the wound.

Her brows knitted tightly, her eyes filled with concern and worry: "What are you doing?"

"Why are you hurting yourself?"

Aemond's gaze remained fixed on the dragon egg: "Helaena, it seems to have come alive."

Helaena followed his gaze.

The dragon egg's exterior was still gray and rough, clearly the appearance of a dead egg.

Yet she could also faintly sense... an extremely weak but tenacious pulse of life, coming from deep within.

"It's responding to me, Helaena," Aemond said.

He could feel some connection quietly forming between him and this dragon egg.

"Don't do this anymore," Helaena said softly, pulling his hand to check the wound.

"Just a little blood," Aemond turned to look at her, his tone softening, "It's nothing."

"Aren't you coming back to the Red Keep with me?" she asked, looking at him.

"I'll stay a while longer," he gave her a faint smile, "There are still some things to take care of."

Helaena gazed at him quietly for a moment, then finally nodded. Accompanied by her maids and guards, she turned and left, her figure gradually disappearing.

Aemond stood alone by the dragon egg, his palm still seeming to feel the faint pulse beneath the shell.

One beat, two beats, then another.

He was certain this dead egg had been activated by his blood.

Wasn't a Targaryen supposed to bond with only one dragon in a lifetime?

He looked up at Vhagar, and the old dragon was staring back at him.

Blood can activate a dead egg?

What else can it do?

As the sunset dyed Rhaenys Hills a dark gold, heavy footsteps came from the direction of the stone steps, clearly a large group approaching.

Aemond heard them and looked over.