The Dragon Egg

King's Landing, Rhaenys Hills, Dragonpit.

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

But for Vhagar, it was already far too cramped.

Her mountain-like body could no longer squeeze through the Dragonpit's entrance, so she spent her days sprawled outside on a stone platform built specially for her.

Along the platform's edge, the Dragonkeepers assigned to guard her wore fire-resistant leather armor. Their awe and fear were impossible to hide.

Before the Mother of Dragons, they dared approach only when feeding her, trembling as they pushed carts piled high with livestock. The rest of the time, they kept their distance.

Vhagar was very old. Age had given her a size no other dragon could match, but it had also brought an almost paralyzing lethargy.

She spent most of her time asleep, each breath like a muffled thunderclap rising from deep underground, heavy with the smell of sulfur.

Only the scent of blood and raw flesh could rouse her. Then she would slowly open her molten-gold eyes, eat at her leisure, and sink back into a deep slumber.

But today was clearly different.

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

The old dragon had raised her forequarters, her thick neck held high as she stared at the ashen dragon egg on the sand.

A continuous low growl rumbled in her throat, while a deep-red glow shone ever brighter between her scales.

The next moment, a blast of searing dragonflame, almost dark green, surged forth and engulfed the stone-like egg.

"Seven Hells..." Alyn Haigh breathed behind him, instinctively taking half a step back as the color drained from his face.

He had seen noble knights compete in tourneys, but he had never come face-to-face with such raw, unbridled power.

When the wave of heat struck him, his knees went weak, and he could barely stay on his feet.

Aleric Hightower clenched his teeth and forced himself to remain where he was.

House Hightower had always taken pride in its wisdom and heritage, but faced with such power, he felt that his learning and birth were no more than dust.

So this was the dragon Aemond rode...

The faint disdain he had felt turned to panic in an instant. The dragons the Targaryens commanded were beyond their reach.

Even Garth Lannister, usually so composed, held his breath. Firelight reflected in his blue eyes, which were filled with astonishment.

The Dragonkeepers in the distance had already retreated behind their shelters, watching Vhagar with great caution.

Even the oldest Dragonkeeper Commander had never seen Vhagar burn a dead egg with such focus.

Just then, Vhagar abruptly stopped her fire.

She seemed to have sensed something. Her enormous head slowly turned, and her molten-gold eyes fixed squarely on Aemond.

"Roar!"

Her bellow came rushing toward him on a wave of heat, whipping his robes and silver hair.

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

He wasn't afraid. Instead, beneath that inhuman stare, he walked toward her and reached out to touch her rough scales.

Vhagar suddenly extended her tongue. Its surface was covered in barbs, and she licked his palm with restraint, but still with enough force to break the skin.

Blood immediately welled up in his palm.

"Your Highness!" the Dragonkeeper Commander cried.

The attendants gasped as well.

Those faint sounds clearly angered Vhagar.

She looked at the ants behind Aemond.

They might bring her food every day.

But that didn't mean they were any less ants.

A low rumble rose from deep in her throat. The smell of sulfur grew overpowering, and fire could burst from her jaws at any moment.

"Quiet."

Aemond raised his uninjured hand, and all the commotion stopped at once.

Vhagar ceased her restlessness, too. Her enormous eyes looked at him, then turned to the dragon egg on the sand, its surface faintly glowing dark red after the dragonflame had scorched it. Slowly, she looked back at him.

My blood?

Watching Vhagar's gaze move back and forth, Aemond suddenly understood.

Without hesitation, he clenched his bleeding hand and walked toward the egg, still radiating heat.

The closer he got, the more he felt the extraordinary heat rising from the shell. It came from the fire Vhagar had just breathed.

Vhagar lowered her head, watching him intently.

Aemond stood in front of the dragon egg and placed his bloodied palm against it.

His blood dripped onto the shell, but it didn't run off. Instead, as if drawn by something, it quickly seeped into the shell's mottled gray patterns.

Dark red veins spread like a spiderweb, tracing fleeting patterns across the surface before disappearing completely.

So she's using me as a blood bag.

She wants me to help hatch this little dragon that will one day emerge.

Silence fell around them. Everyone held their breath, watching this incomprehensible sight.

At that very moment, a clear, long cry rang out from the sky.

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

She folded her wings and called softly to Vhagar several times.

Vhagar answered with a short, weighty growl from deep in her throat.

The bond of blood between the mother and daughter dragons stirred.

Dreamfyre was Vhagar's first offspring, after all.

Helaena slid down from the dragon's back.

She wore white riding clothes and soft armor embroidered with silver thread that shimmered in the setting sun. The wind had tousled her silver-gold hair, and her cheeks were still flushed from the chill of riding high in the sky.

Then she saw Aemond, and the bloodied hand he had pressed against the dragon egg.

"Aemond!"

She hurried forward, not even stopping to acknowledge the attendants' bows. She went straight to him, took his wrist, and bent her head to examine the wound.

Her brows knitted tightly, her eyes full of worry and concern. "What are you doing?"

"Why did you hurt yourself?"

Aemond's gaze remained fixed on the egg. "Helaena, I think it's alive."

Helaena followed his gaze.

The dragon egg still looked gray and rough, unmistakably like a dead egg.

And yet, she could faintly sense something... a pulse of life, incredibly weak but tenacious, coming from within.

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

He could feel a connection quietly forming between him and the dragon egg.

"Don't do this again," Helaena said softly, taking his hand to examine the wound.

"It's just a little blood." Aemond turned to her, his voice gentler. "I'm fine."

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

"I'll stay a little longer." He gave her a faint smile. "There's still something I need to take care of."

Helaena watched him quietly for a moment, then finally nodded. Accompanied by her maids and guards, she turned to leave, her figure gradually disappearing from view.

Aemond stood alone beside the dragon egg, still able to feel the faint pulse beneath its shell.

Once, twice, then again.

He was certain that his blood had awakened this dead egg.

Could Targaryens really ride only one dragon in their lifetime?

He looked up at Vhagar, and the old dragon was watching him, too.

Could blood awaken a dead egg?

What else could it do?

As the setting sun dyed Rhaenys Hills dark gold, heavy footsteps sounded from the stone steps. Quite a few people had arrived.

At the sound, Aemond looked over.