Lothron

Dragonpit, at noon

The carriage came to a stop, and Viserys I stepped out with Queen Alicent's support.

On his other side, Princess Helaena gently took her father's arm as well.

The king's hand trembled slightly, not from weakness, but from excitement he could hardly contain.

Black dragons had rarely been seen since the Doom of Valyria.

They were the most savage and ferocious of all dragons, and unsurpassed in battle.

The only black dragon left in the world was the wild dragon "Grey Ghost," which had made its lair on Dragonstone. It was untamable, infamous, and fed exclusively on young dragons.

As for Prince Daemon's red-and-black "Blood Wyrm," though fierce and warlike, it was not a true black dragon.

From deep within the Dragonpit came the crisp sound of flesh being torn apart.

The Kingsguard had dismounted and formed ranks, and Aemond had arrived on horseback as well.

"Your Majesty, this way." Dragonkeeper Commander Rosso came forward to lead them. Lowering his voice, he said, "The little one is beneath Vhagar's wing."

The first thing they saw was Vhagar's mountain-like profile.

Beneath the half-spread left wing of the legendary old dragon, a shadow seemed to be moving.

Within the shadow, a black shape wriggled incessantly. It was no bigger than a hound, but its scales were dark as night. It had its head down, tearing at a bloody chunk of meat that the Dragonkeepers had pushed toward it on a long pole.

"Holy Mother above..." Queen Alicent murmured in prayer, tracing a Seven-pointed star over her chest with her fingertips.

Helaena, however, was unusually quiet. She simply stared at Aemond with wide violet eyes.

Viserys took a step forward, nearly forgetting to breathe.

Just then, Vhagar turned her head.

Her molten-gold eyes slowly shifted, sweeping over the tiny crowd below before settling on the offspring beneath her wing.

A low rumble rose from the old dragon's throat, and the scales along her neck lifted slightly—the instinct of a creature protecting its young.

Aemond immediately stepped forward.

"Lykiri, Vhagar." He spoke softly in Old Valyrian. "Calm, Vhagar."

Vhagar lowered her head, exhaling sulfur-scented white smoke. Aemond reached out and stroked the old dragon's rough scales, once, then again.

The old dragon gradually settled down.

Just then, the hatchling stopped tearing at the meat.

He raised his little head, spattered with blood. His dark red, slit-pupiled eyes, ringed with a delicate line of gold, looked straight at Aemond.

After a brief hesitation, the hatchling awkwardly pushed himself up on his newborn, unsteady limbs, spread his wings, and staggered toward Aemond, taking his first steps.

Viserys narrowed his eyes. "Does he know you?"

Aemond turned his face. "He only hatched today, Father."

"Anything that moves might be new to him."

"New?" The king shook his head. Dragons had the keenest sense of smell.

"Once a rider and a dragon formed a bond, other dragons lost interest in that rider."

"But the look in this hatchling's eyes... That isn't curiosity. It looks more like he's chosen you."

Vhagar showed no reaction as her offspring approached Aemond. The old dragon closed her eyes and lowered her head, settling down to rest.

The hatchling took a few more steps, nearly falling, but somehow managed to steady himself.

He raised his head, his dark red eyes fixed on Aemond, and let out an urgent, high-pitched chattering sound, as if calling to him.

Aemond looked at the hatchling and crouched down.

The black hatchling rushed straight into his arms, its tiny claws hooking into his clothes as it rubbed its head against his chest.

The incredible sight made Viserys's pupils contract.

Dragonkeeper Commander Rosso stepped over at just the right moment and whispered a few words in the king's ear.

Viserys's brow furrowed deeper and deeper, his thin fingers tightening around his scepter.

"Everyone except Aemond, leave."

The crowd withdrew as ordered.

Now, only father and son remained.

"Aemond," Viserys said, puzzled. "Explain this to me."

He pointed at the black hatchling. "A dragonrider can bond with only one dragon in his entire life."

"That is an iron law that has never been broken since the days of Old Valyria."

"Vhagar has already chosen you."

"But now this hatchling is showing you this... this attachment."

Aemond fell silent for several breaths.

"Father," he finally said.

"Not even the Dragonlords of Old Valyria dared claim they fully understood the mysteries of dragons."

"I don't know what's happening either."

He paused. "But when I touch the little one, I can feel what he feels—hunger, curiosity, and... affection."

"It seems he can also sense what I'm thinking."

"What do you mean?" Viserys asked, unable to believe it.

"Perhaps our bloodlines are resonating, Father." Aemond looked up.

"Vhagar hasn't objected to the little one coming near me, either."

"That's impossible..." Viserys murmured, yet his feet carried him forward against his will.

Vhagar's eyes snapped open.

Her molten-gold pupils fixed on the king.

A growl rose from the old dragon's throat—a warning.

Viserys froze, his hand still stretched out in midair.

"Lykiri." Aemond's voice rang out again. "Calm."

Vhagar gradually settled, but she kept her eyes on the king.

The hatchling poked his head out of Aemond's arms and let out a sharp hiss at Viserys, baring his tiny fangs.

It was clear enough: he was rejecting him.

Viserys withdrew his hand. His expression shifted through shock and confusion before settling into something more complicated.

He gazed deeply at his second son, a boy who was always so full of surprises.

The king let out a long sigh.

"Give him a name, Aemond," he said, his voice regaining some of its strength.

"You tamed him—or rather, he chose you. The right is yours."

"Lothron," Aemond answered without hesitation, the Old Valyrian word rolling from his tongue.

"Lothron..." Viserys repeated softly. "In the old tongue, does that mean 'omen'?"

"Exactly." Aemond gently set the hatchling on the ground. The little one staggered back to the pile of meat, but kept looking over his shoulder at Aemond.

"His very existence may be an omen."

"An omen..." The king turned the word over in his mind.

After a long while, he turned around.

"Let's return to the Red Keep."

On the ride back, Viserys leaned against the cushions, eyes closed in thought.

A dragonrider could bond with only one dragon in his lifetime...

Had Aemond broken this iron law?

Or had something changed in Aemond's bloodline? Was it blood magic, hidden in his ancestry?

Viserys recalled the ancient legends passed down through his family.

The first Valyrians had been no more than a tribe of shepherds fleeing disaster, until they encountered dragons among the Fourteen Flames.

Some said they had tamed the dragons. Others said they had created blood magic, using it to merge dragon blood with their own, until the dragons regarded them as kin...

The Valyrians with the blood of dragonriders were called Dragonlords—or, more precisely, the Forty Dragonlord Families...

The other, ordinary Valyrians without the blood of dragonriders became nobles in this newborn Empire.

After that, the Valyrians, wielding their dragons, invaded, expanded across much of the Eastern Continent, and enslaved its people.

These secrets had been lost in the Doom of Valyria hundreds of years ago.

Only House Targaryen had survived, thanks to the prophecy of "the Dreamer," Daenys Targaryen.

They had fled to the Western Continent—Westeros—with their dragons and Dragon Eggs, eventually settling on Dragonstone.

After that, the Targaryens had spent several generations rebuilding their strength.

More than a hundred years ago, House Targaryen began its conquest of the Seven Kingdoms.

Under the might of dragons, the kings of the Seven Kingdoms had been forced to bow, lay down their crowns, and become the dukes of their respective regions, swearing fealty to and recognizing Targaryen rule over Westeros.

Now, House Targaryen was the only family in the world with dragons—and the bloodline that could ride them...