281 AC, autumn, the Wendwater.
A small boat finally reached the shore.
Three people stepped off the boat, led by a middle-aged man in Volantene robes with dark, curly hair.
Leon stood on the dock, his Eye of Insight working at full power.
The colors in the man's chest were deep purple intertwined with gold, their edges sharp as blades, with a cold flame at their center that seemed to be calculating something.
There was no hostility...
"Young master Leon Lannister."
The man stopped three paces away and bowed slightly, his courtesy impeccable. "I am an envoy of House Maegyr, sent by Triarch Malaquo Maegyr to offer you his greetings."
Tyrion stood beside Leon and lowered his voice. "Volantenes? They certainly have keen noses."
Leon ignored him and merely inclined his head.
"Greetings for what?"
The envoy smiled faintly, took a roll of parchment from inside his robes, and presented it with both hands.
"This is a letter in my master's own hand. He hopes you will consider visiting Volantis when the time is right."
Leon accepted the letter without opening it on the spot.
"My master also said," the envoy lowered his voice, "that if you are willing, House Maegyr can offer you every kind of support.
"Wealth, armies, even a domain of your own. The triarchs of Volantis are wealthier than any lord paramount in Westeros."
Tyrion scoffed. "So generous? What's the condition?"
The envoy glanced at him, still smiling.
"The condition is simple... My master merely wishes to confirm that your bloodline truly descends from Shiera Seastar. Nothing more."
Confirm? The method of confirmation would be unusual...
Leon's pupils contracted slightly.
"Nothing more?"
"Nothing more." The envoy bowed again. "The letter contains detailed instructions for contacting us. Once you have made your decision, you may send someone to find Vilaro, the Sapphire Merchant, in Lys at any time. We will make arrangements immediately."
He turned, returned to the small boat, and vanished into the dusk.
Watching the boat recede, Tyrion could not help saying, "He's just leaving? After all that fuss earlier. No kidnapping? No taking you by force?"
"They aren't fools," Leon said. "This is Westeros, not Volantis. Laying a hand on me means going to war with House Lannister... on the surface, at least."
He opened the letter and skimmed it.
It was written in High Valyrian, in an ornate hand.
Its gist was:
House Maegyr had preserved portraits and diaries of Shiera Seastar for generations and had confirmed her as the founder of their house.
They had been searching for her blood descendants scattered across the world.
If Leon was willing to visit Volantis, they would open their entire family library to him and support all his endeavors.
The final line of the letter read:
"Purple eyes awaken dragonfire. The sleeping bloodline shall awaken at last."
Leon folded the letter and tucked it inside his clothes.
Tyrion leaned closer. "What does he say?"
"He says," Leon gazed at the darkening sea, "that my eyes can awaken dragons."
They were asking him to... acknowledge his ancestry.
In the months after the tourney, Westeros was like a pot about to boil.
Ravens flew back and forth in a constant stream, and rumors filled the air.
Brandon Stark stormed into the Red Keep, shouting, "Rhaegar, come out and die!" The Mad King arrested him on the spot.
Rickard Stark traveled south to King's Landing to demand a trial by combat, only to be burned to death with wildfire by the Mad King.
Bound and struggling, Brandon strangled himself to death.
Robert Baratheon prepared to raise the banner of rebellion, Eddard Stark prepared to summon his bannermen, and Jon Arryn refused to surrender his wards. War was about to erupt.
Leon and Tyrion remained on the Wendwater, receiving intelligence from Pudding Face in King's Landing every day.
"The Mad King has gone mad." Tyrion slapped a note onto the table. "He killed Rickard and Brandon, then demanded that Jon Arryn hand over Robert's and Ned's heads. Jon Arryn simply declared he was raising his forces in support of Robert."
Leon studied the map.
"Robert will soon raise his banner at Storm's End, Ned is returning to the North to muster men, and Jon Arryn is in the Vale. Their armies need to join up."
"The Riverlands will be the battlefield."
Tyrion took up the thought. "Hoster Tully has two daughters. Catelyn was promised to Brandon, but now that Brandon is dead, he'll certainly have to choose his side anew. If he joins the rebels, his army will be the key to bringing the three forces together."
Leon nodded.
"Where is Rhaegar?"
"No idea." Tyrion shrugged. "Some say he's in Dorne, others say he's on Dragonstone. His wife Elia is still being held hostage in King's Landing."
Leon was silent.
He remembered that crown woven from blue roses. He remembered the look in Rhaegar's eyes as he gazed at Lyanna. He remembered the Mad King's wild laughter.
There was no turning back now.
Time slipped by in a flash.
Just as Leon finished repairing a dilapidated seagoing ship he had bought, Pudding Face arrived at the Wendwater in person.
He was thinner and darker than before, but his eyes were still as shrewd as a rat's.
"Young master," he lowered his voice, "I found some fishermen on Massey's Hook. They're willing to follow you to those waters to hunt for treasure."
Tyrion immediately asked, "How many? How much?"
"Four men. A hundred gold dragons."
"A hundred?" Tyrion's eyes widened. "Why don't they just rob someone?"
"Because there are pirates there," Pudding Face said without a change of expression. "And Volantenes too. They're also looking for something."
Leon and Tyrion exchanged a look.
Volantenes. Malaquo Maegyr.
"We're going," Leon said. "Prepare the boat and the men. We'll go in person."
"We?" Tyrion pointed at himself. "Me? Out to sea? Have you forgotten I get seasick?"
"You and Sandor will stay on the Wendwater," Leon said. "If I don't return, you'll be responsible for collecting my body."
Tyrion cursed, but nodded in the end.
Three days later, Leon took Thea, Pudding Face, and the reliable fishermen they had found aboard an unremarkable fishing boat and sailed for Massey's Hook.
Tyrion stood on the dock, watching the boat grow smaller and smaller until it vanished into the morning mist.
"Seven Hells," he muttered. "If you die, I won't even get to be the heir."
The waters off Massey's Hook were riddled with reefs and surging undercurrents.
Leon spent five days being tossed about at sea and two days vomiting before finally reaching the position Pudding Face had marked on a moonless night.
"This is the place," the old fisherman said quietly. "A ship sank some distance away last year.
"All the fishermen around here know its wreckage washed over here, but no one dares dive for it... It isn't deep, but there are undercurrents."
Leon stood at the bow, his Eye of Insight working at full power.
He could not see the seabed, but he could feel it.
He sensed something calling from not far away.
It was faint and distant, like a heartbeat, like a whisper, like a flame stirring after far too long asleep.
"I'll go down and look. I might be able to salvage some treasure from the wreck," he said.
Thea's face went pale. "Young master, have you lost your mind? These waters are at least eighty meters deep..."
"I have a feeling it isn't on the seabed, but over there, where those jumbled reefs are piled together."
Leon spoke in a voice the two of them could hear. "Row over. It's waiting for me."
The boat was rowed into the shallows.
He put on the air bag he had made from an ox lung and oiled leather, tied a rope around his waist, drew a deep breath, and leaped into the sea.
The seawater was bone-chilling, the darkness black as ink.
All he could hear was the roar of the current and the pounding of his heart.
The Eye of Insight traced hazy outlines for him in the darkness.
Reefs, schools of fish, the remains of a wreck...
Then he saw it.
Four or five meters down, in a warm current, an exceedingly faint, dark-golden glow flickered among loose stones in a gap between the piled reefs.
He swam toward it desperately and pushed the stones aside with his hands.
A stone egg.
Yellow and covered in dark-golden patterns, it was the size of a melon, its surface like a gemstone.
Underwater, it blended into the yellow reef, extremely well concealed.
Leon gathered it into his arms.
At that instant, countless images flashed through his mind...
Volcanoes, dragonfire, priests in red robes, chanting in ancient Valyrian...
And one sentence, as clear as if engraved:
"Blood and fire awaken the sleeping bloodline."
He hugged the dragon egg tightly and tugged the rope.
Everyone saw Leon the moment he broke the surface.
Thea and the sailors hauled him aboard together. He lay on the deck, violently coughing up water, his arms locked around the stone egg.
Thea hurriedly wrapped him in a cloak.
The oar in the old fisherman's hands nearly dropped into the sea.
"Wh... what is that?"
Leon rolled onto his back, facing the sky and gasping for breath.
Moonlight shone on his face, pale as a corpse.
All four fishermen crowded around, their eyes wide.
"A round stone?" a young fisherman stammered. "A stone like that is treasure?"
Leon did not answer.
He stared at the egg.
"Turn back," he said hoarsely. "Now."
The sail rose, and the fishing boat turned north in the darkness.
Leon lay in the cabin, wrapped in a blanket, with the egg hidden beside him.
Thea guarded the cabin doorway, her hand on her sword hilt.
The fishermen's hushed conversation drifted in from outside, occasionally interspersed with words like "egg," "dragon," and "fortune."
Leon closed his eyes, extending his Eye of Insight beyond the cabin...
The four sailors' emotions lay fully exposed:
Old fisherman: excitement, greed.
Young fisherman: agitation, bewilderment.
The other two: curiosity, fear.
This was trouble.
A round object, yellow with golden markings, salvaged from the seabed.
They couldn't fail to guess what it was.
Thea poked her head inside and lowered her voice. "Young master, they..."
"I know," Leon interrupted her.
He sat up, remained silent for a few seconds, then walked out of the cabin.
The four fishermen fell silent the moment they saw him emerge.
All their eyes were fixed on what he held against his chest.
Leon stood on the deck as waves slapped the hull, the moonlight stretching his short shadow long.
"You know what this is." His voice was as calm as though he were discussing the weather.
Silence.
The old fisherman swallowed. "My lord, we... we didn't see anything."
"You did," Leon said. "All four of you saw it."
Another silence followed.
Leon motioned for Pudding Face to toss the leather pouch in his hand at the old fisherman's feet.
The mouth of the pouch fell open, revealing a tightly packed gleam of gold within: two hundred gold dragons in all.
"Fifty each," he said. "Enough that you'll never need to go to sea again."
All four men stared, transfixed.
With difficulty, the old fisherman tore his gaze from the coins and looked at Leon. "My lord, this..."
"This is your payment, and your hush money," Leon said. "Take the money and forget what you saw tonight. If anyone asks, say I salvaged a valuable antique or fossil from a shipwreck."
The young fisherman could not help asking, "Then... what exactly is it?"
Leon looked at him, his pale-purple eyes like two cold gemstones in the moonlight.
"What do you think it is?" he asked in return.
The young fisherman opened his mouth but could not speak.
The old fisherman seized his arm, nodding and bowing to Leon. "Rest assured, my lord! We know nothing! We saw nothing!"
The other two fishermen hurriedly nodded as well.
Leon watched them for three seconds.
"Remember what you said." He turned and walked back into the cabin. "If I hear so much as a word about today from anyone outside, two hundred gold dragons will buy the lives of all four of you and your families, with plenty left over."
The cabin door closed.
Pudding Face watched the four fishermen fumble as they divided up the gold dragons, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"Young master, that lie of yours... will they believe it?"
"No." Leon lay down and cradled the egg in his arms again. "But two hundred gold dragons are enough to leave them unsure what to believe."
Five days later, the fishing boat sailed into the mouth of the Wendwater.
On the dock, Tyrion stood in the morning light, his face grayer than winter in King's Landing.
He saw Leon disembark, saw the bundle wrapped tightly in oilcloth in Leon's arms, and his pupils suddenly contracted.
He said nothing. He merely waited until Leon came closer, then asked in a low voice:
"Did it work?"
Leon nodded.
Tyrion drew a deep breath, then turned and waved at the people on the dock. "Move along! What are you staring at? Never seen someone this seasick before?"
Several farmers laughed and dispersed.
Little Tom still tried to edge closer, but a glare from Tyrion sent him back.
Leon entered the tax office, went upstairs, and entered the room.
Tyrion followed him inside, while Thea stood guard at the door.
Leon set the bundle on the bed and unwrapped the oilcloth.
The egg lay there quietly.
Its yellow shell, with its dark gold patterns, shone with a soft luster in the morning light.
Tyrion stared at it, his eyes as round as two copper coins.
He reached out to touch it, drew his hand back, then reached out again, finally touching it gently with a finger.
"A Dragon Egg." His voice trembled. "Seven Hells, it's real..."
"It's real, but it's already fossilized," Leon said.
Tyrion dropped into a chair, unable to speak for a long while.
"What do you plan to do?" he finally asked.
Leon fell silent for a few seconds.
"Keep it hidden for now," he said. "We can't let anyone know."
"What about the fishermen on the boat?"
"Fifty gold coins each to keep their mouths shut," Leon said. "I told them it was a valuable antique."
Tyrion frowned. "A round antique?"
"A round antique." Leon's expression did not change. "Something made by an ancient civilization across the sea."
Tyrion stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed.
"That lie of yours... you'd only fool illiterate fishermen with it."
"That's enough," Leon said. "Once they're unsure what to believe, the truth no longer matters."
Tyrion nodded.
"What about Thea?"
"She knows."
"And Loomis?"
Leon fell silent for a second.
"He knows I found something. He doesn't know what it is."
"Do you plan to tell him?"
"He's a maester," Leon said. "He might be able to guess. But guessing and saying it aloud are two different things."
Tyrion looked at him, a complicated gleam flashing through his mismatched eyes.
"Leon, this is too big. Too big for even the two of us together to keep under control."
"So the fewer people who know, the better," Leon said. "You, me, Thea. Loomis at most... if he guesses, let him know. One less person, one less risk."
Tyrion fell silent for a few seconds, then nodded.
"All right. We'll do it your way."
Leon said no more. He stroked the Dragon Egg.
He thought of his bloodline...
And of the future...
The moment the Red Comet streaked across the sky.