Chapter 75 The Hatching of Dragon Egg
Jacaerys, out of breath from running, was stopped by Hofa at the corridor entrance and could only lean against the wall, panting heavily.
"Jacaerys, Lucerys, do not panic." Hofa pulled out a pot of prepared boiled water from the shelf, poured two cups, and handed them over. The boy gulped down the water, then turned and shouted in High Valyrian to Aemond and Aegon Targaryen, who had followed behind him, "Master, is the dragon still obedient?"
Aemond nodded. He was carrying a large basket on his back, filled with unknown items. The strange tattoo upon the Master's face seemed to shift faintly as he replied in High Valyrian, "The dragon sleeps."
Six-year-old Aegon curiously poked at Aemond's basket. He had been brought to Dragon Nest City by Jacaerys at the beginning of the year, preparing to serve as Ray's squire and cupbearer when he was older. Joffrey remained with Princess Rhaenyra, as she also required a squire of sufficient status.
Aegon had brought with him a magnificent young blue dragon—Stormcloud. What made the young dragon unique was the single horn growing from its snout, like the horn of a great beast from Sothoryos, smooth and elegant.
When Stormcloud first arrived at the Dragonpit in Dragon Nest City, it had fought with Shadow Nightmare. However, when Shadow Nightmare—already approaching the size of Arrax—bit its neck, Stormcloud let out a terrified scream. Had Silverwing not intervened in time, the outcome might have been far worse.
Now, Stormcloud had learned its place. It obediently followed behind Shadow Nightmare and had even learned to snatch mutton from Arrax by invoking Shadow Nightmare's presence—though it was often scared back into its nest by a single glare from Vermithor.
"Aemond, which dragon egg has hatched?" Dragonzel asked as he watched the midwives carefully clean the newborn infants, wrap them in silk, and place them beside their mother before he stepped out of the delivery chamber.
"Your Highness, two of the four dragon eggs have hatched—the black one with white markings, and the gray-white one." At Dragonzel's signal, Aemond led the three princes into the room. He gently set down the basket and pushed it forward.
Inside, two young dragons stirred awake.
They bared their tiny teeth and let out soft growls at the people present. The larger black hatchling snorted, releasing a faint puff of dark smoke.
"Quiet." Dragonzel spoke in High Valyrian, his voice carrying authority. "Obey. Be still."
Both young dragons flinched at once and shrank back into the basket.
Valarr lowered his head, observing them closely.
The larger hatchling was black as night, its body covered in scattered star-like patterns—silver-white and silver-gold. Its horns had yet to fully form, but the foundation of thick, crown-like structures could already be seen. Beneath its jaw, small sharp spikes had begun to pierce through the skin. Two soft dorsal fins extended from the back of its head, running between its wings all the way to its tail. In time, once those structures hardened, it would undoubtedly become a fearsome beast.
The smaller dragon hid behind the black one. Its body was grayish-white, with a smooth, almost bald head and neck lacking scales or horns. Its head resembled something closer to a bird—or even a toad—rather than a traditional dragon. Yet, its wings were unusually large, the membranes stretching all the way to its tail. Strange, soft tendril-like appendages hung from its body.
Through his magical perception, Dragonzel saw the invisible bonds—
The black dragon was linked to his son, Lingor.
The gray-white hatchling was bound to his daughter.
"What a strange dragon," Aegon whispered, careful not to disturb the infants.
"Shh." Jacaerys lifted his brother slightly and pressed a finger to his lips. "There are many kinds of dragons. Your Stormcloud is also different from my Vermax."
Aegon then looked curiously toward Samantha's cradle. He knew he was already betrothed to her, though at his age, he did not understand what that meant.
"Go," Dragonzel commanded softly in High Valyrian. "Accompany your companions. Protect them—until the fated moment. Aemond."
"Yes, Your Highness." The loyal servant bowed.
"Have the Silver Guards of the Dragonpit prepare food for the hatchlings," Dragonzel continued. "For the children's wet nurses, use the women we brought from Essos first—they are more trustworthy, possess Valyrian blood, and are attuned to my magic. The dragons will not attack them. When my lady recovers, if she is willing, she may nurse the children herself."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Dragonzel turned to watch as the two young dragons slowly crawled out of the basket.
Guided by instinct—
The black dragon quickly darted toward Lingor's cradle. It turned, glaring defensively at everyone, before gradually relaxing as it sensed no threat.
The gray-white dragon was far more agile. It spread its wings and flapped, managing a short glide to Samantha's cradle. Unlike its counterpart, it showed little hostility—only glancing at its sleeping companion before curling beside the cradle, quietly waiting.
King's Landing — A Hidden Wine Cellar Beneath a Tavern
"Two newly hatched dragons…" Lord Larys Strong murmured, his thoughts circling endlessly. A new dragonlord house… a chance for unrest…
His thoughts were interrupted by a calm young voice.
"Lord Larys, we may consider your proposal."
Tigaro Varezes, his long silver hair falling over his shoulders, gently swirled the wine in his cup. The Master of Whisperers was like a chameleon—no one knew where his true loyalties lay. He served the King, the Queen, various princes… and even Dragonstone.
"But we require sincerity," Tigaro continued. "The Varezes family has no interest in becoming entangled in the political storm of King's Landing. We have our own affairs."
"What do you consider sincerity?" Larys asked softly.
"I will leave men behind to establish several taverns," Tigaro said. "Your intelligence may be delivered there. All your expenses will be covered—but in return, you will protect them as your own."
Larys chuckled. "So I may drink freely? After all, everyone now praises the silver wine and fruit wine of Lace Town."
He nodded. "Very well. As a gesture of goodwill, I will ensure their safety."
"The Varezes family does not leave debts unpaid." Tigaro glanced at Larys's twisted foot. "I possess a potion that may ease your pain."
Larys waved it off with a faint laugh. "I have long grown accustomed to this affliction, my lord. But in return, allow me to offer you a piece of intelligence."
"Please."
With effort, Larys bent down and retrieved a folded slip of paper from his shoe.
"News from Driftmark. Lord Corlys Velaryon is gravely ill. The maesters believe he may not survive this fever."
Tigaro's expression sharpened slightly.
"His nephew—Ser Vaemond Velaryon—has begun making dangerous claims," Larys continued. "He declares that Princess Rhaenyra's sons are not of Laenor Velaryon's blood and therefore unfit to inherit the Driftwood Throne."
"Dangerous words indeed."
"Princess Rhaenyra could not tolerate such treason. She ordered Prince Daemon to carry out justice—and he did so."
Larys's voice dropped even lower.
"Prince Daemon beheaded Ser Vaemond. But his kin are not satisfied. His brother, Ser Vaemond's kin, now marches toward King's Landing to demand justice before the Small Council."
Tigaro's gaze changed completely.
This was no small matter.
With the King gravely ill, power in King's Landing rested in the hands of the Queen and the Hand.
And now—
Everything was beginning to spiral out of control.
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