Syrax understood Rhaenyra’s question.
She seemed taken aback.
Hand a dragon an egg, and you would be lucky if it did not eat it.
Let alone hatch it.
Syrax had never laid an egg herself.
Few dragons in the Dragonpit raised young.
Except for special cases, most wild dragons relied on Dragonstone’s volcanic fires for their hatchlings.
So Rhaenyra had only asked on a whim.
Hatching a dragon egg required either volcanic fire or the kind of bond she had shared with Syrax as a child.
But Rhaenyra did not want to go to Dragonstone.
First, she was needed in King’s Landing.
She could not afford to lose control of the city.
Second, some dragons devoured eggs and hatchlings.
The Cannibal, that savage wild dragon, had killed countless young dragons on Dragonstone.
It was large and old, dating back to Balerion’s time.
The Dragonstone keepers could not control it.
Besides, she had forgotten how she had bonded with Syrax as a child.
Targaryen hatchlings shared a magical bond with their riders, but that faded with age.
There was no precedent for an adult hatching an egg.
Neither method worked for now.
Rhaenyra decided to take the egg and Syrax to the Dragonpit.
Perhaps the egg would respond to its mother dragon.
With that hope, Syrax lifted off from the courtyard.
“SKAHR!” As Syrax landed at the Dragonpit, the other dragons roared in response.
Dragons were scaled reptiles with razor-sharp teeth and claws.
Their forelimbs formed leathery wings like a bat’s.
They had long necks and tails, with spines running down their backs.
Hatchlings were no bigger than kittens.
Adults could swallow a mammoth whole.
Rhaenyra often saw dragon skulls in the Red Keep.
They were beautiful.
Black as obsidian, smooth and polished, gleaming in torchlight.
Their teeth curved like black diamond scimitars.
Dragon bones, rich in iron, were black in color.
They were light yet resilient, prized for making bows.
The Dothraki horselords considered dragonbone bows priceless treasures.
Arryk Waters had once told her that the riderless dragons in the Dragonpit included Dreamfyre, Vermithor, Sunfyre, Silverwing, and Vhagar.
There was also a sickly, unnamed hatchling that seemed likely to die.
Seasmoke had once lived here too, until Laenor Velaryon tamed it.
And Meleys, the Red Queen, Rhaenys Targaryen’s mount, lived on Driftmark like Seasmoke.
Rhaenyra approached Dreamfyre first.
She was a slender, pale blue dragon with silver streaks.
Her wings were light blue, her spinal ridges silver.
She had once been ridden by Rhaena Targaryen, one of Maegor’s Black Brides.
After Rhaena’s death, Dreamfyre had remained in the Dragonpit, untamed.
Rhaenyra stepped closer, cradling the egg.
Dreamfyre lay sprawled on the ground, her massive form radiating pressure that made one’s heart race.
As Rhaenyra drew nearer, Dreamfyre let out a soft cry.
She ignored her.
The egg is probably not Dreamfyre’s.
Next, Rhaenyra moved toward Vermithor and Silverwing.
The two were mates.
Vermithor, called the Bronze Fury, had been her grandfather Jaehaerys’s mount.
In his youth, Vermithor had been the largest dragon in Westeros after Balerion and Vhagar.
Now old, the skin under his throat hung loose.
He was hot-tempered.
No one sought to provoke him.
Silverwing had been Queen Alysanne’s mount.
In her youth, Alysanne had flown across the Seven Kingdoms, subduing rebellious lords.
She was a great queen.
When the High Septon died, Alysanne and Jaehaerys had flown to Oldtown.
She drove Silverwing to land atop the Hightower itself.
The dragon’s wings fanned the famous beacon until it blazed brighter than ever.
The Hightowers dared not defy her.
In 51 AC, Alysanne and the king began their first royal progress.
At Duskendale, she convened the first Women’s Court, which soon became a tradition.
Only women could attend, regardless of age or birth.
The young queen encouraged them to speak their fears, hopes, and grievances.
Her mercy was known from King’s Landing to every corner of the realm.
At Mole’s Town near the Wall, she held a Women’s Court for the brothel workers.
She treated them with dignity, helping them in their troubles.
Because she was so beloved, when she was nearly assassinated, her handmaidens and septas threw themselves between her and the blade.
When she reached the North, she held a Women’s Court in Lord Manderly’s hall.
The Northmen had never seen such a thing.
Over two hundred women and girls came to share their thoughts, concerns, and grievances.
Of course, there were those who slandered her.
When Alysanne abolished the infamous right of first night, some lords seethed with resentment.
Even during the later chaos, Lord Roose Bolton still nursed that grudge.
After returning to King’s Landing, Alysanne told the small council what she had witnessed at Mole’s Town.
The brutal stories of suffering women moved her to action.
With Septon Barth’s support, she persuaded the king and council to abolish the first night.
The people adored her.
When she reached the North, she won over Lord Alaric Stark.
She convinced the king to grant a vast tract of land near the Wall to the Night’s Watch, rewarding their vigilance.
Notably, Targaryen dragons disliked the Wall.
They shrieked and roared at it.
Alysanne tried three times to fly beyond the Wall, but Silverwing turned back each time.
So Alysanne proposed building relay stations between the Snow Gate and the Ice Rampart.
She pawned her jewels to fund Deep Lake’s construction.
In her honor, the Snow Gate was renamed the Queen’s Gate.
Rhaenyra’s recent sanitation projects also owed much to Alysanne’s legacy.
She had approved Septon Barth’s plan to build wells, pipes, tunnels, and cisterns, bringing fresh water to King’s Landing.
Barth had warned the king that the poor would otherwise drink filth.
When Jaehaerys and the Master of Coin hesitated over the cost, Alysanne gave each of them a cup of river water and asked if they dared drink it.
The projects were approved immediately.
Alysanne was one of the few queens who truly cared for the common folk and empowered women.
The peace of the Old King’s reign owed much to her.
When Rhaenyra approached Silverwing, Vermithor roared in warning.
One more step, and he might attack.
The Bronze Fury earned his name.
Vermithor and Silverwing had lived together since their riders died, flying between the Dragonpit and Dragonstone.
But Silverwing was more gentle.
She let out a soft greeting toward Syrax and Rhaenyra from behind Vermithor’s bulk.
That did not make her a “kind” dragon—only Targaryens were safe.
Silverwing was Syrax’s mother.
But dragons had no concept of mother and child.
In battle, the slain dragon was merely the victor’s prize.
Do dragons feel nothing for their eggs, like some birds?
Rhaenyra wondered.
She did not dare approach Vhagar.
The oldest and largest dragon, Vhagar was terrifying even from a distance.
Vhagar was not in the Dragonpit.
No one knew where it flew, but it always returned after a few days.
Some said it grew lonely without a rider.
Dragons were born of fire and battle, and Vhagar craved war and blood.
As for the last adult dragon in the pit, Rhaenyra felt uneasy just thinking of it.
Sunfyre was a golden male dragon, considered the most magnificent in history.
His scales shone like polished gold, his wing membranes a pale pink like the dawn.
Sunfyre was also fierce.
He devoured the corpses of his enemies and even preyed on hatchlings and weaker dragons.
In the original story, Rhaenyra had been devoured by this very dragon.
How could she feel at ease near it?
She secretly hoped that when the mob came to slay dragons, Sunfyre would be first.
Syrax had been sparring with Sunfyre lately.
Though larger, she had initially lacked experience and often fell to his ambushes.
Now she had grown wiser.
The two fought frequently.
The wounds on Sunfyre’s hide were Syrax’s work.
Syrax was Sunfyre’s elder sister.
Both were Silverwing’s hatchlings.
Both golden.
Vhagar, as the oldest, had sired many dragons.
Dreamfyre, Vermithor, Silverwing, and the Sheepstealer on Dragonstone all traced their lineage to him.
Dreamfyre had borne Meleys and Caraxes—both crimson in hue.
Silverwing’s offspring included Syrax, Sunfyre, Seasmoke, and the yet-unhatched Tessarion.
The latter two were sea-blue.
Syrax herself was quite the mother.
Among her generation, she had laid more eggs than Dreamfyre.
Syrax had laid seven clutches; Dreamfyre, five.
Syrax would later lay eggs that hatched Stormcloud, Moondancer, Dawn, Arrax, and others.
Their colors varied widely, with no relation to their parents.
For now, Syrax was still a young dragon who had not laid any eggs.
Rhaenyra often looked at her like a worried mother, wondering who would father her future clutches.
Perhaps Syrax was too much of a goddess.
Dragonstone keepers had reported a wild dragon following her during hunts, drawn to her presence.
Rhaenyra dismissed the thought.
Syrax is an adult.
She knows what she is doing.
But whose egg was this?
Some maesters speculated that dragons had no fixed sex and could change.
Maester Aemon once told Samwell Tarly, “True dragons are neither male nor female.” A male dragon was even said to have laid an egg in the Stark crypts.
That made finding the mother even harder.
Should she ask Daemon?
No.
She had just taken the egg from him.
It would be humiliating.
The keepers only cleaned the outer areas of the lairs.
The inner chambers were off-limits.
Even Rhaenyra received warnings if she drew too close.
The keepers knew nothing.
The dragons only allowed Targaryens to take their eggs if they permitted it.
Otherwise, they guarded their nests fiercely.
Vermithor had been defending his territory just now.
Rhaenyra held the emerald-green egg.
For a moment, she felt something stir within it, responding to her touch.
Or perhaps she imagined it.
She decided to take the egg back and try to hatch it herself.
The dragons were useless anyway.
Read ahead with 30+ chapters now with daily updates!