“My mother once said the very same thing to me.” Quentyn lowered his gaze slightly, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
His voice softened until it sounded as natural as if he were speaking to his own mother.
“She told me that, when she was little, she envied your eyes more than anything.
They weren’t like the king’s, or even her own.
She said your eyes were like a tranquil lake, always so clear, so beautiful, that people couldn’t help wanting to draw closer.” “They were…” Queen Alysanne’s gaze drifted into the distance, as though she were looking back upon a memory long buried.
“We were all children then.
Your mother could barely walk…” Her fingers brushed Quentyn’s cheek one last time before she withdrew her hand.
Only then did she seem to notice Baelon and his sons.
“Come with me,” she said.
“This is as good a time as any to tell you about the past.” Baelon frowned slightly but followed after his mother.
Viserys, looking somewhat displeased, helped Daemon down from the carriage.
Daemon opened his mouth to complain, only for his brother to silence him with a glance.
The two younger boys quietly fell in behind Baelon as they made their way toward the Dragonpit.
“I still remember how desperate our escape from Dragonstone was.” Quentyn listened intently.
His mother had told the story one way.
His grandmother had told it another.
Now the queen would undoubtedly tell it from yet another perspective.
For him, piecing together the truth of history was the only way to regain the advantage his knowledge of the future had once given him.
“At the time, Dragonstone descended into utter chaos.
No one knew what had happened.
For a while, my mother even feared it was one of Maegor’s traps.
Then servants still loyal to her brought news that Queen Visenya had died.” “My mother immediately resolved to flee with us.” “She considered many destinations before finally choosing Harrenhal.” Alysanne glanced at Quentyn.
“Do you know why?” Quentyn shook his head.
In truth, he knew fragments of the story.
His mother had once explained that his great-grandmother, Izza Velaryon, had been Queen Alyssa’s aunt, while Lady Agatha had been one of Alyssa’s closest friends.
When Princess Vaella had been an infant, she had nearly died, and it was Agatha who had saved her with a rare medicine brought from the East.
Quentyn had later investigated the matter himself.
The so-called miraculous medicine had turned out to be nothing more than a local remedy from this world, dispelling one of his lingering suspicions that his grandmother might have been another transmigrator.
Lady Agatha, however, had always insisted that Lord Enys Qoherys agreed to shelter Queen Alyssa and her children for a simpler reason.
He feared Maegor’s tyranny.
He believed the kingdom forged by Aegon the Conqueror should not perish beneath Maegor’s rule.
And besides…
It had been King Aenys who had granted Harrenhal to House Qoherys in the first place.
To Lord Enys, that debt could never be forgotten.
“Baelon,” Alysanne said calmly, “do you know?” The prince looked up in surprise.
Ever since Alysanne’s falling-out with King Jaehaerys, she had continued to treat all her children fairly, yet Baelon had always sensed a subtle distance between them.
“As heir to the Iron Throne,” she continued, “you should be able to reason through questions like this.” The great bronze doors of the Dragonpit stood open as they usually did, allowing the sea breeze from Blackwater Bay to carry away the stench of dragon dung and scorched meat.
Beyond them stretched an immense open chamber.
Quentyn raised his eyes to the colossal domed ceiling.
Magnificent.
Solemn.
A monument heavy with history.
Baelon’s eyes lit up almost immediately.
“Harrenhal occupies the most important strategic position in the Seven Kingdoms.
It guards the western approach to the Crownlands while controlling access to both the Trident and the Gods Eye.
Whoever holds Harrenhal holds the keys to the Riverlands, the Vale, and the Crownlands.” He paused.
“And on the surface, Lord Enys Qoherys was one of Maegor’s strongest supporters…” Realization dawned on him.
His voice trailed off.
“Exactly,” Quentyn said, picking up the thread.
“At the time, everyone believed my grandfather was among Maegor’s most loyal supporters.” When Lady Agatha had first told him the story years ago, he had struggled to understand that contradiction himself.
“When Prince Aegon and Queen Dowager Rhaena asserted Aegon’s claim to the throne, my grandfather sided with Maegor.
He allowed the king to rest and resupply at Harrenhal…” He stopped there.
Everyone present knew what had happened next.
After leaving Harrenhal, Maegor mounted Balerion the Black Dread and annihilated Prince Aegon and his dragon Quicksilver in the battle later remembered as the Battle Beneath the Gods Eye.
“Princess Vaella was only a small child then, so naturally she remembers none of it.” Alysanne removed her riding gloves and handed them to one of the dragonkeepers waiting nearby.
“Quentyn, didn’t Lady Agatha ever tell you the rest?” Only two groups of people besides the royal family were permitted to live and work within the Dragonpit.
The first were the Dragonkeepers, seventy-seven formidable warriors from Dragonstone, equipped with the finest arms and armor House Targaryen could provide.
Their duty was to guard the Dragonpit itself.
The second were the dragonkeepers in the more literal sense, the trained handlers responsible for feeding the dragons and guiding them safely back to their lairs whenever their riders returned.
“No.” Quentyn shook his head like a child rattling a toy.
“Grandmother always preferred telling me legends from the East…
or stories about how she and Grandfather fell in love.” The almost boyish gesture filled Alysanne’s eyes with affection.
“Good child.” She gently stroked his silver hair before turning back to Baelon.
“And remember this well.” “It is exceedingly difficult to judge another person’s loyalty.” “Lord Enys Qoherys is the perfect example.” “Before his elder brother and sister marched on King’s Landing, a bandit calling himself Harren Blueheart joined forces with the Faith Militant and raised a rebellion, trapping Lord Enys inside the Wailing Tower.” “Maegor seized the opportunity.” “He flew to Harrenhal upon Balerion and burned every rebel to ashes.” Like a patient teacher instructing her pupils, Alysanne continued recounting the past.
“Whether Lord Enys truly supported Maegor or not ceased to matter.” “When the Black Dread itself descended to save his lands, he had no choice but to bend the knee.” “And when Lord Enys lay gravely wounded, it was a woman who offered Maegor bread, salt, and meat to feed his dragon.” “That act convinced Maegor that Lord Enys would remain loyal.” Just then, a Dragonkeeper in a plain grey robe, cinched only with a dark grey belt, approached and bowed.
He spoke in heavily accented High Valyrian.
“Your Grace, Silverwing has already eaten two fat sheep.
Her appetite is excellent.” Quentyn noticed the man’s pronunciation immediately.
His High Valyrian was thick with unusual inflections, almost imitating the sounds of dragons themselves.
Perhaps they acquire that accent from spending their lives among dragons…
He quietly committed the observation to memory.
“Ābrar Vaellaro zaldrīzāre.” “Bring Princess Vaella’s dragon egg.” Alysanne’s High Valyrian was elegant and refined, much closer to the classical pronunciation Quentyn was accustomed to.
A dragon egg?
His pupils contracted for the briefest instant before he composed himself.
According to the timeline he remembered, his mother had been born in 39 AC, during the years when the royal family still appeared united.
A dragon egg should have been placed in her cradle.
Yet for reasons unknown, it had never hatched.
Nor had Princess Vaella ever shown much interest in dragons afterward.
The Dragonkeeper hesitated.
“Your Grace…
Princess Vaella’s egg has turned to stone.
What do you intend to, ” “Bring it.” Alysanne’s tone allowed no room for argument.
As the Dragonkeeper hurried away, she resumed her story.
“The truth is, my mother herself wasn’t certain.” “But Harrenhal was a better refuge than Dragonstone.” “Everyone would naturally assume she had fled back to Dragonstone.” “So Dragonstone, and the castles of her known allies, would become the first places Maegor searched.” From deep within the Dragonpit came the low, indistinct roar of a dragon.
Quentyn felt his blood stir.
Part of it was the fascination he had carried over from another life.
But another part…
That came from something older.
Something buried deep within the blood of House Targaryen itself.
“Your father hesitated at first.” Alysanne smiled as she looked at Baelon.
“But there was no time.” “We had to leave immediately.” “Your father took Princess Vaella.” “I carried my mother.” “We flew from Dragonstone, circled around the Vale, and landed at Harrenhal.” She laughed softly.
“I can still remember Lady Agatha’s face when two dragons descended from the sky.” Quentyn immediately put on a look of curiosity.
“She was frightened?” “No.” Alysanne shook her head.
“She was overjoyed.” “Your grandmother embraced my mother amid the ruins of the Hall of a Hundred Hearths.” A faint smile touched her lips.
“She said she thanked the gods that we were still alive.” The smile soon faded.
Quentyn lowered his eyes as well.
The memory carried an unmistakable sadness.
Alysanne and King Jaehaerys had escaped safely in the end.
Their elder brother, however, had not.
Prince Viserys had fallen into Maegor’s hands.
When the king discovered that Alyssa and her children had fled, his fury knew no bounds.
For nine days he tortured Prince Viserys.
After the prince finally died, Maegor displayed his mutilated, unrecognizable corpse in the castle yard, hoping to lure Queen Dowager Alyssa out of hiding.
“Lady Agatha concealed us in the cellars beneath the Wailing Tower.” Alysanne let out a quiet sigh.
“The irony has never escaped me.” “Harren the Black and his sons could not escape Balerion’s dragonfire in those very cellars…” “…yet we did.” At that moment, the Dragonkeeper returned from the depths of the Dragonpit with a younger companion.
Together they carried an enormous bronze vessel.
The younger man lifted the lid.
Inside rested a dragon egg.
The instant Quentyn saw it, he found himself unable to look away.
It was as though he were a moth, irresistibly drawn toward a candle’s flame.
Even if that flame would consume him, he felt he would gladly burn to ashes rather than turn aside.
The egg was magnificent.
Molten gold seemed to flow across its shell, streaked here and there with delicate veins of rose-pink.
“That,” Alysanne said softly, “was your mother’s dragon egg.” “Queen Dowager Rhaena placed it in her cradle herself.” “We all hoped it would hatch into a beautiful golden dragon, just like your mother.” A trace of amusement flickered through her sadness.
“Then we could all have teased Vermithor for no longer being the most splendid dragon in the family.” Her smile quickly disappeared.
“But your mother was terribly frail when she was born.” “For a time, my mother believed she would never survive.” “Though your grandmother did everything she could to restore Princess Vaella’s health, the egg never hatched.” “When she was little, she loved holding it in her lap while watching her brothers train or listening to me tell stories.” Her voice grew quieter.
“But when we fled, there wasn’t time to take it with us.” “By the time we returned to Dragonstone…” “…the egg had gone cold.” To every Targaryen present, the dragon egg was little more than a beautiful stone.
Its colors remained vibrant, but its life was gone.
Quentyn saw something entirely different.
Within the shell…
The fire still burned.
He could see it.
Streams of molten gold and living flame flowed slowly through the egg’s heart.
They were weak.
Faint.
Yet unmistakably alive.
“Later, your mother married your father.” “Little by little, she grew more interested in books and flowers than dragons.” “So the egg remained on Dragonstone.” “It was eventually brought here, to King’s Landing.” Golden light from the egg reflected in Alysanne’s blue eyes like the rising sun upon a tranquil lake.
She looked at Quentyn.
“I think…” “…it’s time for it to return to its rightful owner.”