“Your Grace…” Baelon opened his mouth in surprise, only to realize something a heartbeat later and fall silent.
Quentyn was no less astonished.
His face remained perfectly composed, but inwardly his thoughts were in turmoil.
He had devised several contingency plans concerning dragons, yet every one of them had been built upon the original timeline, the one in which the Great Council rejected inheritance through the female line.
Now Alysanne had suddenly brought up his mother’s dragon egg.
It was impossible not to read into it.
Still, judging by how quickly Baelon had stopped himself from speaking, there was clearly more to the matter than Quentyn knew.
Many of the theories he had encountered in his previous life suggested that the Targaryens had either lost, or perhaps never truly possessed, the proper methods for hatching dragon eggs and bonding dragons.
Otherwise, why build the Dragonpit, a place that seemed to stunt dragons’ growth?
Why rely on something as uncertain as placing eggs in cradles beside newborns?
And why, in later generations, resort to one bizarre hatching method after another?
Quentyn had once accepted those theories as fact.
But after coming to this world, some of the certainties he had held began to crumble, while others only grew stronger.
This was one such example.
Perhaps House Targaryen did possess some way of judging whether a dragon egg still contained life.
Whether that method was actually reliable was another matter entirely.
“My mother never told me she once had a dragon egg.” Quentyn carefully chose his words, deliberately keeping them vague in hopes of learning more.
“She was too young to remember.” Alysanne lifted the egg into her hands.
Although the dragonkeepers had packed the great bronze brazier with glowing charcoal, the egg remained cold to the touch, as lifeless as stone.
“We hid in the cellars beneath the Wailing Tower, listening to your grandmother’s stories while the ghosts of Harrenhal kept us company.” A smile appeared on her face.
“Jaehaerys declared war on the fat rats that kept stealing our bread.
He insisted they were Maegor’s soldiers and spent every day hunting them down.” “Each time he returned victorious, he carried himself like a knight who had won a glorious battle.” She laughed softly.
“Though in the end, it was always Vermithor and Silverwing who cleaned up his battlefield.” “Lord Enys sheltered us for three years.” “Your mother grew up at Harrenhal.
That was where she first learned to remember the little things around her.” “Later, when Maegor became wholly consumed with producing an heir, we gradually ventured out of the cellars and began moving freely around Harrenhal.” “One by one, the great lords came in secret to swear their swords to King Jaehaerys.” “As for the rest…” “You already know how the story ends.” Quentyn glanced toward Baelon and found the prince looking back at him.
The understanding between them needed no words.
Baelon clearly saw this as an opportunity to reconcile his parents.
Quentyn understood at once.
Ever since Queen Alysanne and King Jaehaerys had fallen out, Baelon had been trying to bridge the divide between them.
But he also knew why he had never succeeded.
In his mother’s eyes, he was the raven who had taken the crown that should have passed to his niece after his elder brother’s death.
As a mediator, he could never truly remain impartial.
“Lord Rogar Baratheon pledged his support to His Grace’s rightful claim.” Picking up on Baelon’s silent cue, Quentyn smoothly continued the tale.
“Then the banners of the realm were raised, the armies gathered, and King Maegor’s tyranny finally collapsed.” Even as he spoke, his gaze kept drifting back to the dragon egg.
It was breathtakingly beautiful.
Whether it was the fascination he had carried from another life or the longing buried deep within his Valyrian blood, Quentyn could not find the slightest flaw in it.
Or perhaps…
A better way to put it was that, in his eyes, even its flaws were perfect.
“That’s right.” Alysanne sighed deeply.
“The rest you already know.” “What a pity your mother never lived to see her dragon hatch.” She gently placed the egg into Quentyn’s hands.
He hesitated for only a moment before accepting it.
The shell was cold.
Its surface was uneven, covered with scales that felt rough beneath his fingertips.
Yet beneath the firelight it refracted the flames like a prism, making the egg appear as smooth and flawless as blown glass.
Standing behind them, Daemon looked from Quentyn to Alysanne, then to Baelon, utterly bewildered.
He lowered his voice.
“What are they talking about?” Viserys frowned.
After a quiet sigh, he answered with a single word.
“Rhaenys.” Daemon looked even more confused.
“What does this have to do with Rhaenys?” “Because Princess Rhaenys was the first royal dragonrider to marry outside the family,” Viserys explained quietly.
“In our parents’ generation, only our mother ever rode a dragon.” He paused.
“Do you remember our great-aunt?” “Aunt Daenerys?” Something seemed to click in Daemon’s memory.
Viserys nodded.
“Thirty-four years ago, the Shivers claimed Aunt Daenerys.” “At the very end, Grandfather had no choice but to order a young dragon brought to her bedside, hoping it might save her just as Silverwing had once saved Lord Enys.” He shook his head sadly.
“But it was already too late.” Daemon’s brow furrowed.
“What does that have to do with any of this?” “It means Grandfather never truly opposed giving dragons to the women of our family.” Viserys sighed.
“The tragedy of Aunt Aerea left him deeply shaken.” “And Lady Elissa Farman’s theft of the dragon eggs only made him more cautious.” “But he never forbade our aunts from becoming dragonriders.” “It was only after the dragon egg placed in Uncle’s cradle failed to hatch that he stopped placing dragon eggs in the cradles of newborn children.” “My father’s cradle never held one either.” Viserys drew a slow breath before continuing.
“The only problem was that Aunt Maegelle had no interest in dragons whatsoever.
Aunt Daella was afraid of cats, let alone dragons.
As for Aunt Viserra and Aunt Saera…” Viserys sighed.
“Gods help us if either of them had ever managed to claim one.” He slowly clenched his left hand into a fist.
“Princess Rhaenys is a dragonrider, but she’s now the wife of Lord Corlys Velaryon.
One day she’ll bear the Sea Snake an heir to Driftmark.” He looked at Daemon.
“When that child is born, will he, or she, have the right to claim a dragon?” Daemon fell silent.
The question had never occurred to him before.
“If Rhaenys’s child can bond with a dragon…
or someday rides Meleys…” Viserys’ expression grew grave.
“Will that child be a Targaryen dragonrider…” “…or a Velaryon dragonrider?” He glanced toward Quentyn.
“And what about him?” “His mother is a Targaryen.” “If Gael marries outside the family, her children will face the same question.” His right hand tightened into a fist as well.
“A balance only remains steady if there is equal weight on both sides.” “But once one side grows heavier than the other…” “…the scales tip.” His voice dropped almost to a whisper.
“And now…” “Grandfather and Grandmother are already divided over Rhaenys’s right to inherit.” “That’s why Grandmother came to King’s Landing the moment she learned Quentyn had saved you.” “She wants to use that dragon egg to ask Grandfather one question.” “Is he willing to make amends for everything his daughters…
and his sisters…
have lost?” Daemon felt his head spinning.
“Then…
what are we supposed to do?” “What can we do?” Viserys simply shook his head.
“I don’t know.” Holding the dragon egg in his hands, Quentyn found himself contemplating the very same question.
Back in his previous life, he and his friends had debated this issue more than once.
Had King Jaehaerys deliberately sought to limit the spread of dragonriders?
To settle the argument, Quentyn had even reopened Fire & Blood.
Though he had only read it a handful of times, he searched through it carefully.
In the end, however, he had reached no definite conclusion.
The truth seemed far more complicated.
Jaehaerys had genuinely wrestled with the question of allowing his daughters to become dragonriders.
Most of them had simply never lived long enough to reach that point.
Ultimately…
It had been fate that decided the matter.
At that moment, a guard from the Red Keep hurried toward them.
He hesitated upon seeing Queen Alysanne before turning to Baelon and Quentyn.
“Your Highness.
Lord Quentyn.” “His Grace requests Lord Quentyn’s presence as soon as possible.” Baelon immediately looked toward his mother.
Alysanne’s expression turned cold.
Without a word, she turned and walked deeper into the Dragonpit.
She wants the king to be the one who yields first.
Quentyn instinctively tightened his grip on the dragon egg.
Whatever happened between husband and wife…
Her actions worked to his advantage.
That alone was enough.
“Take your brother back to Maegor’s Holdfast.” Baelon drew a slow breath before turning to Viserys.
He rested a hand on his eldest son’s shoulder.
“Lock the door if you must.” “The next time I see him, it had better not be with his cock hanging out over some whore on the Street of Silk.” “And I certainly don’t want to find him bleeding in a gutter in Flea Bottom again.” “I swear I won’t, ” Daemon protested immediately.
“Your promises are worth less than air.” Baelon shot him a glare.
“As soon as this matter is settled, you’re returning to Dragonstone.” “You will stay there until Maester Galadis declares your leg fully healed.” “Only then may you come back.” Daemon wisely decided not to argue further.
Quentyn shot his friend a sympathetic look before following Baelon away.
“Your Highness.
Lord Quentyn.” “The carriage is ready.” The Red Keep guard lowered his voice respectfully.
Baelon nodded.
Outside the Dragonpit, the carriage had already been waiting by the roadside.
Before climbing aboard, Baelon looked Quentyn up and down with open approval.
His silver hair was tied into a ponytail with a black-and-gold ribbon.
He wore a fitted black velvet doublet that appeared almost plain at first glance, yet as the light shifted, woven patterns gradually revealed themselves, the flaming Holy Cross and skull of House Qoherys intertwined with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
A cloak of matching velvet hung from his shoulders, fastened with an obsidian brooch bearing his personal sigil.
A pale dragon with outstretched wings, clutching both flame and a skull in its talons.
“No need to change.” Baelon nodded approvingly.
“You’re dressed perfectly.” He opened the carriage door, gesturing for Quentyn to board first.
Quentyn raised the dragon egg with a helpless smile.
Baelon blinked.
Only then did he notice the two Dragonkeepers still standing behind them, each carrying part of the heavy bronze vessel with thoroughly bewildered expressions.
“You go ahead in the carriage.” “I’ll escort them to the palace myself.” He made the decision immediately.
Quentyn carefully returned the dragon egg to its bronze container before climbing into the carriage with the Red Keep guard.
King’s Landing slowly drifted past outside the window.
Quentyn took a deep breath.
Now came the truly difficult part.
Queen Alysanne had placed a blazing-hot burden squarely into his hands.
The potential rewards were enormous.
So were the risks.
The real question was…
How would King Jaehaerys respond?
After the theft of the dragon eggs by Elissa Farman, was he truly as fearful of dragons falling into other hands as historians in Quentyn’s previous world believed?
Or…
Was he simply what Quentyn had come to see with his own eyes?
An old man exhausted by the endless loss of his children.
A weary king still searching for the right answer.
Lost in thought, Quentyn scarcely noticed the carriage arriving at the Red Keep.
The fortress had begun as Aegon the Conqueror’s simple stronghold atop Aegon’s High Hill.
Later, Aegon I ordered it expanded into a royal castle.
King Maegor the Cruel transformed it into the mighty fortress that now dominated King’s Landing.
Massive curtain walls surrounded the castle.
Countless crenellations and fortified towers provided ideal positions for archers.
Here and there, skulls still adorned the iron spikes crowning the battlements.
Seeing the royal carriage approach, the gate guards immediately raised the heavy portcullis.
The carriage rolled into the cobbled courtyard.
A short while later, Baelon arrived on horseback, accompanied by the Dragonkeepers carrying the bronze vessel.
The two of them straightened their clothing before entering the castle together.
The herald’s voice rang through the halls.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Baelon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne!” A heartbeat later came the second announcement.
“Lord Quentyn Qoherys, heir to Harrenhal, son of Lord Daeron Qoherys and Princess Vaella Targaryen!” As the herald’s cry echoed away, the great doors of the throne room slowly swung open.
Quentyn’s eyes immediately fell upon the monstrous throne forged from countless swords.
The Iron Throne…
Then…
He saw the old king.