Heartbeats.
Thump... thump-thump...
A heartbeat that had slumbered for a thousand years was waking up amidst the interweaving of fire and frost.
Daenerys froze.
She cradled the black-and-red dragon egg as if she were holding a newborn babe. That distinct, powerful pulse traveled through her palm, resonating through every fiber of her being.
"It... it's alive..."
She murmured the words, her violet eyes wide with shock.
Lynn didn't speak. His hand remained over hers, pouring a steady stream of freezing magic into the three eggs, forcing a strange, eerie equilibrium with the heat from the fireplace.
He knew the eggs were alive, of course. But he knew even better that this was merely the beginning.
To make these three true dragons break their shells, fire and frost alone were far from enough.
These three eggs needed sacrifices.
They needed the blood of a King to water their throne.
They needed the blood of a True Dragon to awaken their lineage.
And they needed the blood of a Sorcerer to unlock their wisdom.
Lynn's gaze seemed to pierce through the dancing flames, looking toward the distant East. toward the endless grasslands known as the Dothraki Sea.
In his mind's eye, he saw a man on a stallion, burly and imposing, with the ferocity of a lion.
Khal Drogo. A natural-born King.
Then he saw a woman kneeling in the dust, eyes filled with spite, casting blood magic.
Mirri Maz Duur. A Sorcerer versed in the dark arts.
Finally, his gaze returned to Pentos. It landed on the man currently dead drunk in the next room, lost in dreams of crowns and iron chairs.
Viserys Targaryen.
The last "True Dragon."
The sacrifices had been chosen. The feast was about to begin.
"Lynn..."
Daenerys's voice pulled his thoughts back. She looked up, her stunningly beautiful face a mixture of joy and confusion.
"What do we do? It seems like... it wants to come out."
"Patience."
Lynn withdrew his hand and cut off the flow of frost magic. The glow and the pulsing rhythm of the dragon eggs instantly faded.
A look of disappointment crossed Daenerys's face.
"It needs more sustenance."
Lynn stood up and pulled Daenerys off the rug.
"It needs a grand sacrifice."
Daenerys nodded, though she only half-understood. She didn't know what "sustenance" or "sacrifice" truly meant in Lynn's context. But she believed in him unconditionally.
Her prince, her king, was never wrong.
---
The next day, when Viserys woke from his hangover, he felt as if his head were splitting open.
He stumbled out of his room, intending to find a serving girl to attend to him, when his eyes fell upon the three dragon eggs displayed in the center of the courtyard.
Under the morning sun, their surfaces gleamed with a warm luster. They no longer looked like cold stones; they looked alive.
Viserys sobered up instantly.
He walked over quickly, reaching out to touch the black-and-red egg.
But before his fingers could graze the shell, his wrist was caught.
It was Daenerys.
"Don't touch it."
Daenerys's voice was soft, but it carried an invisible edge of steel.
Viserys froze. He stared at his sister. This girl, who had spent her life cowering behind him, afraid to even breathe too loudly—she dared to stop him?
"What did you say?"
Viserys's face instantly darkened. "Dany, have you forgotten who your King is?"
"Lynn gave them to me."
Daenerys didn't back down. Her violet eyes met Viserys's fury head-on.
"Yours?" Viserys laughed as if he'd heard the greatest joke in the world. "Everything you have, I gave you!"
"Your life, your name, even this husband you have now—they are all gifts from me! These eggs belong to House Targaryen! They belong to me! To the blood of the Dragon!"
He tried to shake off Daenerys's grip to snatch the egg.
"I think you're mistaken about something, King Viserys."
A cold voice came from behind him.
Viserys went rigid. He turned slowly to see Lynn standing there.
"These eggs were a wedding gift from Magister Illyrio to my wife and me," Lynn said, walking up to Viserys, his pitch-black eyes watching him calmly. "Therefore, they are my property."
"And you," Lynn continued, "are currently nothing more than a Beggar King living under someone else's roof."
"You—!"
Viserys's face turned a blotchy purple, trembling with humiliation and rage.
Beggar King. He hated that name more than anything.
"It seems you haven't realized your position," Lynn said, ignoring his anger. "Your throne, your army, your hope for vengeance—they are all held in the palm of my hand."
"All I have to do is say the word, and you go back to being the laughingstock begging on the streets of the Free Cities."
Lynn's words doused Viserys's anger and dignity like a bucket of ice water. He looked at Lynn's calm face and felt a bone-deep chill.
He finally realized: this man was no ally he could manipulate. This was a monster more terrifying than any dragon.
"I..." Viserys's lips quivered. The phrase "I am the Dragon" died in his throat.
"I just... I want to restore our House so badly," he finally stammered, finding a lame excuse after a long pause.
"Good."
Lynn seemed satisfied with his sudden pragmatism. "In that case, it's time to move."
"Move? To where?" Viserys blinked. "Back to Westeros?"
"No." Lynn shook his head. "Your army of a hundred thousand savages will wait in the North. Right now, we need to gather our forces and conquer a new army."
Lynn looked toward the East.
" The Dothraki."
---
The atmosphere in Magister Illyrio's manse turned strange.
"Conquer the Dothraki?"
Illyrio's massive frame sank into his lounge chair, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. He had heard countless mad plans in his life, but none matched this.
Conquer the Dothraki? Those barbarians who lived in the saddle and swept through lands like locusts? They had no cities, no kings—only Khalasars that followed the strong. They worshipped violence and lived by plunder. Even the mighty Valyrian Freehold had struggled to deal with them.
"Lord Lynn, perhaps you misunderstand the Dothraki," Illyrio said, wiping sweat from his brow. "They cannot be conquered. They are like the wind—they come and go without a trace."
"Even the wind can be steered," Lynn said, taking a sip of wine.
"Right now, there is a dominant Khalasar on the Dothraki Sea. Their leader is Khal Drogo, a man who has never lost a battle."
"If we kill him and swallow his Khalasar, we gain over eighty thousand elite cavalrymen."
"Then, using that Khalasar as our core, we roll forward like an avalanche, swallowing all the smaller tribes until we unite the entire Dothraki Sea."
Illyrio's heart pounded. He had to admit, the plan was insane, but not impossible. If someone truly united the Dothraki Sea, the golden trade route connecting East and West would be completely secured.
The profits... they would be enough to make the Iron Bank of Braavos lose its mind.
"It's... it's too risky," Illyrio hesitated. "Khal Drogo's bloodriders are the fiercest among the Dothraki. They only follow the strongest Khal."
"Perfect," Lynn smiled. "I'll show them what 'strongest' really means. I will personally cut off his braid and let him taste defeat."
Viserys, listening from the side, felt his blood boil. He was already fantasizing about riding a dragon, leading tens of thousands of Dothraki screamers, and storming King's Landing. It would be a hundred times more glorious than leading a bunch of wildlings to siege a castle!
"Illyrio! Give him the ships!" Viserys shouted excitedly. "Give him the best ships! The fastest ones! I command you to satisfy all his requests!"
Illyrio sighed helplessly. He knew he had no choice.
"I only need three ships," Lynn said, holding up three fingers. "Along with enough fresh water and supplies."
"And..." Lynn's gaze landed on Viserys. "King Viserys must come with us."
"It is necessary for the future King of the Seven Kingdoms to witness the birth of his first army with his own eyes, is it not?"
Viserys puffed out his chest, his face filled with righteous pride. "Naturally!"
He had absolutely no idea he was embarking on a one-way trip to hell. Nor did he imagine that the "Dragon's blood" he dreamed of would flow in a way he never wanted to see.
Lynn was keeping him alive for one reason only: to wait until the dragon eggs were ready, and then sacrifice him alongside Khal Drogo.
---
Three days later.
The Port of Pentos.
Three merchant ships belonging to Magister Illyrio had raised their sails.
Lynn stood at the bow, the sea breeze tugging at his black robes. Daenerys stood quietly beside him like a dutiful little wife, fixing his collar where the wind had blown it askew.
There was no longer any fear or insecurity on her face. Instead, there was only the anticipation and happiness of embarking on a journey with the man she loved.
The three dragon eggs were carefully stowed in the deepest part of the hold, wrapped in warm silk.
Viserys had changed into a sharp riding outfit, a flashy, gold-plated longsword hanging at his waist. He held his head high, surveying the busy slaves and sailors on the dock with the look of a monarch inspecting his domain.
He was already imagining how those barbarians on the Dothraki Sea would bow and scrape when they saw a "True Dragon" like him. Perhaps Lynn wouldn't even need to lift a finger. One shout from him, and those horse-riding savages would kneel at his feet and kiss his boots.
As for Lynn...
A cold, dark glint flashed deep in Viserys's eyes.
He's just a thief who stole the power of House Targaryen, he thought. Once I control the Dothraki and reclaim my eggs and my army... I'll show this Northern savage who the real master is.
"Set sail!"
At the captain's command, the heavy iron anchors were slowly hauled up.
Carrying different ambitions and desires, the three ships slowly left the harbor of Pentos, cutting through the waves toward the vaster, bloodier Eastern continent.