King's Landing, Rhaenys' Hill — Dragon's Lair
A massive dome occupied half the hill, large enough for several dragons to sleep side by side.
Her enormous body barely fit through the entrance of the dragon's lair, so she spent most of the day outside, resting on a specially constructed stone platform.
Dragon guards stood to the side, clad in fire-resistant leather armor, their faces filled with awe and fear. Before the mother of dragons, besides pushing wooden carts of trembling livestock during feeding, they dared only to keep their distance.
Vhagar was too old. Years had bestowed her a physique unmatched by any dragon, but also a near-constant lethargy. She slept most of the time, each breath sounding like muffled thunder from beneath the earth, with the heavy scent of sulfur surrounding her.
But today was different.
Erin Haver whispered behind him, stepping back instinctively, her face paling. He had seen glorious knightly duels in the arena, but never faced such primal, raw destructive power so directly.
The heat struck his face; his knees buckled, barely able to stand. Even Gawen Lannister, always composed, held his breath, blue eyes wide with shock. Not even the eldest commander of the dragon guards had witnessed Vhagar's intensity when scorching a dead egg.
Suddenly, Vhagar stopped her flames. She seemed to sense something, her massive head slowly turning, golden vertical pupils fixing on Aemond.
"Rrrrr!!"
A roar erupted, flames lifting Aemond's cloak and silver hair.
Aemond met the dragon's gaze. He was not afraid. Slowly, he extended his hand to stroke her rough, scaly hide.
"Quiet."
He lifted his uninjured hand, and the commotion around them abruptly fell silent. Aemond understood in an instant.
He did not hesitate. Clenching his bloodied hand, he stepped forward, inch by inch, toward the dragon egg still radiating heat. The closer he got, the more he felt the abnormal warmth emanating from the eggshell — the fire Vhagar had just unleashed.
Vhagar lowered her head, staring intently at him.
Aemond placed his bloodied palm against the dragon egg. Blood seeped into the gray, speckled shell, tracing fine lines, as if the egg itself were drawing him in.
In this moment, it was as if the dragon regarded him as a blood-bearing vessel, allowing him to help bring forth the little dragon inside.
A hush fell over the onlookers, everyone holding their breath at the unfathomable scene.
From the sky came a long, melodic cry. Vhagar responded with a short, deep rumble from her throat — a surge of the blood bond between mother and offspring. Dreamfyre — the first heir of Vhagar — stirred within.
Helena slipped from the dragon's back, dressed in a white riding outfit. Her soft armor, embroidered with silver thread, shimmered in the sunset; her long silvery-golden hair whipped in the wind, cheeks still flushed from the cold high above.
She saw Aemond pressing his bloodied hand to the dragon egg.
"Aemond!"
She stepped forward quickly, ignoring the salutes of the attendants, grasping his wrist and inspecting the wound. Her brows knitted, eyes full of concern.
"What are you doing?"
Aemond's gaze remained fixed on the egg. "Helena… it's alive."
Helena followed his eyes. The egg looked gray and rough, seemingly dead. Yet faintly, from deep within, she could sense a faint but steady pulse of life.
"It's responding to me, Helena," Aemond said. He could feel a subtle connection forming between him and the dragon egg.
"Just a little blood," he said, turning to her, voice calmer. "It's alright."
"Why don't you return with me to the Red Keep?" she asked softly.
Helena glanced at him briefly, then finally nodded, turning to leave with her maid and guards, her figure gradually fading from view.
Aemond remained alone beside the dragon egg, feeling a strange warmth under his palm. He knew this once-dead egg had been awakened by his blood.
Had a Targaryen ever controlled only one dragon in their lifetime? Could blood truly activate a dormant egg? What other powers might this hold?
As the setting sun bathed Rhaenys' Hill in deep golden light, heavy footsteps echoed from the stone steps — clearly, many more had arrived.