The same process repeated.
A golden radiance gathered at Lo Quen's brow, and a drop of Dragonblood—scorching and infused with the power of an ancient pact—seeped forth, merging silently into the dark dragon egg.
The suffocating pressure in the chamber slowly lifted.
The four dragon eggs, now infused with Dragonblood, lay motionless. A faint, lustrous glow rippled across their shells, as though sleeping beasts had just drawn their first breath.
Janice had held her breath throughout, her violet eyes fixed on the path of each drop of Dragonblood. When the final trace of gold vanished into the black-crimson shell, she could not restrain herself. She hurried forward, bending low, her silver hair nearly brushing against the pale purple egg she had chosen.
Her fingertips hovered above the cold surface, studying every line and texture, desperate to catch even the faintest sign of life within.
"Is it done?" she whispered, expectation in her voice as she turned eagerly to Lo Quen.
Lo Quen gave a slight nod, his gaze lingering on the four eggs. The silence of fossilized stone had been replaced by a vast, hidden vitality, like molten rock straining to burst free from beneath the shells.
"When will they hatch?" Jaelena stepped closer, her voice carrying an uncharacteristic urgency.
As a descendant of House Belaerys, one of the Dragonlord bloodlines, the birth of dragons was both her yearning and her obsession. She could hardly wait to see them with her own eyes.
Lo Quen shook his head, brushing his fingertips across the gradually warming shells. "Hard to say. Perhaps months."
He could feel the slow but steady pulse beneath the stone.
"That long..." Jaelena murmured under her breath.
Lo Quen carefully placed the eggs on the heavy wooden table beneath the stone window. Outside, sheer cliffs plunged into the sea, where waves crashed endlessly against black rock.
Cold moonlight streamed through the lattice, spilling over the four eggs—pale purple, silver-white, blood-red, and black-crimson—each glowing faintly from within, like slumbering stars.
"From now on, the Dragon Soul Guards will secure this place. No one is to enter," Lo Quen said firmly.
Janice frowned. "What if they hatch while we're gone?"
Lo Quen thought for a moment. "When I leave, I'll station the Dragon Soul Guards inside. If the eggs stir, they'll report to us immediately."
The three agreed not to name the unborn dragons yet. They would wait until the shells broke.
With that decided, they parted ways.
...
As Lo Quen stepped out of the sea cave, he heard the steady but awkward rhythm of drill commands from the harbor, interspersed with Jorah Mormont's harsh barking.
The knight of Bear Island spotted him, halted the training, and strode over from Fan Bay with heavy steps, his expression as stormy as a gray sky.
Since the day he had sworn loyalty and been released, Jorah had gone straight to Lynesse. At first, he feared Lo Quen might break his word, but when he saw her unharmed, his heart finally eased.
Even so, her situation gnawed at him like a thorn.
Born to nobility in the Reach, Lynesse had known only wealth and indulgence. Now she lived in a bare stone chamber, served by a single lowly slave. The splendor and dignity of her past life were gone, replaced by fear and despair.
To her, every day in Torturer's Deep dragged like a year. She lived in constant dread that one of the pirate lords might take her by force. Her once-radiant face was shadowed with sorrow, her spirit withered.
The sight of her suffering pierced Jorah deeper than any wound to his flesh.
To Lynesse, his arrival was her only lifeline.
They exchanged what had befallen them during the past days. Jorah still remembered how, before he left, she had clung to him in tears, begging him to take her away from this den of pirates.
But he knew well that Lo Quen would never release her. She was the chain binding his loyalty.
Still, for her sake, he played the dutiful husband. He swore to her that he would find a way to escape together soon.
Yet even as he said the words, he knew how hollow they sounded.
Seeing the restrained anger and bitterness etched across Jorah's face, a faint, cold glint passed through Lo Quen's eyes.
"Ser Jorah," he asked, "what do you make of the men's bearing?"
Lo Quen had ordered Jorah to train the surrendered pirates in batches, but he had given him no authority to command them.
That rankled Jorah, though there was nothing he could do. Even if he ordered the pirates to strike at Lo Quen, they would stand no chance against the Dragon Soul Guards armed with Valyrian steel at Lo Quen's side.
Jorah's jaw clenched, his voice hard as stone. "Abysmal. A pack of slippery thieves, their heads filled with nothing but plunder and tricks to run. No discipline. No grasp of formations."
He paused, a trace of pride and resentment in his tone. "I could bring down several myself."
"Exactly why," Lo Quen replied evenly, "I need you, Ser, to forge them into men who can actually draw blood with a blade."
Jorah's throat worked. At last, he gave a heavy, reluctant nod, his weathered head bowing. "I will."
He turned toward the noisy harbor, his broad back like a bear's—yet burdened, weighed down with gloom.
Lo Quen watched him go, eyes narrowing slightly. He had never trusted Jorah, not for a moment.
In truth, this man had always been self-absorbed and ruled by infatuation. First Lynesse—he squandered his house's wealth to win her favor, leaving his family and people to suffer the cost. Then Daenerys—he threw himself at her feet, endlessly swearing loyalty, scheming to drive Barristan and others from her side, heedless of whether it endangered her.
A man who lived only to please women, who acted rashly without thought, could never truly be loyal to Lo Quen.
Bringing him under his banner served many purposes. Training pirates was only one of them.
...
Lo Quen turned from the harbor and summoned Jaelena. Together they climbed the steep path up to the summit of Torturer's Deep.
The sea wind cut sharp and cold, heavy with salt as it struck their faces.
Far below, the deep blue water stretched like endless silk, breaking into white spray against jagged reefs.
Facing into the gale, Lo Quen's voice carried clear. "Jaelena, why do you think we managed to take Torturer's Deep that day?"
Her silver hair whipped in the wind. After a brief silence, she answered coolly, her words steady. "Our success lay in Crab Claw's arrogance. He thought luring us inside would allow him to crush us in one stroke. Had we been without magic, without the Dragon Soul Guards, perhaps he would have succeeded. If he had barred us outside instead of letting us enter, this stronghold's cliffs would have made it unassailable—unless you became a dragon yourself."
"Just so." Lo Quen nodded, his gaze sweeping the reefs below, a natural barrier where the currents swirled dark and treacherous. "It shows we must never underestimate these pirates. They've ruled the Stepstones for years; they must have their own strengths. With our magic limited, caution is vital."
He pointed to the faint black shadows shifting beneath the waves. "Without Roro, those reefs alone could undo us."
Turning back to Jaelena, his tone sharpened with command. "In the coming days, I need you to lead the Dragon Soul Guards and a portion of the pirates. Stretch chains across the reefs, sealing the gaps so only one passage remains."
"And the chain gate at the Crack Channel must be rebuilt. The current defense is too crude. We'll raise a stone arch there, with heavy gates and, above them, mounted scorpions. It must become a true choke point. If enemies come, we fall back behind the arch and strike from cover..."
Jaelena listened intently, her violet eyes catching the sea and sky as she fixed every detail in memory.
When he finished, she gave a simple reply. "Understood."
Then she turned, descending swiftly along the cliff path to see the orders carried out.