The smithy of Castle Black was now surrounded by an impenetrable ring of guards.
Torrhen and Jason, leading Lynn's most trusted Northmen and Rangers, had completely sealed off the area. No one was allowed near.
Tyrion might keep the secret of an egg, but a hatched dragon was a different beast entirely. He would surely report it to the Lannisters.
Aware of this, Jon Snow had already lured Tyrion away on a pretext. Meanwhile, orders had been issued to every brother of the Watch: absolute silence regarding the dragon's birth. The penalty for leaking word was death.
The stakes were too high. This was Lynn's will.
Inside the smithy, waves of heat rolled through the air.
The massive forge in the center glowed a furious red. Roaring flames surged from it, illuminating the space as bright as day. The air was thick with the scent of hot metal and burning charcoal.
Lynn stood before the forge, cradling the ice-blue dragon egg.
It pulsed warmly in his arms, beating like an anxious heart. It seemed to sense the intense heat nearby and trembled with excitement.
Maester Aemon stood by Lynn's side.
He had removed his grey Maester's robe, wearing only a thin white tunic. His aged face wore an expression of solemn tranquility.
Jeor Mormont guarded the door. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, his weathered face etched with tension and anticipation.
"Lynn."
Maester Aemon's voice cut through the crackling of the fire.
"Place the egg into the fire."
Lynn's arm stiffened.
"Maester, are you certain?"
"Dragons are born of fire," Aemon said, his tone brooking no argument.
"No matter the kind, only the fiercest flames can wake the slumbering bloodline."
Lynn said no more.
Taking a deep breath, he carefully placed the ice-blue egg into the roaring heart of the forge.
A strange sight unfolded.
In flames hot enough to melt steel, the egg did not melt. Instead, it began to radiate an increasingly brilliant blue light.
The scale patterns on the shell seemed to come alive, flowing with mysterious luster under the licking flames.
A clearer hum resonated from within the egg.
A powerful aura of life expanded outward.
"The time has come."
Maester Aemon murmured softly. From his tunic, he produced a small, incredibly sharp silver knife—a tool for bloodletting and dissection.
Without hesitation, he drew the blade across his own wrist, cutting deep.
"Aemon!" Mormont cried out.
Blood gushed from the wound instantly.
It was not ordinary red blood, but a deep, rich crimson with a faint silvery sheen, bordering on purple.
The blood of the dragon!
Maester Aemon ignored Mormont's cry.
Raising his bleeding wrist, he walked step by step toward the red-hot forge, a smile of release on his face.
In High Valyrian, he began to chant an ancient spell, his voice solemn and sorrowful.
"Drakari pykiros, issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys."
(Dragon of fire, born of blood.)
"Perzys se bē, zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor."
(Fire without life, the dragon knows not.)
Then, he offered his final oath to the egg in the flames.
"Urnegon brōzi, hēnkirī jēdri!"
(By the wisdom of sages, guide the way!)
"Dārijē sȳzri, līr gūrēni!"
(By the blood of kings, command the power!)
"Drakari sȳzri, sōvegon aō!"
(By the blood of the dragon, I call you to wake!)
"Nyke, Aemon Targārien, brōztē glaesot sȳz naejot ynot!"
(I, Aemon Targaryen, offer here my all!)
He extended his wrist, dripping with royal blood, over the flames.
Drops of purplish-red blood fell onto the scalding shell.
Hiss—
The blood did not evaporate upon contact. Instead, as if possessed of its own will, it seeped rapidly into the shell.
In the next second.
The ice-blue dragon egg erupted with unprecedented light!
It was no longer blue, but a pure, blinding white light that seemed to swallow everything.
The brilliance forced both Lynn and Mormont to shield their eyes.
Standing closest to the forge, the smile on Maester Aemon's face froze.
In an instant, his white tunic turned to ash. His withered skin began to crack and peel, revealing the bone beneath.
But he made no sound. He simply stood there.
Using his fading life to endure the primal baptism of the dragon's birth.
"Maester Aemon!"
Under Lynn's gaze, Maester Aemon's body dissolved, bit by bit, into specks of light.
Nothing remained. No corpse. No ashes.
He simply vanished into the air.
As if he had never existed.
Only an old, relieved voice echoed slowly in Lynn's mind.
"Lynn..."
"Go..."
"Go... and end the Long Night..."
Lynn fell to his knees, his mind blank.
Maester Aemon had traded his life for the awakening of this egg.
Just as Lynn was drowning in grief and shock...
Crack.
A crisp sound of shattering shell rang out abruptly in the quieting smithy.
Lynn jerked his head up.
The fire in the forge had died down.
The ice-blue egg lay quietly in the cooling coals.
A crack appeared on the shell.
Then a second, a third...
Fissures spread rapidly, covering the entire surface.
Pop!
With a dull sound, the shell shattered completely.
A... strange creature crawled out.
It was not the lizard-like hatchling from Daenerys's stories.
This newborn creature stood firmly on four sturdy legs amidst the broken shell.
And what made Lynn and Mormont's scalps tingle was...
atop its long neck sat three heads!
The center head was the largest, flanked by two smaller ones.
Three pairs of eyes, each a different color, looked curioulsy at this new world.
Lynn was stunned.
Three heads, four legs, a pair of wings...
Is this a dragon?
This looks like a cross between a dragon and a three-headed hellhound!
"Gods be good..."
Mormont stepped up to the forge, his voice breaking as he looked at the deformed creation.
"What in seven hells is that?"
He had lived a long life and heard countless legends of dragons. But he had never heard of a dragon like this!
Seeming to hear Mormont's voice, the three heads turned in unison and let out a layered, juvenile roar at him.
One high-pitched, one low, one sharp.
Mixed together, it sounded indescribably eerie.
Mormont instinctively took a half-step back, his hand on his sword hilt. He stared at the little monster, brows furrowed, his expression shifting rapidly.
Finally, he sighed deeply.
"It seems to be deformed... but it has the aura of a dragon."
"Maester Aemon, look..."
Mormont stopped halfway, suddenly realizing.
Aemon was gone.
He fell silent for a long time.
"It is a dragon, nonetheless."
Just then, the three heads turned back in unison.
Six eyes focused entirely on Lynn, who was still kneeling on the ground.
The large central head stretched out cautiously.
With its snout still slick with birthing fluids, it gently nudged Lynn.
A wave of affection and reliance instantly flooded Lynn's mind through a mysterious connection.
Lynn paused, then a surge of wild joy filled his heart!
It worked!
However, the joy on his face froze a second later.
He tried to use the mental connection to give the little creature a simple command.
Like "lift your claw."
No response.
The connection was like a one-way door; he could feel the creature's emotions, but he couldn't transmit his will.
This dragon... it doesn't obey me!
Lynn's heart sank.
Dragons only recognized the blood of Old Valyria and fire magic. Its friendliness toward Lynn was likely just because it sensed a familiar aura on him.
Is it the Ice Magic?
Lynn recalled secretly injecting Ice Magic into the egg.
I'll fetch Jon and see if he can control it. He has the blood.
If he can't, then I'll have to use Ice Magic to help it 'remember' who's in charge.
After nuzzling Lynn, the three-headed dragon lowered its heads.
The middle head began to crunch happily on its own eggshell.
The other two heads scanned the surroundings vigilantly. One of them even bared its teeth impatiently at the people nearby.
This dragon has a bad temper, Lynn noted keenly.
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