The fire in the forge had died completely.
Jeor Mormont stood rooted to the spot, the muscles in his face twitching slightly as he stared at the bizarre creature in the cooling coals.
That was not a dragon of legend.
The dragons of song and story were elegant, lethal lords of the sky.
But this thing before them... it looked more like a crude jape, a deformed creation abandoned by the gods.
It had four legs, though the front pair were noticeably smaller and weaker, resembling grasping arms rather than limbs meant to support weight.
The most unsettling feature, however, was the three heads sprouting from its neck.
Each one was distinct.
The central head was the largest, with eyes of molten amber, radiating an innate majesty and curiosity.
The head on the left was slightly smaller, its eyes a deep, abyssal blue—like the ice of the farthest North—filled with cold vigilance.
The head on the right was the smallest, yet its eyes were blood-red, containing nothing but pure, unmasked violence and hunger.
Lynn remained kneeling on the floor, his limbs still weak.
The scene of Maester Aemon's dissolution was branded into his mind.
It was a total, unreserved sacrifice.
With his life, his soul, and the last shred of Targaryen honor, the old man had ignited a dragon egg that had slumbered for a century.
Gurgle...
The little three-headed monster let out a satisfied purr from its central head.
It lowered its snout and began to gnaw on the shattered eggshells with serrated teeth, making a crisp crunch, crunch sound.
The other two heads remained alert. One stared coldly at Mormont, while the other hissed threats at the surrounding darkness.
They seemed to possess independent thoughts.
Just then, a wave of affection and reliance washed over Lynn's consciousness through an invisible bond.
It came from the middle head.
After finishing a piece of shell, it looked up, fixing its amber eyes on Lynn.
Lynn's heart stirred.
It worked.
Controlling a dragon required High Valyrian, which he didn't speak. He would have to try the crude way.
Suppressing the turmoil in his heart, Lynn focused his mind and formed a simple command.
Come here.
However, the amber-eyed head merely tilted to the side, looking confused.
It did not obey his will.
The other two heads didn't even spare him a glance.
The mental connection was a one-way street.
Lynn could clearly feel its emotions, but he could not force his will upon it.
This dragon won't listen to me!
Lynn's heart sank instantly.
He thought of Maester Aemon's blood, and the words of House Targaryen.
Dragons only recognized masters with the blood of the dragon.
Aemon had awakened it with his own blood. Lynn was just a bystander who had provided the venue.
Then what was that feeling of affection just now?
Did it just imprint on me like a hatchling duck seeing the first living thing?
Lynn's expression turned grim.
He silently opened his System interface.
Sure enough, a new notification popped up.
[Mount/Pet Panel Unlocked]
Lynn immediately clicked on it.
A brand new panel appeared in his vision.
[Mount: Winter (True Name)]
[Type: Three-Headed Dragon (Hatchling)]
[Status: Loyal (Mental link established, but command control unavailable)]
[Description: A variant dragon birthed from an ice-sealed egg and the blood of a true dragon. Possesses three independent heads and four legs, with weak forelimbs. It recognizes you as its sole master, but its ancient bloodline compels it to obey only specific linguistic commands.]
[Strength: 1 (Hatchling)]
[Agility: 2 (Hatchling)]
[Constitution: 1 (Hatchling)]
[Skills: Unlocked upon reaching maturity milestones]
[Dragonfire (Hatchling), High Valyrian (Growth), Dragonfear (Mature)...]
Winter?
That was the name Maester Aemon had spoken before the end.
Even the System recognized this name?
That damned Three-Eyed Raven named it before it was even born!
Lynn's eyes locked onto the description.
True Name?
Does acquiring Dragon speech magic require a True Name bestowed by some mystical force?
Forget it. The name doesn't matter.
What matters is that the dragon is mine.
"It seems to be deformed..."
Lord Commander Mormont's voice broke the silence.
He walked over slowly, unable to hide the disappointment in his tone.
"But it has the scent of a dragon."
"It is a dragon, after all."
Mormont looked at Lynn, sensing the young man's dilemma.
"It won't listen to you?"
Lynn nodded.
"I can feel it, but I cannot command it."
"The magic dragons of House Targaryen answer only to the tongue of Old Valyria."
Mormont lowered his voice, as if speaking of dangerous secrets.
"Maester Aemon... his books should contain what you need."
"He was a Targaryen. He studied dragons his entire life."
"I believe he prepared everything for you long ago."
Lynn's heart skipped a beat.
Maester Aemon really did prepare everything.
He immediately stood up and headed out of the smithy.
The little three-headed dragon, named "Winter," finished the last piece of shell. It wobbled on its four legs and toddled after Lynn.
Its weak forelimbs made its run look clumsy, but it moved with surprising speed.
Mormont watched the retreating figures of the man and the beast.
A bitter smile touched the Old Bear's lips.
---
Maester Aemon's chambers remained exactly as he had left them.
Books were stacked neatly on the table, and the air still held the scent of parchment and medicinal herbs.
Everything was the same.
Except the master of the room would never return.
Lynn's gaze fell upon the simple writing desk.
A thick stack of books sat on the corner.
On top of them lay a piece of parchment.
Lynn walked over and picked it up.
It was covered in Maester Aemon's shaky handwriting. The letters were crooked, some overlapping others.
It was hard to imagine how a blind old man had managed to write it.
"To Lynn:"
"If you are reading this, the little one has awakened."
"Do not grieve for me. This is the most honorable end a centenarian could hope for."
"The blood of the dragon requires a key to unlock its potential. High Valyrian is that key."
"These books are my life's work. They are the only things I brought to the Wall from the Red Keep in King's Landing."
"Inside, you will find the tongue of the Targaryens, the history of Old Valyria, and scattered lore regarding dragons."
"Learn it. Master it."
"Then, go and fulfill your destiny."
"Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death."
"Your friend, Aemon."
There was no date at the bottom of the letter.
As if he had known this day would come for a long time.
Lynn clutched the thin parchment, his knuckles whitening.
He looked down at his feet.
The little three-headed dragon was gently rubbing its middle head against his pant leg, its amber eyes full of reliance.
Lynn slowly crouched down.
He reached out and, for the first time, voluntarily touched the dragon's scales.
Cold, hard, yet radiating a warmth of life.
"Winter..."
Lynn whispered its name.
Aemon had the right to name it. It would inherit Maester Aemon's will.
"From this day forth, you are my sword and my shield."
The little dragon didn't understand the words, but it understood the touch.
All three heads let out a joyous hiss in unison.
Lynn stood up and gathered the thick stack of books into his arms.
They were heavy.
They carried the weight of Maester Aemon's life and Mormont's trust.
He had lingered here too long.
He needed to return to Winterfell, and then continue south to King's Landing.
---