The Red Keep in the early morning had been washed clean by the rain.
In the royal dining hall of Maegor's Holdfast,
Viserys I sat upright upon the high seat, dressed in a black-and-red velvet robe wrapped around his emaciated body. Compared to his appearance half a month ago, he looked slightly more alive now—still frail, still exhausted, but with less of that deathly haze lingering in his eyes.
He sipped warm milk mixed with honey as his gaze slowly passed over the members of his family seated at the table.
Queen Alicent sat to his right, wearing a long red gown, the sigil of House Hightower embroidered at the neckline in silver thread. Yet her father, Otto, had arranged this without her consent—another attempt to subtly manipulate the king's choices, like an icy thorn driven into her heart. It angered her, if only slightly.
At the same time, she found herself troubled by her own child—Aemond.
She feared that Aemond, like Laenor Velaryon, might not be interested in women at all…
Her gaze drifted unconsciously across the table.
Aemond sat beside Helaena. She wore a simple black tunic beneath a cropped black vest, her long silver-gold hair neatly pulled back, revealing the sharp line of her jaw. He leaned toward her, whispering softly with a faint smile on his lips, likely recounting something he had seen or heard in the Dragonpit.
Helaena tilted her head slightly to listen. A few silver strands slipped loose at her temples and fell over her shoulders. Her violet eyes were fixed on Aemond, long lashes trembling now and then. She nodded gently at something he said, a soft smile touching the corners of her mouth.
Sunlight slipped in through the high windows, wrapping the brother and sister in a halo of light—matching silver hair, the same deep violet eyes—nearly blending together in the play of shadow and glow.
Because of such deviations from the doctrines of the Faith of the Seven, the Targaryens had long been at odds with the Church. Only after the "Cruel" Maegor I crushed it with blood and fire did the Faith finally bow, if only temporarily.
For instance, Prince Daemon had married his niece Laena, and now carried on an affair with another niece—Rhaenyra…
Alicent shook herself from the thought, a wave of discomfort tightening in her chest. Yet the image lingered in her mind.
Helaena—her pure, unblemished daughter—was one of the last comforts she had in this court.
And Aemond…
She looked at the quiet, sharply defined profile of her second son, recalling the madness of that night on Tidelands and the cold indifference Ser Criston Cole had murmured to her about how Aemond had treated Alys earlier that morning.
There was something feverish in the boy's heart—something wild, something born of Targaryen blood.
She feared Aemond might hurt gentle Helaena. And even more, she feared a feeling she dared not name, but which might already have taken root…
"Aemond."
Viserys's voice cut through the delicate atmosphere at the table.
Hearing the king call him, Aemond ended his quiet conversation with Helaena and turned his head.
"Father."
"You look unwell," Viserys said, studying him with a slight frown. "Did you not rest last night?"
"I returned late after riding Vhagar," Aemond replied calmly. "I didn't sleep much."
Viserys nodded. "Ser Criston said you've been training diligently."
"I'm only doing what I can."
"The young should have such vigor." A flicker of memory crossed Viserys's eyes. "When I was your age, I too dreamed of flying dragons all day and training with the sword…"
Aemond looked quietly at his father. He knew Viserys's time as a dragonrider had been short.
Less than two years after their bond, the Black Dread—Balerion—had died.
Once a rider bonds with a dragon, he can never claim another. It was an unbreakable law of dragonrider blood.
A thought passed through Aemond's mind. Vhagar was already old. If she were to die one day, would he still be able to…?
Viserys studied Aemond with a thoughtful expression, something like trust and regret mingling in his heart.
"Aemond, there will be a small council meeting tomorrow."
He spoke slowly.
"I lack the strength, and I have been seated for too long these days. Would you like to attend? Stand beside me, help pour the wine, pass the documents, listen as the ministers debate."
The meaning was unmistakable.
Allowing a prince to attend a council meeting—even in such a minor role—was a formal introduction to the heart of royal power.
It was also a message to the entire court and the lords of the Seven Kingdoms: the king had begun to value and cultivate his second son.
Alicent knew her father Otto would be pleased.
This would greatly strengthen the Greens' influence at court.
Aemond saw the expectation in Viserys's eyes—and perhaps a desire to make amends.
"I will listen carefully," Aemond said, "and learn to share your burdens."
Viserys then turned to the quiet Helaena.
"Helaena, my daughter. I heard you rode your dragon yesterday. How is Dreamfyre?"
Helaena nodded lightly. "She is well, Father. We flew far yesterday…"
All eyes suddenly turned toward the door.
"Enter."
Ser Criston Cole pushed it open. His snow-white armor gleamed in the morning light as he bowed deeply.
His expression was tense.
"An egg?" Viserys and Alicent said at once, stunned.
Aemond's pupils narrowed almost imperceptibly.
"Yes, Your Grace," Cole said plainly. "Vhagar… what was long believed to be a petrified dragon egg."
"The Dragonkeepers reported at dawn that it began to crack. About an hour ago…"
He paused.
"It hatched."
Silence fell.
The silver spoon slipped from Viserys's hand and clattered against the porcelain plate.
"That… how is that possible?"
"Seven above…"
In all the history of House Targaryen, there had never been a case of a dead egg returning to life.
Helaena's violet eyes widened in shock as she looked at Aemond.
Just yesterday, she had seen with her own eyes how he had soaked that gray dragon egg in blood.
Aemond gave her a slight look. Helaena pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze, saying nothing.
Aemond slowly rose to his feet.
Shocked? Of course.
But he immediately remembered that, besides Helaena, three servants and several Dragonkeepers had been present yesterday.
Could blood truly have such power?
An egg that had lain silent for fifty years—declared dead…
Had it truly been reborn?
"It is black," Cole added. "According to the Dragonkeepers, the hatchling's scales are like thick ink, and its eyes… dark red."
A black dragon.
In the history and legends of House Targaryen, black dragons were symbols of power and rarity.
The Black Dread—Balerion—had been one such creature, unparalleled, conqueror of the Seven Kingdoms.
At that moment, King Viserys trembled—caught between rapture and disbelief.