Chapter 75: The Dragon Eggs Hatch

Panting heavily, Jacaerys was stopped at the corridor entrance by Hoffa, forced to lean against the wall and catch his breath.

"Easy, Jace. Luke. Don't panic." Hoffa pulled a spare jug of boiled water from a shelf, pouring two cups and handing them to Jacaerys and Lucerys. The boys gulped it down, then turned back toward Yamor, who had followed them with heavy steps alongside the young Aegon Targaryen. In High Valyrian, Jacaerys asked, "Steward, are the dragons behaving?"

Yamor nodded, a massive pack slung across his back, its contents hidden. The dragon-shaped tattoo on the Steward's face seemed to writhe as he replied in the same language, "The dragons are asleep."

Six-year-old Aegon, the Younger, curiously poked the oversized pack. Earlier this year, Jacaerys had brought him to Dragonstone, intending for the boy to one day serve as Rey's squire and cupbearer. Meanwhile, Joffrey remained with Rhaenyra, who needed attendants of proper status. Aegon had also brought along his newly bonded juvenile blue dragon, Stormcloud.

Stormcloud was a striking creature, notable for the singular horn protruding from its nose, resembling the rhinoceroses of Sothoryos, though smoother and more elegant. Upon arrival at Dragon's Nest dragonpit, the dragon had immediately fought with Shadowmare. However, Shadowmare, nearly as large as Arrax by now, had bitten Stormcloud's neck and forced it into submission, screeching loudly. If not for Silverwing stepping in to separate the two young dragons, the fight might have ended disastrously.

Now, Stormcloud had learned to obediently follow Shadowmare during flights and even tried to use Shadowmare's reputation to steal sheep from Arrax. But the elder dragon, Vermithor, only needed a glare to send Stormcloud scurrying back to its den.

"Yamor, which dragon eggs hatched?" Draezell asked, watching as the midwives carefully cleaned the two newborns, wrapped them in silk, and placed them in the cradle beside their mother's bed. Only then did he step out of the birthing chamber.

"Your Grace, two of the four eggs hatched: the black one with white specks and the gray-white one." At Draezell's signal, Yamor and the three princes entered the chamber. The overseer carefully set the pack down and tipped it over.

Two hatchlings stirred within, groggily waking. They hissed at the room's occupants, baring tiny teeth. The larger black hatchling growled twice, releasing a puff of black smoke.

"Quiet." Draezell's stern command in High Valyrian reverberated through the room. "Obey. Return."

Both hatchlings flinched at once, shrinking back into the pack. Valar leaned down, attempting to get a clearer view of the small dragons inside.

The larger hatchling was pitch-black, resembling the night sky, but its body was adorned with silvery-white and golden patterns resembling scattered stars. Though its horns had yet to grow fully, the beginnings of a crown-like, dish-shaped structure were evident. A row of sharp spikes had just broken through the skin beneath its jaw, and two soft dorsal fins extended from the back of its head, running along its spine and between its wings down to the tail. Draezell could already envision how fearsome this dragon would become when the fins hardened and the creature reached its full size.

The smaller hatchling cowered behind its black sibling. This one was a grayish-white, entirely smooth with no visible scales or spikes on its head and neck. Its tiny face resembled neither a lizard nor a crocodile but was instead more akin to a bird—or perhaps even a toad. Despite its unusual appearance, it had surprisingly wide wings, with the membranes extending all the way to its tail. Draezell also noticed a few soft, tentacle-like appendages dangling from its body.

Through the lens of magic, Draezell could see the faint bond linking the black dragon to his son, Rhaegor, and the gray-white dragon to his daughter, Samantha.

"What a strange dragon," young Aegon whispered, deliberately lowering his voice out of respect for the resting infants in the chamber.

"Shh." Jacaerys quickly lifted his younger brother, pressing a finger to Aegon's lips. "Dragons come in many forms. Even your Stormcloud is vastly different from my Vermax."

Aegon glanced curiously at Samantha's cradle, aware that he was already betrothed to the girl. However, at his young age, he did not yet understand the concept of marriage.

"Return to your companions," Draezell commanded in High Valyrian, his tone soft but firm. "Protect them until the destined time. Yamor."

"Here," the loyal overseer responded, stepping forward and bowing his head.

"Have the Silver Guard at the dragon pit prepare food for the hatchlings," Draezell continued in High Valyrian. "For the children's wet nurses, use the women we brought back—they are trustworthy, carry Valyrian blood, and are protected by my blood magic, which will deter the dragons from attacking them. Once my wife recovers her milk supply, if she so desires, she may nurse the children herself."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Draezell turned to watch as the two hatchlings cautiously emerged from the pack, glancing around as though guided by some unseen force. The black dragon darted toward Rhaegor's cradle, turning to glare at the room's occupants. However, it soon seemed to recognize the humans as its kin and relaxed its posture.

The gray-white dragon moved more nimbly, even attempting to flap its wings a few times. Though its flight was clumsy, it managed to reach Samantha's cradle, where it peered curiously at the sleeping infant. This hatchling appeared gentler than its sibling, quickly sensing no malice from the humans. It curled up near the cradle, seemingly waiting for its first meal.

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In King's Landing, within a hidden underground wine cellar:

"Two newly hatched dragons." The thought lingered in Larys Strong's mind, echoing the intelligence he had received before setting out. "A new generation of the dragonlord family… opportunities amidst turmoil." The word opportunities repeated in his mind until a young voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Lord Larys, we are willing to consider your proposal." Tigarro Dargaleon, his silver hair glinting in the dim light, swirled his wine. The king's spymaster was a chameleon, his true allegiance an enigma. He served the king, the queen, and the princes while also sending information to Dragonstone.

"But we require sincerity." Tigarro stopped spinning his cup. "House Vaelarys has no interest in becoming entangled in the political whirlpool of King's Landing. We have our own matters to attend to, Lord Spymaster."

"And what, in your view, constitutes sincerity?" Larys Strong's voice was soft, but Tigarro caught every word.

"Before I leave, I will establish a few taverns in King's Landing," Tigarro said. "All of your messages can be delivered there. In return, the expenses you incur at these taverns will be covered by us. However, you must protect these establishments as you would your own assets."

"Oh, then I suppose I'll drink to my heart's content? After all, everyone knows the silver wines and fruit wines from Wineport are unrivaled," Larys said with a chuckle. "Very well, as a gesture of sincerity, I'll assist the prince in protecting these establishments."

"The Vaelarys family never leaves a debt unpaid," Tigarro replied, his gaze lingering on Larys's deformed foot. "I have a concoction that could ease the pain your foot causes you."

"Haha," the spymaster interrupted, his tone light but firm. "I've grown accustomed to this burden bestowed by the gods, Lord Tigarro. But I appreciate your kindness. In return, allow me to share some intelligence with you."

"Please, go ahead."

With some effort, Larys bent down and retrieved a small piece of parchment from his shoe. "This concerns Driftmark. Lord Corlys is gravely ill. The maester fears the Sea Snake might not survive this fever. As for his heir…" He paused, letting the implication sink in. "It falls to his nephew—the eldest of his six nephews."

"Ser Vaemond Velaryon. I remember him," Tigarro said, recalling the man who had accompanied Lord Corlys to Draezell's wedding but hadn't mingled in the great hall.

"Yes, him," Larys confirmed, studying Tigarro's expression before continuing. "Ser Vaemond has been stirring up trouble in Hull and Spicetown on Driftmark. He's openly claimed that Princess Rhaenyra's sons are not fathered by Ser Laenor and are therefore unfit to inherit the Driftwood Throne. Seven hells, what a dangerous accusation. Were our merciful king to hear of it…" He trailed off, feigning dismay. "What's worse, he has begun gathering supporters to press his claim."

Tigarro listened intently, his expression betraying nothing.

"Naturally, our Crown Princess Rhaenyra could not tolerate such treasonous remarks. She commanded Prince Daemon to enforce the law. The prince obliged." Larys lowered his voice even further, though Tigarro still caught every word. "Prince Daemon executed Ser Vaemond by beheading him. However, it seems his cousins and sons are not pleased. Word is that his brother, Ser Moryn Velaryon, is marching toward King's Landing with a company, demanding justice before the King's Council."

Tigarro's expression shifted suddenly.

This was no minor matter.

With the king's health in decline, King's Landing was now governed by the queen and the Hand of the King.

Something about this situation didn't feel right.