The Lacquer-White Wheelhouse rumbled to a stop atop a high slope, the looming dome of the Dragonpit rising like a dark crown before them.
Bang!
Aemon didn't bother redeeming a card—he leapt straight from the carriage, his boots crunching on gravel. Wide-eyed, he stared up at the massive structure ahead."Wow," he breathed. "It's huge."
Much larger than he'd expected.
More a small mountain than a building, the Dragonpit dwarfed the castles of most lords.
"Come on, I'll show you inside," Rhaenyra said, her voice regaining its usual cheer.
"Alright." Aemon jogged to keep up.
Set against the sprawl of King's Landing, the Dragonpit was the only thing that rivalled the Red Keep in scale or grandeur.
Aemon circled it slowly, trying to estimate the size. From what he could tell, the grounds stretched across at least nine hectares.
Still, he frowned. "Not big enough," he murmured to himself. "Can't fit proper dragons."
He didn't care for the place. It felt unnatural—dragons, masters of sky and flame, should soar free over Dragonstone's black mountains, not be shackled in a gilded cage.
Boom.
The heavy bronze doors creaked open as they approached, revealing a dozen dragonkeepers clad in grey linen, bamboo staves in hand.
"Princess. Prince," said the elder among them, his Valyrian pure and sharp despite the age in his voice.
These were the dragonkeepers—men raised since birth to tend to the great beasts, chosen for their Valyrian blood and unwavering loyalty to House Targaryen.
"We're just here to look around," Rhaenyra said in High Valyrian, nodding respectfully. "He needs to get familiar with the pit."
The old keeper's gaze settled on Aemon for a moment, quiet and intense, before he bowed. "As he should. Royal blood must see dragons early."
Rhaenyra gave a faint smile, but her expression tightened as she turned away.
Aemon noticed it instantly. "Thank you for your work," he told the man politely, his Valyrian smooth and precise.
Then he hurried after Rhaenyra.
Inside, the dome sealed off most of the light, leaving the vast interior lit only by flickering torches along the stone walls.
"Do you want to see Syrax or Dreamfyre first?" Rhaenyra asked, still in Valyrian.
Aemon hustled to keep pace with her longer strides.No need to guess—he knew she was sulking. The old man's casual mention of "royal males" had clearly touched a nerve.
"Let's see the dragon eggs first," he said.
"Alright. I'll have the keepers fetch them."
Rhaenyra's tone was calm, her steps confident as she led him through the oval chamber as if it were her private study.
And to be fair, she looked every inch the dragon princess.
Gone were the silks and velvets of court. She wore simple black, fitted and sharp—a warrior's grace beneath a noblewoman's poise. Slim trousers hugged her long legs, a belted waistcoat flattering her figure with subtle elegance. Gold-threaded dragons curled across her high collar, and a fine necklace set with rubies glinted at her throat.
"Rich girl," Aemon muttered with a touch of envy.
Her wrists sparkled with rare gems, her hands adorned with rings. He looked down at his own—plump, milk-fat fingers bare and dusted with soot.
Bang! Bang!
The keepers returned, wheeling in large, furnace-like braziers. One by one, they were arranged in the centre of the hall.
"All the eggs from the vault," the old keeper said softly.
"Thanks," Aemon replied, his eyes shining as he stepped forward.
Sixteen incubation vessels stood before him, laid out in neat rows—four by four.
Rhaenyra frowned. "Didn't you have a dragon egg?"
"It didn't hatch," Aemon said, already reaching for the nearest furnace lid.
Click.
A rush of white smoke poured out, glowing red embers crackling underneath. Nestled within was a vivid green dragon egg.
To everyone's shock, Aemon reached in and touched it.
[Magical item detected. Magic Essence +3]
"Wait!" Rhaenyra cried, grabbing his arm. "Aemon, it'll burn—!"
But his hand emerged unscathed—just a bit dusty.
"Gods be good," the elder keeper whispered.
Targaryens were known to tolerate heat better than most, but even they had their limits. And that furnace was scorching—closer to dragonfire than candlelight.
"I'm fine, Rhaenyra," Aemon said, holding up his hand. "See?"
"You're… different," she murmured. "You're not afraid of fire."
Aemon shrugged. "I am afraid. Just… less than most."
He'd known since childhood that he carried rare blood gifts—Dreamwalking and Heat Resistance.
The former filled his sleep with strange visions, vivid but rarely prophetic. The latter, however, was useful—fire never burned him, and since unlocking the [Bloodline Pillar], he'd noticed even the cold had lost its bite.
"We should tell Daemon," Rhaenyra muttered. "He won't believe this."
"He won't care," Aemon said with a smile, trying to lift her spirits.
As Rhaenyra brooded, Aemon got back to work.
[Magical item detected. Magic Essence +3]+3, +3, +3…
All sixteen eggs yielded essence. Aemon's panel lit up with the total:[Essence Collected: 198]
A fortune.
"King's Landing's not bad," he muttered. "Full of treasure."
He eyed the eggs again, reluctant to walk away.Maybe if he borrowed one or two…
But the dragonkeepers were already watching him closely, and Rhaenyra had yet to speak again.
Aemon gave up the idea—for now—and reached for her hand. "Let's see a dragon."
"The eggs are cute," he added. "But dragons are big."
"Syrax or Dreamfyre?" she asked again.
"Dreamfyre," he said without hesitation.
Rhaenyra nodded, unsurprised. "Come on."
The elder dragonkeeper called a few of his younger charges to join them. "Dreamfyre is the largest adult dragon in the pit," he warned. "And the oldest."
Her first rider had been Rhaena Targaryen, sister to King Jaehaerys. After Rhaena's death, Dreamfyre had remained unclaimed—caged and alone for decades.
Now, she was restless. Dangerous.
But Aemon? He skipped along happily, pulling up his card list with glee.
1. [Constitution +1]"Safe and steady physical growth."
2. [Empty Hands]"Occasionally, someone else's pocket becomes your own."
3. [Golden-Nosed Rat]"A small rodent with a nose for treasure and ears like a hawk."
One white, one green, one blue—each gleaming like a promise.
"Empty Hands…" Aemon grinned. "Let's see what you can do."