"So I will be able to see the past… But what about the future?"
"That's incredibly difficult. And there is simply no single future. It's like a river, divided into many branches. Which one will you be able to see? And is that even necessary? Instead of answers to your questions, you may only become more lost and confused."
"I think I understand…"
"You should also know that the Starks are not just a great house. They have an ancient, mystical connection to their lands. Without a Stark in Winterfell, you won't be able to hold the Wall and the North. And if the North falls, all of Westeros will fall."
"Are the Starks really that important?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because the Night King was once a Stark…"
That thought was worth considering. There was something unusual, elusive about it all, as if the Elder were deliberately not speaking plainly, but only hinting.
"What else should I know?"
"You'll figure it out for yourself," a hint of a smile flitted across his lips. "And you will find those you need to find. See?" He gestured with his hand, and following his gaze, I saw a huge black crow, dark as night, perched on one of the branches. The bird looked at us with interest, its three eyes shining strangely, reflecting the light.
Somehow, I didn't like it very much. And now—the Three-Eyed Raven—it was as if I were being led down a well-trodden path, with no opportunity to turn right or left.
The greenery embraced me again, and in the next moment I realized that I had returned—to my own time.
The wind was still whispering softly in the leaves. The Elder was still sitting on his throne, and my people were standing near the trees, looking in our direction.
"Can the Others be killed?" I looked up at the Elder.
"Everyone can be killed."
"How?"
"Without a dragon and a Stark, it's practically impossible."
"There are still living Starks," I smiled involuntarily. "But dragons are more difficult."
"Really?" There was irony in the green man's voice.
He nodded silently, and a woman approached us, holding a large egg in her hands.
"This is our gift to the king," the woman bowed slightly, holding out the object.
I slowly took the egg into my hands and felt its weight. The rough scales that covered it felt solid and reassuring to the touch. The egg was reddish-gray in color, with barely noticeable purple veins.
It felt slightly warm and carried a strange scent, like dry, heated metal.
"Where did you get the dragon egg?" I turned to the Elder.
"You are not the first to come to the Isle of Faces in search of wisdom. Lords and knights of ancient Westeros were frequent visitors here. One of those who came before you was Addam Velaryon. He flew here on his dragon, Sea Smoke, and left this egg behind."
"Is this Sea Smoke's offspring?"
"No. Sea Smoke is male. Addam took the egg from the Dragon's Lair in the Red Keep. He didn't know who laid it. And we never found out—the Targaryens had many dragons in those days. Perhaps the egg was laid by Syrax, Moondancer, Dreamfyre, or Meleys. Or maybe one of the older dragons."
"What should I do with it?"
"Whatever you want. It is our gift. If you can wake the dragon, give it the chance to be born, then you can do even greater things. And that will mean we did everything right. But if the dragon does not wake, it will mean that you are the most ordinary, unremarkable king to sit upon the Iron Throne."
"The Targaryens have been trying to find a way to revive dragons and eggs for the last century," I said quietly. "And they have failed."
"With this egg, everything could turn out differently."
The conversation ended, and I approached my people.
"Did I scream loudly?" I asked Jaime.
"When?"
"When I touched the stone."
"You didn't shout at all," he chuckled. "You stayed by the stone for less than a minute, then got up and continued talking to that stern old man. Is everything okay?"
"I don't know yet," I scratched my chin, thinking.
It seemed that the entire ritual had taken place not in this clearing, but somewhere else entirely. And my people hadn't seen or heard anything. That could only mean one thing—time flowed differently in that place. There, overcoming the "greenery," I felt as though I had been there for a long while. But here, only a minute had passed.
"Is this what I think it is?" Jaime touched the egg with his hand.
"Yep."
"Shit," he cursed. "And what are you going to do with the dragon if it hatches?"
"I don't know yet."
"The seventh circle of hell. A dragon egg!" A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows, but the next moment he burst out laughing. "Tyrion will shit himself with joy!"
Once again, small waves rocked our boat almost imperceptibly. Now we were returning from the Isle of Faces. I sat on a bench, holding the heavy dragon egg in my hands.
Jaime Lannister and the others occasionally glanced at me with strange expressions. It seemed that since I had shown them the gift from the green people, something had changed—quietly, almost imperceptibly.
I don't know about their attitude, but I'll have to deal with the egg. Theoretically, I know how to create the conditions under which a dragon can be born. But why do I feel that a living dragon is not only, and not so much, about new opportunities, but also about huge problems? Especially since I don't have Targaryen blood in me. And although there have been cases in history when non-Targaryens became dragon riders, those facts mean little to me—even if the dragon is born, it may well deem me unworthy.
And anyway, is it a gift… or a curse?
I sighed and looked ahead at the approaching shore. Well, only time will tell what comes of all this.
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
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