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Dragonpit, High Noon.
The carriage came to a steady halt, and Viserys I stepped out, supported by Queen Alicent.
On his other side, Princess Helaena also gently took her father's arm.
The King's hands trembled slightly, not from physical weakness, but from irrepressible excitement.
Black dragons. They had rarely appeared in the world since the Doom of Valyria.
Black dragons were the most ferocious and violent, and their combat prowess was unsurpassed among dragonkind.
Currently, the only black dragon remaining in the world was the notorious wild dragon "The Cannibal," who nested on Dragonstone, remained untamed, and was known for devouring hatchlings.
As for Prince Daemon's red-and-black Caraxes, the "Blood Wyrm," while fierce and warlike, he was not a pure black dragon after all.
The crisp sound of tearing flesh echoed from the depths of the Dragonpit.
The Kingsguard had already dismounted and formed ranks. Aemond arrived on horseback.
"Your Grace, this way."
Dragonkeeper Commander Rosso stepped forward to lead the way, lowering his voice.
"The little fellow is right under Vhagar's wing."
The first thing that came into view was Vhagar's mountain-like silhouette.
Beneath the legendary old dragon's half-extended left wing, there seemed to be a moving shadow.
Within the shadow, a mass of black was wriggling incessantly.
It was no larger than a hound, but its scales were deep and dark, like obsidian. It was buried in tears at the bloody chunks of meat pushed forward by the Dragonkeepers with long poles.
"Mother, have mercy..." Queen Alicent prayed softly, tracing the seven-pointed star over her chest.
Helaena, however, was unusually quiet, only widening her violet eyes as she watched Aemond.
Viserys took a step forward, almost forgetting to breathe.
At that moment, Vhagar turned her head.
Her massive, molten-gold pupils slowly rotated, scanning the tiny crowd below before finally settling on the offspring beneath her wing.
A low rumble emanated from the old dragon's throat, and the scales on her neck rose slightly; it was the instinct to protect her young.
Aemond immediately stepped forward.
"Lykiri, Vhagar," (Calm, Vhagar) he called out softly in High Valyrian.
Vhagar lowered her head, exhaling white smoke that smelled of sulfur.
Aemond reached out and stroked the she-dragon's rough scales once and then again.
The old dragon's agitation gradually subsided.
Just then, the hatchling stopped its tearing and biting.
He raised his small, blood-stained head. Dark red vertical pupils, rimmed with a very fine golden pattern, looked straight at Aemond.
After a moment's hesitation, the hatchling clumsily propped up its weak, newborn limbs, spread its wings, and took a stumbling first step toward Aemond.
Viserys narrowed his eyes.
"He recognizes you?"
Aemond turned his head.
"He only hatched today, Father. Perhaps anything that moves is a novelty to him."
"A novelty?" The King shook his head. Dragons were sensitive to scent.
"Once a rider and a dragon establish a bond, other dragons lose interest in that rider. But the look in this hatchling's eyes... that isn't curiosity; it's recognition."
Vhagar saw her offspring approaching Aemond and showed no reaction; the old dragon closed her eyes, lowered her head, and went to rest.
The hatchling took a few more steps forward, nearly falling, but managed to steady himself.
It tilted its head back, dark red eyes staring fixedly at Aemond, and let out an urgent, sharp cluck from its throat.
Aemond looked at the hatchling and crouched down.
The black hatchling lunged straight into his arms, its tiny claws hooking into his lapel, its head rubbing against his chest.
This incredible scene caused Viserys's pupils to contract sharply.
Commander Rosso approached at the right moment and whispered a few words in the King's ear.
Viserys's brow furrowed tighter and tighter, his withered fingers gripping his cane.
"Everyone except Aemond, withdraw."
The crowd withdrew as ordered. Now, only the father and son remained.
"Aemond," Viserys said, confused, "give me an explanation."
He pointed at the black hatchling.
"A dragonrider can only bind with one dragon in their lifetime. This is an ironclad law that has never been broken since the Valyrian era. Vhagar has already chosen you. Yet now this hatchling shows you this... attachment."
Aemond remained silent for several breaths.
"Father," he finally spoke.
"Even the Dragonlords of Old Valyria would not dare to say they fully understood the mysteries of dragons. I don't know what happened either."
He paused for a moment.
"But when I touch this little fellow, I can feel what he feels, hunger, curiosity, and... closeness. He also seems to be able to sense my thoughts."
"What do you mean?" Viserys asked, disbelief coloring his tone.
"Perhaps the bloodlines have resonated, Father." Aemond looked up.
"Vhagar didn't object to the little fellow approaching me either."
"This is impossible..." Viserys murmured to himself, but his feet involuntarily stepped forward.
Snap.
Vhagar's eyes opened. Her molten-gold pupils stared at the King.
A low growl rose from the old dragon's throat; it was a warning.
Viserys froze in place, his hand still extended in mid-air.
"Lykiri," Aemond's voice rang out again.
Vhagar's agitation subsided, but she continued to stare at the King.
Meanwhile, the hatchling poked its head out from Aemond's arms, let out a sharp hiss at Viserys, and bared its tiny, sharp teeth.
It was clearly a sign of rejection.
Viserys withdrew his hand, his expression shifting through shock and confusion, finally settling into a complex emotion.
He looked deeply at this second son, a son who was always so unexpected.
The King let out a long sigh.
"Give him a name, Aemond," he said, his voice regaining some strength.
"You have tamed him, or rather, he has chosen you. It is your right."
"Morghul," Aemond answered without hesitation, the High Valyrian word flowing from his mouth.
"Morghul..." Viserys repeated in a low voice.
"In the old tongue, does this mean 'Death'?"
"It means an ending. An omen," Aemond corrected gently.
He placed the hatchling back on the ground; the little fellow stumbled back to the pile of meat but still looked back at him from time to time.
"His very existence may be an omen."
"An omen..." The King chewed on the word.
After a long time, he turned around.
"Let us return to the Red Keep."
On the carriage ride back, Viserys leaned back against the cushions, eyes closed in deep thought.
A dragonrider can only bind with one dragon in a lifetime...
Was this ironclad law broken by Aemond? Or had Aemond's bloodline undergone a mutation?
Was it some blood magic hidden within the lineage?
Viserys thought of the ancient legends passed down through his family.
The earliest Valyrians were but shepherds until they encountered dragons among the Fourteen Flames.
Some say they tamed the dragons; others say they used blood magic to fuse dragon blood with their own lineage, creating the bond of kinship.
Those Valyrians became the Dragonlords.
These secrets were lost with the Doom of Valyria hundreds of years ago.
Only the Targaryens escaped because of the prophecy of Daenys the Dreamer.
They fled to Dragonstone, surviving while the world burned.
Now, in this world, only the Targaryen family possesses great dragons and the bloodline to ride them.
But the lore was fragmented, lost to fire and time.
Viserys opened his eyes and looked at his son.
Perhaps... perhaps Aemond is the answer.
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