Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 407 Hatching Failure and Taming Success

At the end of the seventh year, the Targaryens, who had had difficulty in having children, finally had offspring.

Queen Sirui's labor lasted a whole day and night. King Daeron II paced outside the door, pinching his knuckles until they turned white. When the baby's cry finally broke the silence, the captain of the Kingsguard pushed open the door with a rare smile on his face: "Your Majesty, it's a prince."

Maekar Targaryen, the silver-haired, purple-eyed baby boy, wrapped in swaddling clothes embroidered with dragons, was born stronger than his brothers. Maesters declared him "healthy as a little warrior," while the people openly praised him as a blessing bestowed upon the royal family by the long summer.

Ballads began to spread in taverns, completely nailing the Blackfyre lineage to the pillar of shame in history. In the latest version, Daemon Blackfyre was even portrayed as a demon who "fed dragons with baby blood", while Daeron II was the holy king sent by the Seven Gods to save the world. Some said he was the silver-haired Jaehaerys I, while others argued whether he was the reincarnation of Jaehaerys I, Jaehaerys I, or Aegon II.

No one remembers that during the years of the "Mediocrity King" and the early days of Daeron's rule, Blackfyre was also a symbol of chivalry - people even once regarded Daemon, who held the Blackfyre sword, as a symbol of royal military power. This was an important reason why Daemon, despite being suppressed all the time, was still able to call on those excluded and frustrated people, the self-important wandering knights, and the ambitious nobles.

The sea mists of Lys always carried a sweet, rotting smell, like mead mixed with brothel powder, slowly fermenting in the sun.

"Cold Iron" - that's what people called the newly emerged merchant - stood on the deck of the "Drunken Beauty", his black iron mask reflecting the lights of the port. No one knew his real name, and his origins were even more mysterious, but in just a few months, his fleet had controlled half of Lys's smuggling trade, he could get the fine wine, blood steel and silk from Wineport, the precious dyes from Tyrosh, the spices from Qarth, and even slaves from Slaver's Bay... and even some more taboo goods.

"Sir, the Loren family has sent an invitation." A sailor knelt on one knee and handed over a gold-embossed letter.

A deep laugh came from under the mask, like a knife scraping across bone. "Tell them I'll be there tonight."

In the most secluded wealthy area of ​​Lys, there is an inconspicuous mansion surrounded by high walls and iron gates. In the courtyard, Lady Rohanne is combing the silver hair of her youngest son Daemon with trembling hands. The boy is still young, but he has learned to look at every stranger with vigilance.

"Mother, when will Uncle Iger come back?" Damon asked in a low voice.

"It's almost there." Rohanne forced a smile, her fingers unconsciously stroking her only remaining remembrance, the three-headed dragon ring that Daemon had given her.

There was a quarrel upstairs. Her eldest son Aemon was shouting at his younger brother Aegon: "You almost burned down the whole house!"

Aegon's arm was wrapped in bandages, but his face showed fanatical stubbornness and the luck of surviving the disaster. "Dragon eggs need blood! It's written in my father's book--"

"Father's book said he could win the throne!" Aemon slammed his fist on the table, causing the candlelight to shake violently. "And Korakshuu was torn to pieces!"

The door opened.

The three of them fell silent instantly.

Aegor, or rather, the Faceless Man wearing Aegor's skin stood at the door, with night dew condensed on the black iron mask.

"Failed?" His voice was hoarse like the friction of rusty iron.

Aegon lowered his head, and the bandages were seeping out with scarlet.

three days ago.

In a secluded mansion in Lys, Aemon Blackfyre stared at the dragon egg in front of him, running his fingertips over the petrified scales.

"Try again," he gritted his teeth.

His brother Aegon put his hand on the eggshell, blood dripping from the cut. The boy closed his eyes and recited the clumsy Valyrian spell. They didn't know if the spell would work, but the notebook left by Daemon brought by Rohanne recorded the spell that was said to help dragon eggs hatch. The fire crackled, but the dragon egg was still as cold as a dead object.

"It's useless!" Aegon suddenly became furious and grabbed the dragon egg and threw it into the flames. The eggshell did not move in the flames, and instead of hatching, a scorching flame burst out, instantly burning his arm.

Aemon watched in silence as his brother rolled on the ground and screamed, while the youngest, Daemon, huddled in the corner, his purple eyes filled with fear.

"We don't need eggs," Aemon said finally, his voice cold as ice. "We will find other dragons."

The ninth year of Daeron's reign.

In the long corridor of the tombs in Dragon's Nest, the torches illuminated the dragon patterns on the stone walls like flowing blood. There were no prayers to the Seven Gods in Valyria's funeral, only silent flames and the low roar of dragons. The body of Daenerys Vareses was placed on a black stone platform, covered with laurel and silver yarn, with her hands folded in front of her chest, and a strand of dragon mane of the morning light wrapped around her fingers - that was a souvenir left when she first tamed it.

Ringols stood at the front, rarely without a sword, as if he had taken off all his edge. Igor pursed his lips tightly, his eyes never leaving his mother's remains. Behind them, the dragon knights of the Vareses family lined up like an iron wall, their silver hair and purple eyes pouring like stars in the firelight, except for Jonniel with brown hair and gray eyes - Serena's hair had faded from its honey color and was now gray.

Everyone thought that Aslan Varese would be the one to inherit the Dawn.

He was the youngest son of Regan, and his swordsmanship was better than most people. After his two brothers and Jonniel tamed dragons, he was also old enough to tame dragons. The family gave him two choices, an adult dragon Valarion, or waiting for a dragon to become available. At this moment, he stood straight, his silver hair tied into a warrior braid, and his purple eyes burned with a hidden desire.

"Go," Jacaerys urged in a low voice, "Don't keep the dragon waiting."

Aslan took a deep breath and was about to take a step forward - but a figure moved before him.

Meggie stepped out of the crowd.

Her silver hair was like a waterfall woven by moonlight, and the blood of the running wolf roared in the blood of the dragon king. She did not wear the traditional mourning clothes of Valyria, but a dark gray hunting suit, with a dragon bone dagger given to her by her mother on her waist.

She walked over to her grandmother's body, knelt on one knee, plucked a lock of her own silver hair, and gently placed it in Daenerys's folded hands.

"Valar dohaeris," she said in fluent Valyrian, "but I will fly further for you."

Suddenly, there was a sound of scales rubbing against the stone wall from the vault of the tomb. Dawn - the old silver dragon with a towering dorsal fin lowered its head from the shadows, its pupils like two shrunken moons, reflecting Maggie's figure.

The dragon's breath was hot, carrying the scent of the starflower that Danella loved most when she was alive.

Aslan smiled and retreated back to Jacaerys, "Uncle Jacaerys, it seems that Maggie is more suitable for Dawn than I am."

Vareses will not be sad and angry because the dragon did not choose him, because every Varese has sufficient choices, and the elders will also bring the younger generations to contact their own dragons and make plans for the inheritance of the dragon.

Like Aslan, his choices include not only Dawn and Valarion, but also the second-generation dragons and Rey's Nightmare.

Maggie did not flinch. She looked up at Chenxi without saying a word. She just stared at the silver dragon quietly.

The silver dragon remained still for a moment.

Then, as everyone stared in shock, it lowered its long neck.

The first to break the silence was Rei.

The old man, who was nearly 90 years old, leaned on an obsidian cane and let out a hoarse laugh.

"Ha!" His eyes narrowed into slits, "I've said it before, my lovely niece's dragon only recognizes two kinds of people."

He held up two dry, twig-like fingers.

"Either a sweet-talking girl who can treat it like a jewel box," he pointed at Meggie, "or a tough guy who can beat it like a war horse." He pointed at Igor, who was smiling, "and this girl——"

Maggie has climbed onto the dragon's back.

"——Obviously the latter!" Rey laughed.

When the dawn spread its wings, the wind it created extinguished half of the torches. Maggie grabbed the reins, and her silver hair and the silver dragon almost merged into one in the moonlight.

"Lyks! (Fly!)"

The silver dragon soared into the sky, and its roar shattered the clouds.

On the ground, Aslan stared blankly at the sky, when suddenly Rey patted him on the shoulder.

"Don't be discouraged, boy." The old man grinned, revealing his few remaining teeth. "Do you know why Chenxi chose her?"

Aslan shook his head.

"I have never been discouraged, Uncle Ray. I am just feeling sad that Maggie has also ridden a dragon, but I am indeed curious as to why."

"Because the blood in that girl's bones is not the blood for taming dragons." Lei Yi's cloudy old eyes flashed with cunning light, "It's the blood that makes dragons willing to be tamed. Unfortunately, the prophecy did not respond to them."

The old man patted Aslan again and said, "It seems that six years of hair dyeing have made you grow up, good boy."

As Jonnell watched his sister disappear into the sky, he suddenly remembered what Maggie had said when she knocked him down as a child:

"I don't want to be a princess - I want to be someone who makes dragons bow."

(End of this chapter)