"This isn't even the most incredible part. Through the dragon-spirit state, Blackfyre copied the entire set of meditation runes from my spiritual sea. He is now growing his magical power like mad every moment, and in the future, he'll be at least ten times stronger than Balerion."
"By the way, old master, do you know the lifespan limit of dragons?"
"Balerion died of natural causes before reaching 300, but I've read records left by our ancestors—some ancient dragons in Valyria lived over a thousand years."
Dany nodded and speculated, "I suspect Blackfyre isn't the first dragon to learn meditation. Some powerful sorcerers might have also achieved the dragon-spirit state, just like me."
"So you're saying the key to hatching dragons is the dragon-spirit?" the old man asked.
"No. If we consider Dragonlord, Dreamwalker, and Dragon-Spirit as the three levels of dragon-riders, there's a fourth above them all—Mother of Dragons, which is my current state.
In the magical era, when magic flowed freely, hatching dragons was a natural process. As long as the dragon egg was viable, it might hatch on its own when the time came.
But in this magic-dry era, hatching a dragon is equivalent to creating life. Not creating it from nothing, but rather completing it—since a dragon's life imprint already exists, it's not truly conjuring life out of thin air."
"No wonder so many Targaryens in history failed to hatch dragons—the requirements were too high." Aemon gave a bitter smile.
"Heh, our Targaryen ancestors really didn't need to make such a fuss. All they had to do was treat the dragon eggs like decorations and place them where every Targaryen could see them.
If someone dreamed of dragons in their sleep, then place the egg by their bedside, and after a year or two, the dragon would naturally emerge."
"Ser Barristan said you're unburnt. Could the unburnt trait be used to test whether someone is a true Mother of Dragons?" Old Aemon asked curiously.
"Being unburnt isn't an innate trait of the Mother of Dragons. At first, I was only more heat-resistant than normal. After I dreamed with the dragon soul in the egg, my body slowly changed and became fireproof.
Simply put, the process of a Mother of Dragons hatching a dragon is one of mutual empowerment between dragon and human—I give them life, and they give me a dragon's strength and fire resistance.
Oh, and also magical power on the scale of a great dragon.
Trying something like what 'Brightflame' Aerion did—drinking wildfire directly—is completely pointless."
Old Aemon looked both awkward and sorrowful. "There's a deep-seated yearning for dragons in the blood of all Targaryens. Aerion was just more extreme than most."
Aerion called himself Brightflame, though others referred to him as Daemon, or the Mad Dragon. He was Aemon's elder brother, Dany's grand-uncle, and a landmark figure in the Targaryen history of "madness in the blood."
Despite being crown prince and heir to the Iron Throne, with a brilliant future ahead, he stubbornly believed himself to be a dragon in human form, and that wildfire would help him regain his true form.
Then he drank a jar of wildfire—and was burned so completely, not even bones were left.
"When I was going through the royal archives in the Oldtown library, I came across something strange," Dany said, her expression odd. "It claimed that one night Aerion sneaked into Aegon's chambers, grabbed his genitals, held a knife to them, and laughed about cutting them off so he could have a 'sister' to marry. Is that true?"
"Ugh, even the Citadel knows about that? My father strictly forbade anyone from spreading that story." Aemon was both angry and humiliated, his face flushing red.
"That's nothing. The Citadel dares to incite royal blood feuds like the Dance of the Dragons—they wouldn't care about a petty scandal like this."
"That's why I have to warn you," Aemon said seriously, his expression grave. "You must leave the Wall as soon as possible. Apart from Ser Barristan and me, there's no one here you can completely trust.
Like earlier—you entered the gate tunnel alone. If someone had fired crossbows at you from the murder holes above, not even your dragon could save you.
And Maester Donnel, he suggested you and Stannis attend a meeting in the Great Hall. I made up an excuse to decline on your behalf. He may mean no harm, but if you really enter that hall, there might be hundreds of knights waiting to ambush you.
In short, until you arrive with a sizeable group of loyal followers, never face Stannis alone. Don't test human nature. In fact…"
Aemon's eyes grew sorrowful, his voice mournful. "Since Stannis came to the Wall, even the Night's Watch can no longer be trusted."
"I thought I was doing well enough!" Dany said, her face darkening.
"Your 'Tripartite Lending Pact' is nearly flawless. Honestly, I'm glad you could show mercy to the Free Folk."
Aemon smiled with heartfelt relief, then sighed, "But the Night's Watch and the wildlings have an eight-thousand-year blood feud. When raiders and rangers fall into each other's hands, human decency gives way to animal savagery. Beheading is the best outcome."
"Before Stannis arrived, you were the Wall's only hope, their only choice. They had to listen to you. But now, without a doubt, they agree more with Stannis's methods of dealing with the wildlings."
He paused, then added with another sigh, "The night you arrived at the Wall—four days ago—I sent ravens to Eastwatch and Shadow Tower, informing them that a Targaryen Dragon Queen had come to help defend the Wall.
By that time, Stannis had already reached Eastwatch. But Maester Harmune didn't send a single word of that to Castle Black.
And Ser Cotter Pyke, commander of Eastwatch, even personally led his rangers to help Stannis raid the wildling camp."
"They don't know about the dragon-spirit or the Mother of Dragons. They can't imagine how closely you and your dragons are bound. But everyone knows that a dragon only has one rider. When that rider dies, the dragon will accept a new one.
I can even guess what some of them are thinking: kill you, and let someone they're more familiar with—another with true dragon blood—inherit your dragon. The chaos and bloodshed in Westeros would drop by ninety percent. The Targaryens have irreconcilable feuds with five of the Seven Kingdoms' great houses," Aemon said bitterly.
"To them, killing you equals saving Westeros; killing you is a righteous act."
"Dany, go. Leave tonight. No—leave now. Your task here is done."
Dany was silent for a long time before she asked, "If I leave, what will happen to the wildlings?"
"Leave Ser Barristan here. He's your Lord Commander of the Queensguard. He can represent you in signing sacred agreements."
Dany's face showed inner turmoil. Rationally, she agreed with Old Aemon's advice—leave at once. A voice deep within her was already urging her toward urgent matters on Essos.
But she couldn't stop thinking about the threat of the White Walkers. She wasn't ready to leave it all behind.
After a moment of hesitation, she said, "Stannis and his thousand men alone can't stop the army of White Walkers!
Tomorrow, I'll take the wildlings into the forest to search for wights.
Once we capture a wight, I'll leave immediately. The Night's Watch can then send the wight to King's Landing, to Oldtown, so the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms will end the civil war and fully support the Wall."
"Isn't that dangerous? Let Stannis's men handle it," the old maester said with concern.
"I'll ride my dragon. Besides, I want to assess the White Walkers' abilities for myself."
They talked for a while longer, until 'Dumb Ox' Grenn shouted from the yard, "Maester Aemon! We're running out of milk of the poppy. And Ser Daemon—the one with the gut wound—is waiting for you to stitch him up!"
"I'm coming," Aemon replied. Then he turned to Dany again and reminded her, "Don't go out after dark. Arrows in the dark are hard to avoid. Jon is getting busier by the day and doesn't have time to guard your door anymore. I've asked Grenn to take his place. If you need anything, ask him."
Dragging his aged body to the door, he paused before opening it and turned back once more to say, "Almost forgot—don't accept any food from others starting now.
If you need to eat, wait for Ser Barristan to return. The White Knight knows more about this than I do. Don't go to the main hall for dinner anymore either. I'll arrange for someone to bring it to you."
"Sigh. So many problems. Even the allied forces of the Free Cities didn't give me such a headache."
"You have dragons. That gives you an overwhelming advantage on the battlefield. Those unwilling to accept defeat can only resort to underhanded means—sacrificing honor and tradition. That's the Seven Kingdoms for you now." Aemon shook his head, sighed, and left.
Not long after Aemon left, Ygritte called Dany outside.
"Dragon Queen, those knights have been harassing Mag and his people," the red-haired girl said, pointing toward Godry Farring.
Godry had taken off his helmet. He had a broad face, a cleft chin, and short golden beard—about twenty years old, with the look of a hardened warrior. Only his roguish eyes ruined the otherwise good looks.
"I just want to spar with him," Godry said cheerfully. "I heard he's the King of Giants. I killed a giant this morning and earned the title 'Giant Slayer.' If I can defeat the Giant King, I'll gain even more honor."
"Strong" Mag was over 14 feet tall. He had smashed through three thick iron gates and a ten-centimeter-thick old oak door using just his fists, knees, and shoulders that day.
Well, it was the inner gate he broke through—30-centimeter-thick outer gates had been destroyed by mammoths.
Now, Mag the Mighty looked miserable. A bandage wrapped from the back of his head to his shoulder plates, and a large gray sheet smelling of herbs covered his belly. He looked weak and lethargic.
No wonder this foolish knight wanted to use him to gain fame.
Dany crossed her arms and gave Godry and his companions a cold, mocking look. "Go ask Stannis. As long as he signs a 'no-responsibility for death or injury' agreement, any one of you can challenge Mag."
Godry glanced uncertainly at the towering giant beside him. Mag met his gaze coolly—no fear, even clenching his fists slightly, as if eager to fight.
Was this sickly appearance just an act?
The knight began to doubt himself and gave an awkward smile. "I meant a joust—no need for bloodshed."
"You're squatting in a latrine and step on a wriggling maggot. Can you control the pressure enough not to crush its guts?"
That disgusting and venomous metaphor made the young knight furious.
"I killed a giant!" he insisted.
Dany lifted her chin and said coldly, "Before Stannis drew his flaming sword, giants had torn apart over a hundred knights like you without suffering much themselves.
Wake up. Without that strange red sword and the red-robed witch, you wouldn't even be able to touch a single strand of a giant's hair."
"Waaah! Waaah!"
"Waaah! Waaah!"
As they spoke, the sudden cries of a baby rang out from two directions—outside the newly built wall and from the castle gate.
A fat man emerged from outside the wall, sword drawn, shielding a blonde wildling woman holding the crying baby. In despair, he wailed, "By the Seven, the Black Castle has fallen to giants? Gilly, we're doomed!"
"Sam?" Grenn, standing beside Dany, rushed over in surprise. "Sam, you're alive?"
"Uh, Grenn..." Sam—who looked like a greasy ham hock—paused in confusion. "Wait, did you... surrender to the wildlings?"
Grenn's face darkened. "We won. These giants are prisoners. They're helping us rebuild the castle."
"Prisoners? But... why don't they have shackles?"
(Note: At this point, Dany is behaving a bit unusually—she seems overly concerned with the Wall and Westeros, almost saintly. This isn't her true nature. She's been affected—someone is manipulating her thoughts, wanting her to stay at the Wall, at least until she hatches the Targaryen family's fifth dragon egg.)
(End of Chapter)
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