In the Disputed Lands, a freshly raised castle of grey-white stone thrust its banners skyward: the grey-white Wolf Pack standards, the Free Army's emblem of shattered chains, and now a bold black flag emblazoned with a fiery red dragon.
With the Wolf Pack and Free Army dominating the sweeping Disputed Lands and Myr, Gendry favored quarters close to his old Firegrass Manor haunts.
After thorough rebuilding and shifts, the gleaming "Wolf's Den" stood proud. A spiked moat girded its base, while inside rose unyielding walls and crisp white towers.
"Illyrio claimed these hail from the Shadow Lands east of Asshai—dragon eggs turned to stone over countless ages, yet they gleam with undimmed splendor!" Daenerys shared with Gendry in the lush Wolf's Den garden, her voice laced with wonder.
"Truly treasures beyond measure, though the portly schemer parted with them at no small price!" In exchange for yielding Daenerys and her brother, the fat man pocketed Gendry's offerings—gold coins and Myr's finest crafts.
Gendry eyed the dragon eggs, or more precisely, their fossilized shells. A cedar chest trimmed in bronze lay agape, lined with sumptuous velvet and brocades from the Free Cities... Atop them rested three colossal eggs.
Daenerys gazed at the dragon eggs with rapt fascination. They ranked as the most enchanting sights she'd ever beheld. Each egg varied strikingly; their intricate patterns tricked the eye into visions of embedded gems, and one demanded both her hands to cradle.
Daenerys lifted one with exquisite care. She'd braced for fragile porcelain, glossy enamel, or crystal, but its heft surprised—dense as ancient rock. The shell's surface shimmered with minuscule scales that, under her fingertips, caught the dying sun's rays in a metallic dance.
One glowed deep green, unveiling bronze flecks as she rotated it; another shimmered pale milky-white laced with golden veins; the final one loomed black as a starless sea, alive with swirling dark red eddies.
"Drogon, Viserion, Rhaegal!" Gendry mused inwardly, as the cogs of Daenerys's fated path stirred to life.
"I'll safeguard them through every trial!" Dany had absorbed endless tales of dragon eggs but never dreamed of laying eyes on them, let alone holding such relics close.
"May I inspect them nearer?" Maester Qyburn ventured first. As a disgraced maester and cunning tactician, Qyburn remained Gendry's trusted guide, earning the privilege to probe the dragon eggs.
"These embody sorcery's pinnacle, the bedrock of the true dragon lineage. House Targaryen shielded them with iron vigilance. Even petrified dragon eggs command fortunes untold!" Qyburn orbited the trio, scrutinizing each with keen intensity!
"Deep green with bronze hints, milky white threaded gold, black swirled in crimson. Should a dragon emerge, its hide would mirror the egg's palette!" Qyburn elaborated. "Ancient sagas ring true; dragons flaunt multiple hues, their eggs echoing the beast's vivid form!"
Gendry grasped these lore fragments too; after all, dragon blood coursed in his own veins.
"Yet in our time, live dragon eggs dwell only in myth!" Qyburn lamented with a sigh.
"Live dragon eggs?" Daenerys echoed, astonishment widening her eyes.
"Indeed, Princess! Were these vital and warm, even Myr's Archon would clutch them tighter than his throne!" Qyburn explained deliberately. "House Targaryen's clutch stayed locked in vaults and hidden depths. Ages eroded some to stone."
"Even as fossils, the fat man's bounty stuns!" Gendry contemplated the petrified dragon eggs. These three would eventually wring tears from the fat man and Varys alike.
The fat man dangled these eggs to win favor, convinced petrification sealed their doom forever.
Yet the fat man overlooked two vital shifts: first, sorcery's tide ebbed back, with the Others stirring—heralding magic's swell. Second, even stone-bound eggs, roused by potent blood rites, might yet birth dragons anew.
"So, might my eggs yet yield dragons?" Daenerys pressed, hope flickering.
"Alas, unlikely, Princess!" Maester Qyburn affirmed resolutely. "History whispers of fresh eggs failing to crack open. These, as fossils, stand beyond revival's grasp!"
"Very well!" Daenerys's shoulders dipped in quiet disappointment.
"Come now, Dany, keep them secure! Time for your studies awaits!" Gendry encouraged, his tone warm and steady.
"Promise you'll visit soon!" Daenerys pleaded, eyes sparkling with longing; their bond felt unbreakable. Yet mortals gravitate to power's pull, especially when wrapped in a kind yet formidable allure from a striking man.
"Of course!" Gendry assured with a nod.
The guards ushered Daenerys and her precious eggs from the garden, leaving Maester Qyburn and Gendry in companionable quiet.
Gendry shed pretenses of mask and alias now—the fat man had broadcast his origins wide! His bastard birth stirred scandals across the waves.
"The fat man's lavish gift of three fossilized eggs hints he hoards more in his vaults!"
"Quite possible!" Maester Qyburn concurred thoughtfully. "Whispers tie him to smuggling dragon bones, so his pipelines run deep."
"And the lost Targaryen eggs? They've vanished like smoke!"
"A riddle without end!" Maester Qyburn agreed. "The dragon lords amassed hordes of eggs long ago. Post-extinction, they poured fortunes into hatching rites. Summerhall's blaze consumed seven at once!"
"But the Usurper's War yielded no trace of those eggs for the victors!"
"Live eggs would simplify our path—no delving into dire blood magic's depths!" Gendry reflected. Such vital orbs eased the ritual's peril.
"Dragonstone, the Red Keep, Summerhall—wherever shadows hide them, I'll unearth those eggs! They rightfully claim us, Daenerys and me, our future child!"
"Your Highness, the Princess bends to your will with ease; her devotion shines, and under refined tutelage in graces and lore, she'll illuminate Westeros's halls," Maester Qyburn observed. "Viserys poses the sharper thorn! His years advance his claim, twisted by inner storms."
"Does Viserys still haunt the pleasure houses?" Gendry inquired.
"Without fail!" Maester Qyburn confirmed. "The fat man's pair of Unsullied shadow him as guards! He resents your delayed vows, scorns our foot soldiers' pitying stares! Your revealed lineage fans his paranoia into flames."
"Let him stew!" Gendry dismissed with a wry edge, "so long as he spares us his venom." Viserys's reckless revels courted doom unbidden, sparing Gendry the dirty work.
"Illyrio unleashed the whispers branding me bastard!" Gendry confided to Maester Qyburn.
"No doubt—only the fat man wields such reach, with spies burrowed in King's Landing!" Maester Qyburn dissected coolly.
"A keen agent indeed, laced with cunning!"
"The fat man courts no alliance; he may well scheme as foe!" The fat man and Spider dangled Daenerys and kin as bait; their true pawn lurked elsewhere!
"Merchants chase self above all!" Maester Qyburn nodded sagely.
"The fat man's games fade to noise; pressing foes demand our steel—the Tyroshi, Lyseni, Volantenes, and shadows from across the Narrow Sea!"
"Tyrosh clings to the Black Isle chain. Once sealed by our blockade, its fall quickens!" Maester Qyburn pondered. "Stability hinges on quelling exiled Archons' uprisings—troops will stretch thin!"
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