At Dragon's Rest…
Drakon and Jocelyn sat down at the head of the Council table. Maester Lucas was the first to speak. "My lord, I sent the ravens you requested, and I received a reply from the lords of Crackclaw Point. They would be delighted to join your feast a fortnight from now".
Drakon nodded. "Good, very good".
"We've also received word from the east, relayed through your cousin, my lord" Rona Grey added as she handed an unopened piece of parchment to the muscular man.
Drakon opened the letter. Reading it aloud, he said "Princess Daenerys Targaryen has wed the Dothraki Khal Drogo".
"Wed to a Dothraki?" Alvyn asked.
"How many Dothraki does it take to…" Simon Groat started to say before Drakon gave him a withering glare.
Turning to Rona, he asked "What else do we know?"
"They are to be wed at the estate of Magister Illyrio Mopatis, a wealthy merchant in Pentos. He's currently hosting Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys".
"His Grace must hope to use the Dothraki to reclaim his throne" Drakon surmised.
"Providing that he could get them across the Narrow Sea" Ser Hugo said. "It's the only thing that's prevented those Horse-lords from invading Westeros".
"If His Grace could convince the Dothraki to invade, then there would be nothing the lords of the Seven Kingdoms could do to stop them. Anyone stupid enough to face them in open battle would be overwhelmed, while the others would stay behind the walls of their castles. Just how long could the Usurper and his supporters maintain power while a Dothraki horde ravages the Smallfolk?"
"A bold move, to be sure", Rona agreed, "but the prince would still have to convince them to cross the Narrow Sea. One would have an easier time of convincing people that we live in the eye of a blue-eyed giant".
"Still, this is cause for celebration" Drakon said. "Rona, I want you to spread the word of the princess' marriage to the other loyalists, but do it quietly. We cannot afford to tip our hand too soon".
The grey-clad Spymaster nodded.
"We'll adjourn again tomorrow" Drakon said. The advisors stood and bowed before making their way out of the Council chamber. The muscular man stood, taking his wife's arm as they both walked out into the corridor.
"There is more cause for celebration" Jocelyn said as they rounded a corner.
Drakon looked at her quizzically, wondering what his wife could have been talking about as she took his hand and placed it on her belly. He did not understand at first, but suddenly, he was struck by the realization. "You're with child?" he asked.
Jocelyn smiled, kissing him in reply.
The last Blackfyre smiled. "How long have you known?"
"A few weeks" she replied. "I was waiting for the right time to tell you".
"This is wonderful!" Drakon exclaimed, embracing his wife. "This is a sign! A sign that the world will finally be put back in proper order!"
As the pair rounded a corner, they saw Jayne hurriedly walking past them to the courtyard. "She's been riding Ebony for almost every waking hour" Jocelyn explained as they saw their daughter exiting the keep. "She misses Derryk".
Drakon nodded. "I know" he said, wishing that things had turn out the way they did. Turning to his wife, he kissed her before saying "I'll go talk to her".
At King's Landing…
Kirth sat across from Ser Heddle in a filthy inn, eating a questionable stew. The minstrel had certainly seen worse establishments, so he wasn't complaining. They had arrived with the royal caravan a few days ago, so both men were glad to have finally come to the end of their journey. "A merchant told me that the assassin who nearly killed the Stark boy was using a Valyrian Steel dagger, with a Dragonbone hilt, no less!"
Ser Heddle nodded. "An expensive weapon for an assassin".
The old woman who ran the inn approached them. "Ever hear of Bran Stark?" Kirth asked her, wiping the stew from his mouth.
"Lannisters tried ta kill 'em" the old crone replied. "You wanna know anymore, then ya pay fer it".
Grudgingly, the minstrel handed her a few coins. The old woman bit down on one of them, and before she could say anything else, two Goldcloaks approached their table. "You, minstrel!" one of them cried. "You're under arrest!"
Kirth glanced at Ser Heddle, and the Knight quickly glanced down at the stew. The minstrel smirked slightly as he realized what his travelling companion was planning. Just as the Goldcloaks were about to grab him, Kirth took his bowl of steaming hot stew and threw it in the man's face. Ser Heddle did the same with the other man, and both cried out in agony. Kirth and the Knight hurriedly brushed past the incapacitated City Watchmen, running out of the inn. The pair ran for some time, eventually stopping in the Street of Steel, where all the blacksmiths in King's Landing worked.
"You there, minstrel" a voice called.
Groaning in frustration, Kirth turned around, expecting more of the City Watch. Instead, he found himself looking at Lord Eddard Stark and Jory Cassel coming toward them on horseback. "My lord Hand" Kirth said, bowing.
"I have a favour to ask of you" Lord Stark said.
"Name it, my lord" Kirth replied, knowing that to refuse the King's Hand was not one of the best decisions one could make.
"The King bore a bastard son named Gendry".
Hardly surprising, Kirth thought. The fat King whored around so much that it was a wonder how he didn't have an entire kingdom of bastard children running around.
"He works as an apprentice for Tobho Mott. Do you know where his shop is?"
"Of course, my lord. There is no finer Blacksmith in the Seven Kingdoms".
"I want you to find out everything you can about him" Lord Stark said.
"I shall begin at once" Kirth replied with a flourishing bow. With Ser Heddle following close behind, he set out for Tobho Mott's shop. Once they arrived, the minstrel turned to the Knight and said "It would be less conspicuous if you went in there".
"What should I say?" the older man asked him.
"Say that you want to buy new armour for the Hand's Tourney" Kirth replied. The Knight nodded before entering the shop, and Kirth casually kept his eye on the street, wary of any potential spies that might be watching them.
At Dragon's Rest…
Drakon watched as the five knights he had sent to King's Landing rode into the keep's courtyard. Edric and Edwyn stood beside him; ever since he had told them of the possibility of acquiring Dragon eggs, they had been bursting with excitement. Even now, they were fidgeting as the group of knights dismounted from their horses. Luckily, Drakon had finished his talk with Jayne hours ago. She was upset, that much he could tell. But, after some private time during which they rode on their horses for an hour or so, she was doing much better.
The knight in the centre of the group had a short, stocky body, with an animal skin draped over his cloak. Ser Samwell Royce was one of Drakon's best warriors, after Ser Prester and himself. To the Knight's right was Ser Prester, whose long brown hair fluttered in the light breeze, and Ser Harron Mopatis, a dark-skinned man whose family had hailed from the Free Cities before had relocated to Westeros. To Ser Samwell's left was a man with shoulder-length red hair and a serious expression. To those who knew him, he was known as 'the Halfhand' due to his loss of half the fingers on one hand in a duel; despite the injury, he was singularly talented at disguising himself. The remaining person in the party was, in fact, a woman, with long, dark hair and blue eyes. Carellen Stokeworth was the third-born daughter of Lord Stokeworth, and her interests were of the martial variety. As a result, Drakon had found a place for her in his hold after her father had disowned her; she was a knight in all but name.
The group approached Drakon and his sons, bowing in respect. His sons could barely control themselves, and he felt the same on the inside. He was careful not to let his excitement show too much; as a lord, it was important for him to display power and authority whilst in the presence of those who served him. "Did you find it?" he asked, silently holding his breath.
"Yes, my lord" Ser Samwell replied in his deep voice. Reaching into one of his saddlebags, the Knight retrieved an object roughly the size of Drakon's son's heads. It was mostly silver, with a small band of gold across the bottom, and its shell was covered in scales. Ser Samwell handed the object to Drakon, and the last Blackfyre could hardly believe his eyes as he beheld a Dragon egg, one that had once belonged to Aerion Targaryen. The egg was heavy, almost as if it were stone, but Drakon had read enough about the creatures to know that, even if they were petrified, Dragon eggs would carry the spark of life for decades, even centuries, before hatching.
"Well done" Drakon said as he looked at the egg. "Well done, indeed".
"My lord" Ser Prester said, drawing the muscular man's attention.
Drakon looked over to his Master-At-Arms and watched as the man pulled a second egg from his saddlebag. This one was mostly bronze in colour, with a band of gold across the bottom just like the first. Drakon took the second egg in hand, not believing his eyes. "Two eggs" he said to himself, almost in disbelief.
"Yes, my lord" Ser Samwell replied. "Ser Prester found the second egg near the first. He was nearly caught in a cave-in".
The last Blackfyre turned to his Master-At-Arms. "You have my gratitude, Ser Prester" he said. The group of knights then dispersed, and Drakon knelt down as his sons openly gawked at the eggs.
He gave one to each of them, and Edric said "It feels heavy".
"That's because it's petrified" Drakon explained. "Both of these eggs have turned to stone after so long".
"Do you think we can hatch them?" Edwyn asked, his palpable excitement showing.
Drakon chuckled. "I don't think so" he said. "All the Dragons died out almost two hundred years ago. I'm afraid that these eggs are merely valuable possessions". Secretly, though, the muscular man hoped beyond hope that he might be able to one day hatch them. If not, then they would be a very fine gift to the Targaryens; though he had heard from Rona that princess Daenerys had received three Dragon eggs for her wedding day; two almost seemed an inferior gift compared to that. Only time would tell what would happen to these stone eggs.