Chapter 165 — Blood and Fire Share the Same Source
"Mother."
Warm firelight filled Maegor's Holdfast, pushing back the winter chill.
Little Viserys came running, a thick book clutched in his arms. His Targaryen-purple eyes were bright and clear.
"Why do dragons kill each other?"
He tilted his small face up toward Queen Rhaella, who sat upon a cushioned chair. His voice was soft and innocent.
Rhaella blinked. Then she smiled faintly and brushed a strand of fine silver hair from his brow.
"Why would you ask that, Viserys?"
"It says so in the book."
The prince set the heavy tome down. Gold letters gleamed on the cover in candlelight:
The Lineage of Dragonlords: Targaryen Kings and Their Dragons
He flipped clumsily to an illustration—two monstrous dragons locked in aerial combat, claws ripping scales, blood raining into a calm lake below.
He pointed at the text, sounding out the words:
"Prince Daemon drove Dark Sister into Aemond's eye. Vhagar and Blood Wyrm Caraxes fell together into the Gods Eye…"
"Vhagar died at once. Caraxes crawled back to land, disemboweled, one wing torn away, and collapsed beneath Harrenhal's walls."
He looked up, confused.
"Why, Mother? They were dragons. Targaryens are family. Dragonriders are family. Like you're my mother. Father is my father."
"How can family hurt each other like that?"
Rhaella sighed softly and stroked the back of his head.
"Oh, my foolish little son…"
At only four, he could already read such dry histories. His intelligence was beyond doubt.
But how could she explain words like succession and legitimacy to a child?
She picked up a quill.
"Look. This is a pen."
Then a small butter knife.
"And this is a knife."
"They're both tools. For writing, drawing… or spreading jam on bread, yes?"
Viserys nodded.
"But… if one person only has the pen, and the other only the knife, and both are starving… and there is only one piece of bread left…"
"What happens?"
The boy blinked.
"They split it in half?"
Rhaella froze, then smiled sadly.
"That would be good… but what if the bread isn't enough? The one with the knife could stab the other… and keep it all."
Viserys lowered his head. It felt wrong—but he lacked the words to argue.
"My son," Rhaella said, pulling him close.
"Dragons are proud, wise, and powerful. They feel pain deeply… but for their riders, they must sometimes make terrible choices."
Viserys looked up.
"Will you and Rhaegar… become like that?"
Rhaella's body went rigid.
After a long silence, she called the maids to take him to bed.
When the chamber grew quiet again, she rose and walked toward the bed—
picking up a whip from the table along the way.
She drew back the curtain.
Mellario lay naked, bound with silk scarves, gagged, her pale body covered in bruises.
Rhaella gazed at her handiwork with cold satisfaction.
"I'm in a foul mood tonight…"
---
Dragonstone
Deep within a narrow cavern, jagged obsidian dragonstone crystals covered walls and floor.
King Aerys walked barefoot across them. The sharp glass cut his soles—just as the Iron Throne had.
He wore only his black robe.
In his arms: a dragon egg split perfectly into black and white halves.
Torchlight flickered in bloodshot violet eyes.
He placed the egg into a brazier where three others already lay:
Black. Green. Yellow.
And now—
"See? I am the true dragon, Lance… just like you!"
Though the egg scorched his flesh, Aerys felt no pain. He had already drunk an enormous dose of alchemical draught.
The stone doors opened.
Three naked condemned men were dragged in, trembling.
Kingsguard in white stood silent, faces grim. The air burned with sulfur and heat.
Nearby—
Prince Rhaegar, stripped and bound to an obsidian pillar, gagged. His eyes were wide with horror.
He understood.
He had been born amid tragedy.
Why…
Why again?
He struggled until blood ran from his wrists.
Ancient Valyrian runes, drawn in dried dark-red pigment, covered the stone floor in a massive ritual circle.
"They're calling to me…"
Aerys stared at the eggs in the flames.
In his mind, he could hear the hatchlings clawing free.
"Today…"
Aerys muttered under his breath,
voice trembling like a dreamer's. A rasping laugh bubbled from his throat, spittle trailing from the corner of his mouth.
"The Targaryens' greatness returns… today!!!"
"Your Grace…"
"Get out!"
The king didn't even turn as he barked the order. Barristan's attempt to speak died in his throat.
"Guard the entrance. Let no one in. If anyone tries to enter—kill them!"
The madness and authority in his voice allowed no room for refusal. The old Kingsguard swallowed, exchanging a glance with his sworn brothers. Doubt. Pain.
But they were Kingsguard. They obeyed.
The white cloaks withdrew, leaving only the condemned and the fanatics with the king.
"Begin!"
At Aerys's command, swords flashed. Three heads rolled before the altar. Blood fountained.
The fanatics caught the steaming blood in prepared vessels and poured it over the dragon eggs in the brazier.
Ssssss—
The scent of scalded blood filled the cavern.
"The shackles of the mundane are severed!" Aerys roared. "Base lives ascend the great ladder!"
His eyes seemed to pierce the flames as he took a Valyrian steel dagger and approached Rhaegar.
"No… mmmm…!!!"
Terror finally consumed the prince. He struggled, pleaded through the gag—but it was useless.
"Be calm, my son."
Aerys grinned, arms spread wide.
"The true dragon fears no flame! I, Aerys Targaryen the Second, shall be reborn in dragonfire!!!"
The dagger fell.
Thunk.
The blade pierced Rhaegar's heart. His violet eyes widened in disbelief.
The dagger withdrew. Blood surged forth. It too was collected… and poured upon the eggs.
Silence. Only the crackle of fire.
Aerys stood before the flames, arms wide, certain he could see shapes moving within. Scales forming. Fire in his veins. Ancient whispers.
He was melting. Ascending.
Reborn.
One second. Two. Three.
Nothing.
Only burning.
The eggs blackened further.
"Where… are my dragons?!"
His scream echoed.
He had read every hidden tome. Every Valyrian fragment. Every blood-and-fire experiment.
"Summerhall…"
The word escaped him like revelation.
"Common fire is useless…"
His eyes sharpened with terrible clarity.
"Only true dragonfire may awaken them…"
He tipped the brazier.
"Blood is fire…"
He chanted ancient Valyrian phrases stitched from fragments of lore.
"With my blood… dragon blood."
"With my name… dragon life."
"Blood and fire are one… hahaha—"
"Dracarys!"
___
Outside, Barristan trembled.
"This must stop!" Jonothor shouted. "He's killing himself!"
"We are Kingsguard," Gerold Hightower said coldly. "We obey."
"To hell with orders!"
The younger knight drew his blade to force his way inside.
Steel rang. Sparks flew in the narrow tunnel. The older knight overpowered him.
"Enough!"
Barristan finally reached for his sword—
—and a shriek split the air.
CRACK.
Gerold's sword shattered.
A streak of blinding white light shot through the tunnel.
They looked up.
A tall figure wrapped in a storming white cloak descended like judgment itself, killing intent pouring off him.
"Idiots!"
His voice thundered.
He didn't stop.
Didn't slow.
He rushed past them toward the depths of the cave, great pale blade in hand.
His voice echoed behind him:
"The oath to protect a king doesn't mean watching him set himself on fire!"
"Morons!"