At that moment, Lady Myria Jordayne, the heiress of Tor who was staying at court, instructed a maid to bring over carefully sliced pieces of cooked beef.
She was Ynys' close friend and had been invited by Ynys to remain at court as her companion.
A mature king needed to expand the ranks of his court nobility, especially with young and beautiful ladies. This made the court livelier and ensured that the Queens would not feel lonely.
Ynys and Sansa picked up pieces of meat and carefully fed them to their respective young dragons.
The tawny hatchling swallowed eagerly, brimming with energy.
The bronze-colored hatchling, by contrast, chewed slowly and deliberately, its movements refined and graceful.
Lo Quen watched the warm scene and spoke. "These two beautiful young dragons should have names worthy of them."
Ynys shot Lo Quen a glance. "Your Grace, why don't you help me come up with one?"
Sansa nodded as well. She was the sort of beautiful but simple-minded girl who could not even manage basic arithmetic, and truly had no ideas of her own.
Lo Quen smiled and turned to Ynys and her young dragon. "It was born from your longing for your homeland. Its hue is like sun-scorched stone, and its yellow-brown scales shimmer with light, its nature lively as flame. How about calling it "Quicksand"?"
Ynys repeated the name, her eyes lighting up. "Quicksand… that's perfect. Thank you, Your Grace!"
Lo Quen then shifted his gaze to the bronze-colored young dragon in Sansa's arms. "This one has a calm disposition, and its hue is like ancient bronze. Let's call it 'Bronzeward.'"
Sansa gently stroked Ancient Bronze's scales and whispered softly, "Bronzeward… you will be my pride."
As if understanding her words, the young dragon lightly rubbed its head against her palm.
Just then, the great dragons circling in the sky seemed to be drawn by the birth of their new companions.
Blooddancer let out a long, resounding roar, as though offering a welcome.
A massive shadow swept across the balcony, prompting gasps and bright smiles.
Quicksand lifted its head curiously and let out a faint hiss toward the sky.
Bronzeward, however, merely watched in silence, its lake-blue eyes reflecting the immense silhouettes of its elder brothers.
In the balcony garden, the joy of new life intertwined with the majestic sight of soaring dragons, forming a scene filled with hope and vitality.
On the other side of the balcony, Lady Alysanne Bulwer of Blackcrown City was accompanying Lynesse and Roslin, who had recently given birth.
Several maids carefully tended to Lynesse's one-year-old eldest son, Quen, while Lynesse herself was nursing her newborn son, only a month old.
The elder child, Quen, had been named by Lynesse after Lo Quen.
This stirred memories in Lo Quen of the time he had met Janice amid the ruins of Valyria.
Nearby, Roslin's daughter slept peacefully in her cradle under the watchful care of a maid.
Lynesse had recovered remarkably well. After giving birth to two sons for Lo Quen in quick succession, she seemed even more radiant and full of charm.
By comparison, Roslin's first child was a daughter, which left her with a faint trace of regret born of traditional views.
Lo Quen walked over, and Lynesse lifted her head, chiding him softly. "Your Grace, the child still doesn't have a name."
Lo Quen smiled and gently touched the nursing infant's tender cheek. "You decide. Whatever his name is, I'll love him all the same."
Lynesse's eyes shone with happiness.
After the destruction of Oldtown, Lo Quen had granted the inheritance rights to both Highgarden and Oldtown to her children. This elevated her from a marginal member of House Hightower to one of the most powerful mothers in The Reach, filling her with deep gratitude toward Lo Quen.
She looked at her eldest son, Quen, and said, "Quen will inherit Oldtown, as you wish. As for this little one…"
Lowering her gaze to the baby in her arms, she continued, "Perhaps we can call him Quen as well. He will inherit Highgarden. Your Grace, I hope all my sons can bear your name…"
In Westeros, repeating names was nothing out of the ordinary.
In the Reach, many people bore the name Garth in honor of "Greenhand" Garth.
Lo Quen understood her meaning. Smiling, he stroked her hair. "These two young Garths of the Reach will take the Hightower name. The one who inherits Bear Island in the future will bear the Mormont name."
Lynesse froze for a moment, then quickly grasped his intent.
By separating their surnames this way, Lynesse's future children would be kept from amassing too much power in one place, avoiding unnecessary strife like that once seen between the Baratheons and the Targaryens.
It was a decision made with long-term foresight.
Lo Quen then turned to the quiet, gentle Roslin. "Roslin, your daughter will be named Roslin Tully. I hope she grows to be as gentle and resilient as her mother. She will inherit Riverrun, while your future children will inherit Harrenhal and the Twins."
Roslin felt both delighted and uneasy. "Your Grace… she is a girl. Can she truly inherit Riverrun?"
Lo Quen took her hand, his voice firm. "Anyone who dares question it can go build the Wall at Moat Cailin. My dynasty does not strip inheritance on the basis of gender. The Targaryen civil war will not happen again. Your daughter will have Riverrun because she is your daughter, and because she carries my blood."
Tears filled Roslin's eyes. Just a year ago, she had still been anxious about her fate. Now she held everything she had never dared to dream of.
She rose without thinking and wrapped her arms tightly around Lo Quen.
After a long moment, her gaze drifted to Daenerys, who stood alone by the railing, staring out at the sea in silence.
Perceptive as ever, Roslin gently nudged Lo Quen. "Your Grace, go check on Daenerys. She has something on her mind."
Lo Quen followed her glance and saw Daenerys indeed standing by herself at the very edge of the balcony, leaning against the marble balustrade.
The evening clouds had dyed the sky a brilliant purple-red. The dying sun, bloodlike in hue, cast a warm golden sheen over the towering spires of Storm's End and the distant waters of Shipbreaker Bay.
Yet none of that warmth seemed to reach Daenerys's heart.
She stood with her back to the lively garden. Her silver-gold hair, like flowing molten metal, stirred gently in the sea breeze.
She was not standing straight as usual. Instead, she leaned lightly against the railing, her shoulders looking thin and fragile. One hand propped up her chin, while the other unconsciously traced the cold stone beneath her fingers. Her gaze was unfocused, fixed on the glittering sea in the distance.
Framed by the majestic sunset, her figure carried a hazy, almost dreamlike beauty.
Something stirred quietly in Lo Quen's chest.
Daenerys was passionate and proud by nature, and she rarely showed such open loneliness.
He thought of the warm scene earlier, Lynesse and Roslin gathered around the children, and then recalled the fleeting, hard-to-read emotions that sometimes flashed through Dany's eyes when she looked their way. In that instant, he understood most of it.
Lowering his head, he gave Roslin a grateful smile and gently patted her arm. "All right," he said softly. "I'll go see her. It's windy out here. You should take the children inside soon as well."
Roslin nodded obediently.
Lo Quen turned and walked toward the solitary figure waiting at the far end of the balcony.