Jeor Mormont's appearance added to the already heavy atmosphere in the room, making it even more oppressive.
The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch scanned his gaze back and forth between Maester Aemon and Lynn.
His sharp, bear-like eyes seemed capable of seeing through people's hearts.
"Maester Aemon,"
Mormont's voice was low, with a hint of imperceptible tension.
"Are you..."
Maester Aemon did not turn his head.
He merely "gazed" at the dragon egg in front of the fireplace with his blind eyes, his voice eerily calm.
"Jeor, it's good that you're here."
"I need you to be a witness."
Mormont's heart sank sharply.
The thing he feared most seemed to be about to happen after all.
"Witness what?" Mormont's voice was a little dry.
"Witness a Targaryen offer his last loyalty to this world," Maester Aemon said slowly.
Mormont's breathing hitched for a moment.
He glanced at the ashen-faced Lynn, then at the resolute Aemon, and finally let out a long sigh.
"Aemon, have you really... decided?"
"From the moment Lynn brought this egg back, I decided."
"I wasn't impulsive; I thought about it for a long time after I returned."
Maester Aemon's voice carried a fated sense of calm.
"This is the gods' guidance to me, and it is a responsibility I cannot shirk as a Targaryen."
Lynn really couldn't understand the thought process of these nobles.
It was always honor, responsibility, destiny.
Wasn't living well and maximizing one's value the most important thing?
For the dragon's hatching, he could go kill Viserys.
There was absolutely no need for Aemon to sacrifice himself.
"Maester Aemon, listen to me!"
Lynn walked in front of Aemon, trying one last effort.
"You know the history of House Targaryen, you know the power of dragons, but you should also know how great the risk of hatching a dragon egg is!"
"Historically, how many members of Targaryen paid the price of their lives to awaken petrified dragon eggs, only to gain nothing in the end!"
"Have you forgotten the tragedy of Summerhall?"
Lynn directly brought up one of the most tragic attempts in the history of House Targaryen.
Aegon V, a wise monarch.
In order to bring dragons back to the world and solve problems he couldn't solve, he held a grand ceremony at Summerhall.
He tried to hatch seven dragon eggs with wildfire.
As a result, the out-of-control wildfire engulfed all of Summerhall.
The King himself, his eldest son, the Targaryen royalty, and the captain of the Kingsguard, Ser Duncan the Tall, along with half of the loyal court officials, all died in that disaster.
And none of those seven dragon eggs hatched.
"Of course I remember."
A hint of sadness appeared on Maester Aemon's face.
"Aegon was my brother."
"I watched him send himself and his family to hell for that mad dream."
"Then why do you want to repeat the same mistake?" Lynn pressed.
"That was a tragedy!"
"A tragedy in which even the lives of a king and a prince couldn't bring about a miracle!"
"Because they used the wrong method." Maester Aemon shook his head.
"Although wildfire's power is strong, it is a creation of alchemists, a trick of mortals."
"It is full of destructiveness, but lacks vitality."
"And what a dragon needs is life."
"It is fire, and it is also blood."
Maester Aemon's voice became distant, as if recalling a history long forgotten by the world.
"My brother, Aerion, have you heard his story?"
Lynn nodded.
He certainly knew Aerion Targaryen.
Known as "Aerion Brightflame."
A handsome, brave, yet extremely cruel and mad prince.
"He always said he was a true dragon, just trapped in a mortal shell."
Aemon's tone carried a hint of mockery.
"He firmly believed that if he drank an entire cup of wildfire, he would transform into a dragon."
"And the result?"
"The result was that he writhed and wailed in agony in the flames, eventually burning into a charred stump."
"He never grew a single dragon scale, even until his death."
Lynn fell silent.
This was truly a mad story, and a foolish one.
"And my other brother, Daeron."
Maester Aemon's voice became even sadder.
"He wasn't as mad as Aerion; he was kind and sensitive."
"He was a dreamsower, and once had a prophetic dream."
"He dreamt of too many tragic endings."
"These dreams haunted him his entire life."
"He was afraid, he was terrified, he tried to numb himself with alcohol, to escape the tragedy that was destined to come."
"People called him 'Daeron the Drunkard.'"
"In the end, he didn't die on the battlefield, nor in a conspiracy."
"He died of a venereal disease he contracted from a prostitute."
Maester Aemon recounted the tragic endings of his brothers.
His blind eyes streamed with endless sorrow.
"You see, Lynn."
"We Targaryens are always dealing with dragons."
"We crave their power, we try to control them, but in the end, we are often destroyed by them."
"They were all wrong."
Maester Aemon turned around, once again "gazing" at the ice-blue dragon egg.
"They all forgot what the Targaryen motto is."
"Blood and Fire."
"To gain the power of dragons, one must pay the price of blood."
"And my blood possesses the right to hatch it."
Maester Aemon's voice, at this moment, was filled with undeniable pride.
"Because I am Aemon Targaryen."
"Because the blood of kings flows in my body."
Mormont listened quietly from the side.
He didn't interrupt, but his hands gripping the hilt of his sword tightened more and more.
Lynn's heart sank little by little.
He knew he could no longer persuade this stubborn old man.
Aemon Targaryen, he wasn't seeking death.
He was fulfilling his final mission as a Targaryen in his own way.
Just as the atmosphere in the room became extremely heavy.
"Caw—" a hoarse and piercing cry suddenly came from outside the window.
A crow, at some point, had landed on the windowsill.
It was entirely black, but its feathers shimmered with a strange luster in the firelight.
It had three eyes.
Its third eye was right in the center of its forehead, blood-red.
Like a burning gem.
It tilted its head, and with its three eyes, it quietly stared at Lynn in the room.
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