The furnace's flames had completely died out.
Jeor Mormont stood rooted, his facial muscles twitching slightly as he looked at the strange creature in the hearth.
That was not the legendary dragon.
Legendary dragons were elegant and deadly, the undisputed rulers of the sky.
But the one before him... was more like a clumsy joke, a deformed creation abandoned by the gods.
It had four legs, but the front two were noticeably thinner and shorter, unable to support its body as powerfully as its hind legs; they looked more like two grasping arms.
The most bizarre thing was the three heads on its neck.
Each head looked different.
The middle head was the largest, its eyes a molten-gold amber, revealing an innate majesty and curiosity.
The left head was slightly smaller, its eyes a deep, ethereal blue, like the glaciers of the far north, filled with wariness and indifference.
The right head was the smallest, yet its eyes were a blood-red, containing only pure, undisguised savagery and hunger.
Lynn knelt on the ground, his body still feeling weak.
The scene of Maester Aemon's dissipation was deeply etched in his mind.
It was a complete, unreserved sacrifice.
With his life, his soul, and the last glory of a Targaryen, he ignited this dragon egg that had slept for a hundred years.
"Grumble..."
The three-headed little monster, its middle head, let out a soft, contented purr.
It lowered its head and, with its still-serrated teeth, gnawed on the shattered eggshell with relish, making crisp "crunching" sounds.
The other two heads were raised watchfully, one staring coldly at Mormont, the other hissing menacingly at the surrounding darkness.
They seemed to possess their own independent thoughts.
Just then, a wave of intimacy and dependence, through some invisible bond, reached the depths of Lynn's consciousness.
It was the middle head.
After finishing a piece of eggshell, it looked up, its amber eyes fixed on Lynn.
Lynn's heart stirred.
It worked.
He suppressed the turmoil in his heart, concentrated, and formed the simplest command in his mind.
"Come here."
However, the amber-eyed head merely tilted, seemingly confused.
It did not obey Lynn's will.
The other two heads didn't even glance at him.
That mental connection felt like a one-way street.
Lynn could clearly feel its emotions, but he could not impose his will upon it.
This dragon did not obey his commands!
Lynn's heart sank instantly.
He thought of Maester Aemon's blood, and the Targaryen's motto.
Dragons only recognize masters with true dragon blood.
Aemon had awakened it with his blood, but he was merely an observer who provided the hatching grounds.
What, then, was that feeling of intimacy just now?
Was it treating him as... the first living thing a newborn hatchling sees?
Lynn's expression turned somewhat grim.
He silently opened the system panel.
Sure enough, a new prompt popped up.
[Mount Panel Activated]
Lynn immediately clicked on it.
A brand new panel appeared in his field of vision.
[Mount: Winter]
[Species: Three-headed Variant Dragon (Juvenile)]
[Status: Loyal (Mental link established, but cannot control will)]
[Description: A variant giant dragon nurtured by both a frozen dragon egg and true dragon blood. It possesses three independent heads, four legs, and weak forelimbs. It recognizes you as its sole master, but its ancient bloodline dictates that it only obeys specific linguistic commands.]
[Strength: 1 (Juvenile)]
[Agility: 2 (Juvenile)]
[Constitution: 1 (Juvenile)]
[Skills: Unlocked]
Winter?
That was the name Maester Aemon had uttered before he passed.
Even the system acknowledged this name?
Lynn's gaze was fixed on that line of description.
Specific linguistic commands.
"It seems it's deformed..."
Lord Commander Mormont's voice broke the silence.
He slowly walked over, a hint of unconcealed disappointment in his tone.
"But it has the aura of a dragon."
"It is a dragon, after all."
Mormont's gaze fell on Lynn; he saw Lynn's predicament.
"It doesn't listen to you?"
Lynn nodded, his expression grave.
"I can feel it, but I can't command it."
"The magical dragons of the Targaryen only obey the Targaryen language."
Mormont's voice was very low, as if he were speaking an ancient secret.
"Maester Aemon... his collection of books should have what you need."
"He was a Targaryen; he studied dragons his entire life."
"I think he had already prepared everything for you."
Lynn's heart leaped.
He immediately stood up and walked out of the blacksmith's shop.
The three-headed little dragon, named Winter, after finishing the last piece of eggshell, also started to move its four legs, wobbling as it followed behind Lynn.
Its weak forelimbs seemed a bit clumsy when running, but its speed was not slow.
Mormont watched the retreating figures of the man and the dragon.
A bitter smile appeared on his aged face... Maester Aemon's room still looked as he had left it.
The books on the table were neatly arranged, and the air retained a mixed scent of parchment and herbs.
Everything was as it had been before.
Only, the room's owner would never return.
Lynn's gaze fell on the simple desk.
A stack of thick books was neatly piled on the corner of the table.
On top, a piece of parchment lay.
Lynn walked over and picked up the paper.
On it was Maester Aemon's slightly trembling handwriting.
The writing was shaky, some characters even overlapping.
It was hard to imagine how a blind old man had written it down.
"To Lynn:"
"By the time you read this letter, the little one must have awakened."
"Do not grieve for me; this is the most glorious end a centenarian could wish for."
"The bloodline of the dragon requires a key to unlock, and Valyrian is that key."
"These books are the culmination of my life's work, the only things I brought to the Wall from the Red Keep in King's Landing."
"They contain the Targaryen Dragon Tongue, the history of Old Valyria, and some scattered records about dragons."
"Learn it, master it."
"Then, fulfill your mission."
"The Long Night is coming, and I shall take up my watch, from this day until my death."
"Your friend, Aemon."
The letter's end bore no date.
As if he had known this day would come.
Lynn clutched the thin parchment, his fingers turning slightly white from the force.
He turned his head and looked at his feet.
The three-headed little dragon was gently nuzzling his trouser leg with its middle head, its amber eyes full of dependence.
Lynn slowly crouched down.
He reached out and, for the first time, actively touched the dragon's scales.
They were cold, hard, yet held a hint of life's warmth.
"Winter..."
Lynn softly spoke its name.
Aemon had the right to name it, and it would inherit Maester Aemon's legacy.
"From today, you are my sword, my shield."
The little dragon didn't understand what Lynn was saying, but it understood Lynn's caressing action.
All three heads let out joyful hisses simultaneously.
Lynn stood up, cradling the thick stack of books in his arms.
The weight was substantial.
It was Maester Aemon's life, and Mormont's trust.
He had lingered here for too long.
He also needed to return to Winterfell and then continue south to King's Landing.
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