Aemond arrives at your chambers long after midnight with something blazing beneath his usual composure. He says very little at first, only bids you dress warmly and follow him through the sleeping halls of the Red Keep.

The path leads downward rather than up, through torchlit tunnels beneath the castle and toward the vast caverns near the Dragonpit where the oldest dragons are sometimes housed when they will tolerate no riders. The air grows colder the deeper you descend, until the distant sound of draconic breathing begins to echo against the stone.

Then you see her in all her glory. Vhagar rests within the cavern like mountain, ancient and terrible, her great form curled protectively around a clutch of dragon eggs nestled amongst the bedding she deemed good enough for her.

When you glance toward Aemond, it becomes painfully obvious that he has entirely forgotten how to conceal his pride. He looks almost feverishly pleased, his eye fixed upon the clutch with such fierce satisfaction that it borders on paternal devotion. “Beautiful, are they not?” he murmurs, voice quiet, though no less intense. “She laid them only days ago.”

A low rumble suddenly rolls through the cavern as Vhagar lifts her head, massive and watchful, and Aemond steps forward at once. He speaks firmly in High Valyrian, one gloved hand raising slightly as though calming an agitated queen. “Gīda, Vhagar. Gīda, issar ikso daor zȳhorysor ñuhor ao drōmona.”

Steady, Vhagar. Steady, there is no threat to your eggs.

The great dragoness settles with visible reluctance, though her reptilian eyes remain fixed upon you both. Only then does Aemond glance back at you. “I have told no one.” he admits, lowering his voice further. “If word spread through court, there would already be men scheming over which houses might claim them.” His mouth twists faintly with disdain before his gaze returns to the eggs. “But you… I wished to share this with you.”