Game of Thrones: The Witcher System

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"We meet once again, Emissary of the Outer God."

The voice of the Three-Eyed Raven, as dry and withered as decayed wood, echoed from the throat of the massive, pitch-black raven. Normally, a raven should not have been able to produce a human voice, but with the power of magic, anything was possible.

"I did not expect to see you here, Lord Three-Eyed Raven."

Clay halted his steps, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his expression devoid of emotion as he addressed the uninvited guest. This time, he did not activate the Quen Sign; in this form, the Three-Eyed Raven posed no real threat to him.

But he quickly realized that the Three-Eyed Raven was not the only uninvited guest present.

From within the dense forest emerged a towering figure, his hands firmly holding a wooden chest.

The man's face bore a dull, vacant expression. He was large and heavyset, with unkempt hair and the rough, rugged features typical of a Northerner. From a distance, Clay's keen hearing picked up the murmured words escaping from the man's lips in a slow, repetitive chant:

"Hodor… Hodor…"

Clay exhaled slowly, recognizing the man at a glance.

This was Hodor, the stablehand of Winterfell—the one who, in the original timeline, had carried Bran beyond the Wall to meet the Three-Eyed Raven. A truly pitiable soul, through and through.

The Three-Eyed Raven was watching Clay as well. Through the murky, clouded eyes of the great bird, Clay's form was perceived not as flesh and bone but as a construct woven from an intricate network of magic. A power coursed through Clay's very being, an unfamiliar force that unsettled the ancient seer.

That was what the Raven feared most. It was also the reason it had chosen to lower itself and agree to Clay's terms. Beings whose very forms were saturated with magic understood that the greatest threat to them was an unknown force invading their essence.

Such contamination could corrode their very essence, unraveling the intricate threads of their existence beyond repair.

"Since you spared that child, I shall, in turn, fulfill my promise, Emissary of the Outer God."

The Three-Eyed Raven ruffled its feathers slightly, as if it had truly embraced its identity as a mere raven. With a wave of its wing, it signaled to Hodor, who, with his vacant expression unchanged, stepped forward, carrying the wooden chest toward Clay.

"As you wished, here is a dragon egg," the Three-Eyed Raven declared. "It comes from Silverwing, the great dragon that once descended upon Winterfell. I kept it with me ever since I discovered it, never imagining that one day, it would pass into your hands."

[P.S: Originally it was Vermex, but I did some research and found that he was not a she-dragon and had never laid eggs, so for now, this dragon egg will come from Silverwing. If there is any mention of it in the next chapters, I will smoothly change it.]

As the chest was opened, Clay's gaze was instantly drawn to the object nested within.

Oval in shape and resting upon an elegant stand, the egg gleamed under the dim light. Its deep blue surface was marbled with golden streaks, weaving like veins of molten fire. Its shell bore intricate, scale-like textures, as if sculpted by a master artisan. The glossy surface was reminiscent of exquisite enamelwork, the kind only the finest craftsmen of Myr could produce.

It was large—so large that Clay, measuring with his hands, estimated that he would need both to barely hold it properly.

Though he had often imagined what a dragon egg might look like, standing before this one in reality, he could not help but acknowledge the sheer magnificence of it. Perhaps, of all the creations left upon this world by the gods, this was among the most perfect.

Reaching out, Clay placed his palm against the egg's surface. A chill seeped into his skin—it was cold. As he had suspected, the egg had long since turned to stone. In an age where magic had waned and dragons had vanished from the world, there was no longer anyone capable of awakening it.

Rationality told him that, in his current position, this was nothing more than a burden—an artifact of perilous value. And yet, he knew, deep down, that there was no way he would let it slip from his grasp.

"It seems you are quite fond of my gift, Emissary of the Outer God."

The voice of the Three-Eyed Raven whispered in Clay's ear, pulling him from his thoughts.

"I must ask again, Lord Three-Eyed Raven—why are you doing this?"

Clay's question went straight to the heart of the matter. A fully grown dragon, if given time, could wield destructive power on par with the nuclear warheads of the world he once knew—a true weapon of mass destruction.

The ancient seer was unsurprised by the inquiry. When it answered, it did so with patience, as though it had long anticipated this moment.

"The answer remains the same: my master and I seek only to survive. If you and your god do not claim the South, then R'hllor and his Emissary will take it instead. I have told you before—should His power grow unchecked, it will bring an imbalance to this world."

R'hllor's Emissary?

A name surfaced in Clay's mind at once—the woman who had altered the course of war itself.

The Red Priestess—Melisandre.

Had it been R'hllor's will that guided her to Stannis Baratheon, strengthening his claim with fire and prophecy, and that brought Jon Snow back from the dead?

A sharp breath escaped Clay's lips. This bastard.

The Raven had been setting him up all along. Every move had been calculated—pushing Clay into power, maneuvering him to take the South, all so that, in the end, he and R'hllor would be forced into open conflict.

This scheming old raven.

The realization darkened Clay's expression. Yet, regardless of the truth he had uncovered, he knew there was no chance he would refuse this gift.

His jaw tightened as he reached out and took the wooden chest from Hodor's hands. The Three-Eyed Raven had cast its bait—but Clay had resolved to be the fish that took the bait without ever biting the hook.

"Then tell me—how does one hatch a dragon egg?" he demanded. "A king died in the tragedy of Summerhall—I know that conventional methods alone will not awaken this egg."

Summerhall.

The once-glorious summer palace of House Targaryen.

It was there that King Aegon V, desperate to restore his dwindling house to its former glory, had attempted to hatch seven dragon eggs. He had surrounded them with wildfire and set the palace aflame, believing fire alone could awaken them.

Whether it was a conspiracy or a miscalculation by the pyromancers, the outcome remained the same. The wildfire spiraled out of control. A king and his crown prince perished in the inferno. House Targaryen suffered an irreparable blow.

And that very night, in the heart of that blazing ruin, Rhaegar Targaryen—Daenerys's older brother—was born.

At the mention of this tragedy, the Three-Eyed Raven fell momentarily silent. But only for a moment.

"They failed," it eventually said, "not because of the fire. Not because of Targaryen blood. No… they lacked something far more crucial. Something that both you and I possess."

Clay immediately understood. His eyes widened as the answer escaped his lips:

"Magic."

The Three-Eyed Raven inclined its head slightly, a gesture of agreement.

"Precisely. Magic. When the last dragon died, the magic of this world entered a period of decline. But now, to awaken a dragon, three conditions must be met—intense heat, special blood, and magic itself."

"Back when dragons still roamed, such methods were unnecessary. Dragons, born of magic, could hatch naturally. But now, this is the only way. There is no other choice."

The Three-Eyed Raven had given its answer. And as Clay processed its words, the pieces began to fall into place.

No wonder.

No wonder Daenerys had been able to hatch her three dragons.

Her immunity to fire had allowed her to survive the flames. Targaryen blood, already rare and steeped in legend, had fulfilled the second condition.

And through the sacrifices of the witch, her husband, and her unborn child—offerings made in a world deprived of magic—she had acquired the final piece. The magic necessary to bridge the gap.

Thus, the conditions had been met. The stone-bound dragons had been awakened.

After the long summer, beneath the bleeding star, the Mother of Dragons was born.

..

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[Chapter End's]

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