Back at the Mother of Mountains, when Viserys had been on the verge of death, he never had the chance to order them to preserve Drogo's corpse.
By now, it had probably already rotted beyond use.
The Old Man of the River had specifically mentioned earlier that once his body was reconstructed and fully fused with the godhead, there would still be a large surplus of divine power remaining.
That divine power might very well be the key to hatching dragons.
"Um..." Viserys temporarily forgot the Old Man's name. "Could you help me with something?"
"Yes," the Old Man of the River agreed readily.
"Please send my mother a dream. Tell her that when she cremated me, she should place all the dragon eggs beside my body."
"You want to use divine power to hatch dragons?"
The Old Man immediately guessed his intention.
"Yes! Can you help me?"
After a moment, the Old Man replied,
"I cannot directly convey your words to your mother. I can only create a visual scene and project it into her dream."
"Whether she understands your meaning or not, I cannot guarantee."
"What kind of scene?" Viserys asked.
Very quickly, the image appeared before his eyes.
Viserys lay atop a funeral pyre, with three dragon eggs beside him, while Rhaella personally lit his body aflame.
"Can you change it a little? Let her see dragons hatching and me being reborn from the flames?"
Viserys felt the current scene was too ordinary.
Rhaella might not understand it.
"No. I cannot implant scenes she considers impossible or has never seen before."
As a Targaryen, Rhaella had never seen dragons hatch, nor did she believe anyone could return from death.
"Alright then. This will have to do. Thank you."
"Oh, and one more thing. If you plan to use divine power to hatch dragon eggs, I believe you can hatch at most three."
"Three?"
"Yes. That is based on my own experience."
"Then use the three fossilized dragon eggs Illyrio gifted me."
"Very well."
After the Old Man of the River disappeared, Viserys's consciousness once again sank into endless darkness.
The sensation was truly unbearable.
"I really want to be cremated already," Viserys thought bitterly.
His current condition was awful.
It was as though he had become a vegetable stripped of hearing, smell, taste, and every other sensation.
Only consciousness remained.
If this continued long enough, it would drive anyone insane.
...
Rhaella sat beside a window while handmaidens combed her hair.
The light had faded from her violet eyes, and her dignified face no longer carried even a trace of color.
Her once-silver hair had also lost its luster, turning pale white.
At a glance, the difference was subtle.
But the gap between them was like bright silk compared to dried river reeds after autumn.
The latter held no vitality at all.
Even so, Rhaella still endured the pain of losing another son while handling the affairs of Gohor.
"Your Majesty, this year we stored sixteen million four hundred twenty thousand bushels of grain.
Toll road revenue reached one hundred ninety-eight thousand three hundred gold dragons.
The printing bureau earned nine hundred seventy-nine thousand four hundred gold dragons.
Lottery revenue, trade taxes, and related income totaled another one hundred thirty-six thousand gold dragons..."
The Old Crab stood beside Rhaella while reporting the kingdom's yearly revenue. Compared to the previous year, national income had risen substantially.
Originally, these reports were supposed to be delivered after Viserys returned.
But now...
The Old Crab's mood was equally heavy as he gave his report.
By now, everyone within the Targaryen court already knew the king had died in battle.
The Old Crab himself felt deeply uneasy.
His nephew, Clement, had also joined the campaign against Drogo.
And he had returned alive and unharmed.
That should have been a happy thing. But among all the commanders who went to war, none had died.
Only Mathos suffered a minor wound.
Yet the king himself had died.
That was a result nobody could accept.
At the Battle of the Trident, nearly all the Kingsguard who followed Rhaegar had died.
Barristan was only alive because Robert personally pulled him back from death's edge.
Fortunately, Rhaella still trusted Viserys's ministers, and her nature was fundamentally kind.
Otherwise, a bloody purge would have been unavoidable.
From Jon Connington down to the Kingsguard, none of them would have escaped punishment.
"Your Majesty, this year we completed two hundred leagues of canals and reclaimed farmland and estates totaling—"
Baelor, whom Viserys had personally promoted, temporarily handled domestic administration.
At this point, he was effectively serving as acting Hand of the King.
He never could have imagined that the son of a farmer would one day hold such a high position in the Targaryen court.
As a result, he handled every matter with extreme caution, terrified of disappointing Viserys.
He still remembered the first time he met him years ago.
Even now, he could not forget that wise and brilliant young king.
Soon afterward, Davos, who oversaw trade, also began presenting his reports to Rhaella.
He had always worried Viserys would become another Young Dragon.
He just never expected those fears to actually come true.
Though Viserys was younger than the Young Dragon had been, his achievements were rare even among all Targaryen kings.
When Davos first heard the news of Viserys's death, he nearly collapsed on the spot.
He had rushed directly to the Sept of the Seven and openly cursed the Seven Gods for stealing away his king.
Yet the septon in charge did not dare say a single word. He could only quietly disperse the crowd.
Now everyone had to accept the king's death.
"Ser Davos."
After hearing the reports, Rhaella suddenly turned toward him.
Blood vessels covered the area around her violet eyes, and her lips were pale as death.
"In a little over a month, it will be my son's nameday. Go ask Elia and Aegon... if they are not in such a hurry to inherit the throne... whether they can wait a little longer."
"Your Majesty, rest assured. They are willing to wait! They absolutely are!"
Davos answered with absolute certainty.
The reason Rhaella lowered herself so much was because she understood that only a male Targaryen could sit the throne.
She would never stubbornly try to place her youngest daughter upon it.
That would only destroy the legacy her son built.
The reason she spoke that way was because she hoped Aegon would treat her daughter kindly in the future.
The selfishness belonged only to her as a mother.
Daenerys herself was innocent.
But Davos agreed so readily because he wanted to repay Viserys.
He also knew his actions would make the future "new king" distrust him. It could even damage his family's position.
But Davos understood even more clearly that everything he possessed today had been given to him by Viserys.
He had not forgotten the days when he struggled merely to survive in Flea Bottom.
If little Aegon truly could not wait to inherit the throne, then Davos would oppose it at any cost.
He believed Willem and Oswell would support him as well.
Even the victorious army that had not yet crossed the river would stand with him.
"That's enough for today. I'm tired."
"Please take care of yourself, Your Majesty."
"Please take care of yourself, Your Majesty."
After everyone departed, Rhaella curled up upon the bed.
She buried her face into Viserys's clothing like a mother beast who had lost her cub.
A heartbreaking cry escaped her throat. Her thin shoulders trembled uncontrollably.
No one knew how long she cried before finally falling asleep.
In her dream, a massive blaze appeared before her eyes.
Within the fire rested three dragon eggs.
One black. One silver. One bronze.
___________
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