The air inside the pavilion froze. After Daemon Blackfyre's voice trailed off, even Rhaenyra stopped sobbing, as if stunned into silence by those few words.
Sunlight still filtered through the vines, but it could no longer bring any warmth.
"A dream?" Jaehaerys's voice suddenly became extraordinarily sharp. The old King's fingers tightened on the oak armrests, knuckles turning white. His gaze stabbed toward Daemon Blackfyre like a sword, his deep purple pupils contracting slightly—for House Targaryen, this word carried far too much weight.
Queen Alysanne jerked her head up. Rhaenyra twisted uneasily in her arms. Gael and Alicent exchanged a terrified glance, both maidens unconsciously taking half a step back.
In the history of House Targaryen, their "dreams" were never ordinary. They were the prophetic ability flowing in their blood, a gift and a curse bestowed by the gods upon the True Dragons.
Daemon Targaryen's expression froze. His silver hair shone in the sunlight, shock churning in his violet eyes. "You... you have dragon dreams?" His voice carried a certain relief disguised as jealousy. "Like Daenys the Dreamer?"
Daemon Blackfyre didn't answer immediately. Standing in the center of the pavilion, his twelve-year-old body looked exceptionally frail under the large purple robe, yet he carried a composure inconsistent with his age. The black dragon brand on his right shoulder appeared and disappeared in the sunlight, pulsing faintly as if alive.
"I am not sure what it is." He chose his words carefully, his violet eyes looking straight at Jaehaerys. "Since coming to King's Landing from Dragonstone, those images appear in my sleep. Sometimes broken fragments, sometimes complete scenes. Fire, blood, wailing... and dragons." He paused. "Before Lord Arryn left, I dreamed of boulders rolling down in the Mountains of the Moon and a burning convoy."
Jaehaerys's face became exceptionally grave. He stood up slowly, his aged body exuding unquestionable majesty at this moment. "Tell me about your dream in detail, child. Every detail."
Daemon Blackfyre took a deep breath. He knew he was walking on the edge of a cliff—too many details would expose his lie, too few couldn't explain his warning. He had to weave a story real enough but not one that would set himself on fire.
"A canyon." He closed his eyes, as if recalling. "A narrow canyon, steep rock walls on both sides. The convoy moving at the bottom, a horn sounding suddenly from above... not a horn of the Seven Kingdoms, more primitive, harsher. Then boulders rolling down, arrows pouring like rain... fire swallowing everything." He opened his eyes, his voice low. "I saw... a black crow standing on the rock wall."
Jaehaerys's brow furrowed tighter. Queen Alysanne silently made the sign of the seven-pointed star. Daemon Targaryen's expression gradually shifted from shock to a complex awe.
"What else have you dreamed?" the old King pressed, his voice carrying an irresistible command.
Daemon Blackfyre hesitated for a moment. This was a dangerous turning point—he could choose to stop here, or throw out more "prophecies" to solidify his position. Ultimately, he decided to gamble.
"Broken images... hard to connect." He spoke cautiously. "I've seen the walls of King's Landing burning, but not the current ones... grander. And... a wall of ice and fire interweaving, towering into the clouds. Sometimes I dream of strange faces calling me by different names..." He deliberately made his voice drift, mixing truth with falsehoods to create the chaotic feel of a dream.
Jaehaerys's expression became unfathomable. The old King slowly sat back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly on the armrest, making a dull sound. "According to records, the dreams of Daenys the Dreamer were often like this... fragmented prophecies, becoming clear only when events occurred." He looked at Alysanne, and the two exchanged a meaningful glance.
Daemon Targaryen suddenly stepped forward, silver hair shining. "Grandfather! If Little Daemon truly has dragon dreams, then he is our most precious asset! Think of how Daenys the Dreamer helped our House escape the Doom!" His voice rose with excitement. "He has already proven himself! We should take him with us to the Vale!"
Jaehaerys didn't respond immediately. His gaze lingered on Daemon Blackfyre for a long time, as if trying to see through the soul hidden in this young body. Finally, he nodded slowly. "Prepare your dragon, Daemon," he said to Daemon Blackfyre, addressing the boy with such a formal tone for the first time. "The Cannibal will travel with us."
Queen Alysanne frowned worriedly. "Your Grace, he is only twelve..."
"Dragon dreams are a gift from the gods, unrelated to age." Jaehaerys interrupted her, his voice firm. "Even if he is a dreamer, as a man of House Targaryen, his place can only be on the battlefield—on dragonback. The blood of the dragon never retreats because of youth." He turned to Daemon Targaryen. "You too, Big Daemon."
Daemon Targaryen's eyes lit up, a flush of excitement appearing on his face. He turned to Daemon Blackfyre and suddenly grinned, revealing sharp canine teeth. "Looks like we're going to war together again, brother!" He slapped Daemon Blackfyre hard on the shoulder. "I'll have Caraxes fly beside you—don't let that 'big guy' The Cannibal doze off halfway!"
Daemon Blackfyre forced a smile. His plan had succeeded—he used the lie of "dragon dreams" to explain his foreknowledge, proving his innocence and winning the qualification to participate in this revenge operation. But the price was that from now on, he would be placed under stricter scrutiny. Every prophecy, every move, would be examined under a magnifying glass.
Rhaenyra in Queen Alysanne's arms suddenly babbled, breaking the heavy atmosphere. The little princess reached out her chubby hand, seemingly trying to grab something nonexistent in the air. Alysanne kissed her forehead, whispering, "It seems even our future little Queen smells the fire."
Gael walked forward timidly, her pale violet eyes brimming with tears. "Daemon..." Her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. "Please... please be careful." She quickly shoved a small amulet into his hand—a silver dragon scale edged with tiny amethysts. Then she retreated like a frightened deer, her cheeks flushing red.
Alicent stood a bit further away, her lapis lazuli eyes flickering with complex light. She said nothing, only giving Daemon a deep look, the concern and worry in that gaze worth a thousand words.
Jaehaerys stood up and announced: "We assemble at the Dragonpit at sunrise tomorrow. Vermithor, Vhagar, Caraxes, and The Cannibal will carry us to the Mountains of the Moon." His voice was as hard as steel. "The Stone Crows will experience firsthand what 'Field of Fire' means."
With the old King's departure, the tension in the pavilion eased slightly. Daemon Targaryen impatiently pulled Daemon Blackfyre aside to discuss flight routes and tactics, as excited as a child about to enter a tourney. Daemon Blackfyre played along on the surface, but his mind had already flown to the coming bloody revenge.
He knew this massacre would ultimately end in anticlimax. The Stone Crows would hide in the Mountains of the Moon. Faced with dragonfire, they seemed to make the same choice as the Dornish years ago—they "did not fear" dragonfire and ultimately survived in the corners of history. At least, later history books bore no record of this slaughter.
But right now, he cared more about how the seed of the lie he just sowed would grow. The identity of a "dragon dreamer" was a double-edged sword; it could explain his prescience, but it would also make him a target for various factions to court or eliminate. Tymond Lannister's meaningful warning still rang in his ears—"Blood may be warm, but it is also the most fickle thing."
Night fell, and the lights of the Red Keep lit up one by one. Daemon Blackfyre stood at his room window, looking toward the Dragonpit. The black shadow of The Cannibal appeared and disappeared in the moonlight, those green-fire eyes flickering in the darkness as if sensing the waves in its master's heart.
Tomorrow, they would fly toward blood and fire. And today, he had to prepare for bigger lies—because a "dragon dreamer" couldn't make just one prophecy. He needed to weave more dreams, vaguer fragments, to pave the way for interventions he might need in the future.
He stroked the amulet given by Gael, the edge of the silver dragon scale glinting coldly in the moonlight. Outside, the lights of King's Landing were like stars, while further away, the shadow of the Mountains of the Moon was already shrouded in a crimson omen.
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