Alys Rivers's embrace was like a warm cage. Just as Daemon was about to speak, his mouth and nose were smothered by those unimaginably voluptuous breasts.
Warm, soft flesh pressed against his cheek, mingling the scent of rosemary and some unfamiliar herb like an invisible net instantly constricting his breath.
The black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder suddenly erupted with searing pain like a branding iron, as if fire were spreading through his veins to his limbs.
"Shh..." Alys Rivers's voice came from above, carrying a strange tremor, like a mother cooing a baby to sleep. "Sleep, Black Dragon. Look at the truth in the flames, look at your fate..."
Her fingertips gently stroked his silver hair. Her nails were painted dark red, gleaming like blood scabs in the moonlight.
Daemon wanted to struggle, but found his limbs suddenly heavy. His eyelids felt like paper glued with honey, impossible to lift no matter how hard he tried.
The Cannibal's roar exploded outside the godswood, carrying an anxious warning, but the sound grew distant, finally blurring into a buzzing tinnitus.
A second before darkness surged, he saw Larys Strong hiding in the shadow of the heart tree, his clubfoot dragging a semi-circle on the ground. His body trembled continuously, as if things had exceeded his expectations too.
The Doom of Harren.
The flames in the dream were first bronze-colored.
Daemon stood atop the unfinished walls of Harrenhal. The stone steps beneath his feet still carried the dampness of the quarry.
A black-haired man's roar shook dust from the brick seams—was it Harren the Black, King of the Isles and the Rivers? Wearing triple iron armor, the battle axe at his waist dripping with slaves' blood: "Tell that bastard Aegon, Harrenhal is impregnable!"
White mist suddenly rose from the distant God's Eye. A flying mountain drilled out of the mist—Balerion's massive wings blotted out the sun. The Black Dread's scales shone with the luster of lava in the sunlight. The silver-haired man atop him wore Blackfyre at his waist, high-spirited—it was Aegon the Conqueror.
Dragonfire came. Not gold, but pitch-black like molten obsidian, matching his scales, like magma poured by gods. The first wave blew off the spire of Kingspyre Tower. Molten stone rained down on Harren's ironborn, welding them into the cracks of the city walls.
Harren's roar turned into a shrill scream. He tried to hide in the highest tower, but Balerion's massive claws pressed down on the roof. Dragonfire poured through the window slits, boiling the tyrant along with his pride.
Daemon saw the sigil of House Hoare curling in the fire—crossed silver chains snapped; patterns of longships, pines, grapes, and ravens turned to ash one by one. Those lands conquered by the Ironborn faded in the thick smoke, leaving only the outline of Orkmont like a forgotten tombstone.
"Black blood must burn away eventually." Alys Rivers's voice sounded in Daemon's ear, carrying a satisfied sigh. In the dream, Daemon jerked his head down to find his palm pressed on a scorching castle brick. His skin was branded with the mark of House Hoare, the smell of burnt flesh drilling into his nose, overlapping with the bloody smell of Redgrass Field.
The Silver Dragon Under the God's Eye.
The scene shifted abruptly. The water of the God's Eye turned emerald green.
A young silver-haired boy rode a silver giant dragon skimming over the lake. The dragon's scales reflected sunlight like scattered diamonds.
His army arrayed on the shore. The three-headed dragon banner snapped in the wind, but couldn't hide the panic in the young commander's eyes. "We charge straight for King's Landing!" he shouted to his knights, voice trembling like reeds in the wind.
This time, Daemon stood beside a man holding a sword he was incredibly familiar with—Lady Forlorn. He watched the Reach army approaching from the south and the Tully silver trout banners pressing from the north bank like two moving walls. "Break out separately!" The man's roar was swallowed by the wind. Lady Forlorn in his hand glowed with ominous blue light. "Prince, it's a trap!"
But the boy in the sky wouldn't listen. He urged the silver dragon upward, its roar carrying naive anger. Just then, a huge wave exploded on the lake surface—Balerion burst from underwater, the Black Dread's shadow instantly swallowing the silver dragon.
Daemon heard the crisp sound of bones shattering. He saw the silver dragon's left wing torn off like a rag. The boy's crown rolled off the dragon's back, rippling circles of blood on the lake water. It was Quicksilver and Aegon the Uncrowned. And on the back of the Black Dread...
Maegor's laughter was harsher than dragonfire. The cruel king stood on Balerion's neck, black armor stained with silver dragon blood. Blackfyre in his hand hacked the head of the last rebel to pieces. Splattered brains landed on Daemon's face, warm and viscous.
The Uncrowned's army collapsed. Soldiers trampled over companions' corpses to flee, only to be encircled and killed by three armies. Blood dyed the south bank of the God's Eye red, turning the emerald water into agate.
"The Targaryen civil war started here." Alys Rivers's finger appeared, tracing his cheek, nail ice-cold. "Blood debts must be paid with blood, no?"
Daemon wanted to retort, but saw himself standing beside the man holding Lady Forlorn. The blade was stained with fresh blood.
Was it Ser Davos Darklyn's blood? This person? Ser Qarl Corbray's roar echoed in Daemon's ears: "Kill our way out! For Prince Aegon!"
The Dance of Dragons.
When the God's Eye burned again, the night became the best curtain.
Vhagar's shadow was bigger than a castle. Countless arrowheads were embedded between the old dragon's scales, yet didn't affect its speed tearing through the air at all.
A one-eyed silver-haired man flashed ruthless light in the moonlight. His iron chains locked him to the dragon saddle like a madman—it was "One-Eye" Aemond.
"Daemon! You old thing!" His roar carried pleasure. "Today is your death day!"
Caraxes slammed in from the side. Crimson dragonfire lashed Vhagar's neck like a whip. Daemon Targaryen stood on the dragon's back, the hilt of Dark Sister hot from sweat.
Then Daemon saw the ugly scar on Aemond's blind eye, the mark he himself had left in his youth.
Daemon Targaryen shouted: "For Rhaenyra!" then roared, unbuckling his saddle straps and leaping onto Vhagar's back.
Two dragons wrestled high in the air. Dragonfire wove a gold-and-red net, lighting the God's Eye as bright as day.
When Daemon Targaryen thrust Dark Sister into Aemond's blind eye, only the old dragon Vhagar's dying wail was heard.
Both dragons fell together. The lake water smashed up a wave as high as Kingspyre Tower, rolling Daemon's consciousness into darkness.
When Daemon opened his eyes again in the dream, he knelt in the Flowstone Yard of Harrenhal. Caraxes's corpse was right in front of him, crimson dragon blood pooling into a stream on the flagstones.
In the distant godswood, thirteen scratches on the heart tree were seeping blood, like thirteen weeping eyes.
"This is his fate, Daemon Blackfyre." Alys Rivers's voice appeared in the dream with bewitching sweetness. "Look, how alike you two are..."
Ashes of Redgrass Field.
The wind of Redgrass Field carried the smell of rust.
Daemon stood beside his own corpse, watching Bloodraven's arrow rain fall like a black cloud.
His eldest son Aegon's black dragon banner snapped in the wind. The silver-haired boy's corpse was nailed to the ground by spears, purple eyes wide open like two unextinguished stars.
Osgrey was nailed to the scorched earth by three spears, a broken sword still trembling in twitching fingers;
Gwayne Corbray's gilded breastplate was dented like scrap iron, visceral fragments spilling from his mouth stained with shards of Blackfyre.
Brynden Rivers's single eye glittered on the peak. Bloodraven's cloak blew in the wind like spreading wings. "Surrender." His voice spread across the battlefield, carrying false pity. "The Seven Kingdoms cannot hold two dragons."
Daemon wanted to pick up Blackfyre from the ground, but found his hand passing through the blade.
He watched his corpse covered by rain of arrows, watched his second son Aemon pick up Blackfyre only to be killed by the Raven's Teeth, watched the blood of Redgrass Field rolled away by the west wind, revealing the barren yellow earth beneath.
No dragons, no glory, only a flock of crows landing on his eldest son's corpse, pecking at those once pride-filled purple eyes.
"This is what you experienced, right?" In the dream, Alys Rivers's embrace suddenly tightened, her voluptuous breasts compressing his ribs. "But this is not the end..."
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