The Future of the Trident. Daemon's dream shifted again, finally stopping at the crossing of the Green Fork of the Trident. This time, the sky, like on Redgrass Field, held no dragons.
Countless corpses floated on the river at the ford, turning the water of the Green Fork dark red.
The crowned stag banner of the Stormlands was planted slanted on the riverbank; the direwolf banner of the North stood beside it; the silver moon and blue falcon banner of the Vale fluttered nearby; and the silver trout banner of the Riverlands hung alongside, as if swimming in red and blue waves.
Opposite them, the royal red dragon on black field stood tall in the wind. The soldiers beneath it wore varied armor, ornaments on their helmets glinting coldly.
Next most striking was the golden rose banner of the Reach, closely beside the royal standard, bloodstains on the petal sigil looking like fresh dew.
And on the right, the sun-and-spear banner of Dorne fluttered proudly, the sun sigil on the spear tip gleaming with cruel light in the sun.
Daemon's gaze was drawn to the duel in the center of the ford.
A giant of a man in silver armor and antlered helm swung a warhammer. Every strike carried the force to split mountains. Black long hair whipped from under his helm, blood beads on it falling to the ground, kicking up fine dust.
His opponent wore royal black armor. Dragon wings on his helm swayed slightly in the fierce battle, revealing strands of dazzling silver hair underneath.
"Robert!" The black-armored man shouted, helplessness in his voice.
"Rhaegar!" The other voice roared, full of rage.
The collision of warhammer and longsword was deafening.
A wound deep enough to see bone was cut open on the silver-armored giant's chest. Blood gushed out, dying the stag sigil on his breastplate red.
But he didn't retreat. Instead, he used all his strength to smash the warhammer into the opponent's breastplate—with a loud clang, the dragon-winged helm of the man in royal black armor flew off, revealing a handsome face.
Silver hair, violet eyes.
Daemon's breath stopped abruptly.
That face belonged to a Targaryen he had never seen. Indigo eyes held inexplicable sorrow, which froze into shock the moment the warhammer struck.
The black-armored knight fell on the riverbank. The dragon-patterned breastplate on his chest was smashed concave. Ruby decorations shattered one after another, rolling into the river, prompting soldiers on both sides to scramble for them madly, momentarily forgetting to kill each other.
The silver-armored giant also collapsed to one knee, half-squatting. His warhammer slipped from his hand, smashing a small pit in the ground. He looked at the sky one last time, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile of relief, as if saying "I won."
Burning Awakening.
The burning sensation suddenly turned into excruciating pain.
Daemon felt his skin smoking. The brand on his right shoulder felt like a red-hot iron, almost piercing through flesh.
Alys Rivers's embrace was still scalding hot. Her voluptuous breasts pressed dead against his mouth and nose, reminding him of the suffocation on Redgrass Field.
"What did you see, Black Dragon?" Her voice held a satisfied smile. "Past? Present? Or future? Or something even more distant..."
"Let me go!" Daemon broke free violently. Blackfyre was in his hand at some point. He dodged Alys Rivers's embrace, taking a strand of dark red hair with him.
He stumbled back, back hitting the heart tree. The tree's sap dripped onto his neck, bone-chillingly cold.
Alys Rivers stood still. Her green dress was stained with Daemon's sweat, her full breasts heaving violently, but her face wore an eerie smile.
"What exactly did you see?" She licked her lips, tongue tip stained with some golden powder. "A crueler ending?"
"Who was that?" Daemon's voice was hoarse. The brand on his right shoulder was still burning, making him press on it involuntarily. "Who was the silver-armored giant? Who was the silver-haired knight? Why were there no dragons? Why did Dorne help the royal family? Where did the lions of Lannister go?"
Alys Rivers straightened her dress. "That was your dream, your future. I merely let you see them. As for me, how would I know?"
In the distance, The Cannibal let out a deafening roar. Pitch-black dragonfire illuminated the sky above the godswood, stretching the heart tree's shadow into a twisted shape.
Daemon gripped Blackfyre tight. The reflection on the blade let him see his own face—his tunic had slipped off his shoulder, and the brand on his right shoulder was red as a branding iron. Blood vessels under the skin throbbed, as if something wanted to burst out.
"This is my future?" He stared at Alys Rivers, anger burning in his violet eyes. "Or the future after I change things?"
Alys Rivers didn't answer, just smiling and pointing at the heart tree. Daemon followed her gaze to see more dark red sap seeping from the heart tree's "eyes," sliding down the twisted bark.
Larys's clubfoot scratched nervously back and forth on the ground again. He looked at Daemon worriedly; he didn't know what his wet nurse had shown the Prince either. "Prince, are you alright?"
His words were cut off by The Cannibal's roar. The black dragon's bellow carried unprecedented anxiety, as if sensing his master's crisis.
Daemon took a step back, the tip of Blackfyre pointing between Alys Rivers and Larys. The burning sensation on his right shoulder gradually faded, leaving a numb stinging pain.
"I will find the answer." His voice was cold as the ice of the God's Eye. "Whosever future it is, I will rewrite it with my own hands."
Alys Rivers smiled even happier. Her full breasts rose and fell under the green dress like two beating flames. "I will wait for you, Prince..." Her voice held magic. "You need me; take me with you..."
Daemon turned and rushed out of the godswood. The Cannibal's dark shadow waited ahead.
As he leaped onto the dragon's back, he looked back at the moonlit woods—Alys Rivers's figure overlapped with the tree shadows like two conspiring ghosts. And in the eyes of the heart tree, dark red sap was still dripping continuously, as if weeping for the coming bloodshed.
The water of the God's Eye reflected the silhouette of Harrenhal. The shadows of the five towers twisted in the wave center, like five dormant beasts.
Daemon patted The Cannibal's neck. The black dragon let out a long roar, soaring straight into the clouds.
The images of the Trident lingered in his mind—a battlefield without dragons, nobles slaughtering each other, and that fallen silver-haired prince. Who was he? A descendant of the future Daeron? Or a product of his altering history?
The brand on his right shoulder began to burn again. This time, Daemon didn't press on it. He knew Alys Rivers's flames didn't lie. In the shadows of Harrenhal hid a future more terrible than the Dance of the Dragons.
And he had to find a way to extinguish the fire before it burned to his eyes.
The Cannibal's roar cut through the night sky, carrying his master's resolve, disappearing into the depths of Harrenhal's shadows.
In the godswood, Alys Rivers watched the direction the black dragon left, suddenly whispering to the heart tree, voice light as a sigh: "You will come back to find me..."
Larys's clubfoot trembled on the ground. "What exactly did you show the Prince? What 'Black Dragon from the future'?" His tone was unable to calm for a long time.
In the eyes of the heart tree, the last drop of sap fell, spreading on the ground. Those drops on the ground, just like in Daemon's dream, looked like burning rubies.
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