Shadows of suspicion at the Citadel

The Honeywine was still shrouded in a thin mist in the early morning. The moisture drifted over the stone arch bridge of the Citadel and condensed into tiny dewdrops on the bluestone slabs.

As Daemon and his party followed Bethany Hightower past the scribe's desk, the place had already transformed into a bustling little market. Stone stalls lined the bridge, each surrounded by residents of the Oldtown. The chains on the chests of the grey-robed assistant maesters jingled—iron, copper, and tin—gleaming differently in the morning light.

As the morning light streamed through the glass dome of the Citadel Honeywine, Daemon and the others were already standing at their desks, watching the assistant scholars busily at work.

Upon entering the Citadel, the open market area was bustling with activity: clerks in grey robes sat on wooden benches, some helping residents of Oldtown write wills, the scratching of pens on parchment mingling with the old men's rambling; others held letters and read them aloud softly, the elderly listening occasionally wiping away tears; in a corner, yellowed old books and hand-drawn maps were piled high, and a bespectacled scholar was wiping the curled edges of the "Westeros Orbits" with a soft cloth.

At the outermost stall, an old woman in a coarse cloth skirt clutched a crumpled piece of parchment, her voice trembling as she pleaded, "Sir, please read this letter to me. It's from my son in the Shield Islands. He said he's going to be a sailor, but I can't read the words—"

The assistant scholar in front of her took the letter, his fingertips brushing the yellowed pages, and softly read, "Mother, the fish in the Shield Islands are very fat. I'm with Earl Chester's fleet, and I'll have enough gold to send home next month. Don't worry—"

The old woman listened, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes smoothing out. She took out half a wheat cake and a few copper coins from her cloth bag and insisted on giving them to the scholar, who smiled and declined, saying, "Madam, the Citadel has a rule that clerical services do not accept gifts."

At a nearby stall, a merchant ship captain in leather armor was arguing with a map. "Last time I sailed the Dornish Sea, I clearly saw that the reefs were two leagues off-center from what's marked on this map. Is this map old?"

The scholar selling maps adjusted his brass-rimmed glasses and pulled out a scroll cabinet behind him. "Sir, this is the newly revised ' Narrow Sea Route Map' from last year. The reefs in the Dornish Sea shift annually due to ocean currents, so I've marked their latest locations for you."

He picked up a quill pen, dipped it in the ink bottle, and quickly drew along the edges of the map. The rustling sound of the pen tip gliding across the parchment, mixed with the shouts of fishermen in the distance, was exceptionally vivid.

"This is the clerk's desk, the most down-to-earth place in the Citadel," Bethany, walking beside her, her pale purple dress brushing against the wooden crates beneath the stall. "Our Oldtown's fishermen, merchants, and even dockworkers all come here to ask the scholars for help. Some can't read, and some are afraid of making a fool of themselves by writing the wrong will. The Citadel never refuses these requests."

Mund approached the map stall, pointing to an old map of the Riverlands: "Harrenhal is drawn so big on this! It's even more detailed than the map I saw in Highgarden."

The scholar behind the stall adjusted his glasses, smiled, and handed over the map. "This was drawn thirty years ago, not long after Harrenhal had come into the hands of the Strong family. Young master, look here, the markings on Gods Eye are clearer than they are now."

Gael and Mysaria were walking at the back of the group when suddenly Gael was attracted by a stall displaying "The Encyclopedia of Dragons". She reached out and picked up the book with a gold-embossed cover. The edges of the pages were worn, indicating that it had been read by many people.

"Little Mei, look at this illustration," she pointed to a page where the "Black Dread," Balerion, hovered above Dragonstone, his Dragonfire melting through the castle's stone walls. "It says Balerion's Dragonfire can smelt steel into molten iron, and even crack the blackstone of Harrenhal."

Mysaria leaned closer, her platinum curls cascading over the pages of the book, her fingertips lightly touching the dragon scales in the illustration. "But Daemon's Glutton Blackfyre is quite peculiar. Last time in Lannisport, I saw it falling on the Ironborn longships at Dawn in Casterly Rock. Not only did it burn quickly, but it also carried a chilling aura. The Ironborn didn't even have time to scream before their souls seemed to be frozen and burned—"

As they were talking, a group of scholars in gray robes suddenly surrounded them, their gazes slowly shifting from the Glutton and Dreamfyre in the open space in the distance. Some of them looked on with curiosity and exploration, some with a thirst for the unknown, and others with a deep-seated fear.

One of the young scholars, carrying a book and with a copper and tin chain around his neck, stepped forward excitedly. "Your Highness! The book describes the Glutton's Dragonfire as a ghastly green, but yesterday I saw it spewing black flames. Why is that?"

Another scholar wearing a pointed cap chimed in, "I've observed the Glutton's scales; their growth rate is 30% faster than that of a normal dragon, which contradicts the records in 'The History of Dragon Evolution'!"

Before Daemon could speak, an elderly scholar with white hair next to him suddenly coughed, his sharp eyes sweeping over the young people. The scholars who had asked questions immediately shut their mouths, lowered their heads, and stepped back, clearly stopped.

The old scholar bowed slightly to Daemon: "Your Highness, the young man was eager for knowledge and spoke rudely. I hope you will forgive him." After saying this, he led the others away in a hurry, leaving Daemon standing there with a slight frown.

As the crowd gradually dispersed, Gael walked to Daemon's side, her pale purple eyes filled with confusion. "Why have those scholars suddenly fallen silent?"

They clearly wanted to know about the Glutton.

Mysaria nodded in agreement. "That old scholar's eyes were so fierce, like he was hiding some secret."

Vaegon approached, his long, silver-gold hair cascading down his grey robes. His long face was expressionless as he simply said, "The rules of the Citadel: don't ask what you shouldn't ask, and don't say what you shouldn't say. Dragons are Targaryen's secret; it's not something they should discuss." He then turned and walked towards the Steward's Lodge. "Let's go see the Steward's Lodge. Bernard should be almost done with that little barbarian from the the North's enrollment procedures."

The stone walls of the steward's pavilion were covered with moss, and there was an iron storage room at the entrance, with a heavy iron lock on the door and half a rusty key stuck in the keyhole.

Mund leaned closer curiously, reaching out to touch the lock, but Bethany stopped him. "Don't touch it! This is where apprentices are punished. Last month, an apprentice stole honey cake from the kitchen and was locked in here, starving for a whole day and night. When he came out, his legs were weak." She pointed to the small window of the storeroom, "Look at that crack; you can barely stick a hand in. It's so dark inside you can't even see a shadow."

Upon entering the main hall, one is greeted by a high-arched hall. The stone floor has been worn smooth by time, and sunlight streams in through the high arched windows, casting long strips of light on the floor.

At the far end of the hall, on a high platform, sat a doorman in a dark gray robe, seven chains of different metals hanging around his neck; he was clearly a highly senior scholar. He saw Vaegon and bowed slightly. "Vaegon, Young Master Beren's enrollment procedures are complete, and Bernard is taking him to his dormitory."

Daemon's gaze fell on the bookshelves on either side of the hall, filled with bound volumes of "The Citadel Chronicles," the years on the covers spanning from the first year of the Conquest to the present. He randomly picked one up, opened it to the title page, which read, "Fifty-nine years after the Conquest, the Tremor Outbreak occurred. The Citadel Doctors tried seventeen treatments, all to no avail." Tucked between the pages were dried herbal specimens, emitting a faint bitter smell. "The Citadel's records are truly detailed," Daemon murmured.

"The Citadel's duty is to record everything," the gatekeeper suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse, "Including dragons." His gaze fell on Daemon, his eyes complex. "The Targaryen dragons have been documented since Aegon's conquest— Balerion, Vhagar, Meraxes —each one's appearance, habits, Dragonfire color, even their life cycle, are recorded in the Citadel's archives."

Daemon's heart sank. "The records of the Glutton are also in the Citadel's library?"

The gatekeeper remained silent for a moment, but did not answer again; clearly, his relationship with Vaegon did not support him revealing so much.

As Daemon left the Grand Chambers, his heart grew heavier. He recalled a remark he'd overheard Brynden say at a banquet before his death in the Red Grassland: "The maesters of the Citadel fear dragons, fear their power, and so they've been researching how to make them disappear."

At the time, he thought it was just Bloodraven spreading fear and lies, but now, seeing the Citadel's precise grasp of information about the royal dragons, it was clear that this understanding was far more than just "academic records."

Passing through the high arched hall of the Grand Master's Pavilion, the Citadel's motto, "Knowledge Without Borders," is engraved on the stone floor. The gatekeeper on the high platform is checking the list of visitors. Upon seeing Daemon and his party, he merely nods slightly, clearly indicating that the Earl of Hobert had already given them a heads-up.

The afternoon sun gradually dispelled the thin mist, Daemon followed the others to Isle of Ravens. The wooden bridge on Isle of Ravens was weathered and swayed slightly when stepped on. The crow towers on the opposite bank were covered with moss and vines, and the ancient weir tree in the courtyard was lush and leafy, with countless crows perched on its branches, their cawing echoing the sound of the Honeywine.

"This Raven Tower is the oldest building in the Citadel," Bethany said, pointing to the carvings on the building. "During the Age of Heroes, it was a fortress for pirate lords, and later it was converted into a raven-keeping facility. The white raven's nest is on the West Tower, and every winter, the Citadel sends white ravens to deliver messages to the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, informing them of the changing seasons."

"That's right, during the Age of Heroes, this was indeed a pirate lord's fortress." Leonno Strong walked beside Daemon, his bald head gleaming in the sunlight. He pointed to the windows of the Raven Tower. "Those windows were originally for shooting arrows. Pirates would ambush merchant ships sailing down the Honeywine from here, plunder their goods, and escape by boat."

Larys leaned close to Daemon's ear and whispered, "The Citadel turned this place into the Raven Tower, ostensibly to raise ravens for messengers, but I've heard that these ravens can fly to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. The Citadel knows more information than the Chief Intelligence Master of Whisperers of King's Landing's Landing."

Daemon looked up at the white raven's nest on the top floor of the Raven Tower, where several white ravens were preening their feathers and occasionally letting out a clear call. "They know everything about dragons, what else don't they know?" he asked softly.

Larys didn't answer directly, but silently watched his father explaining to the others, then slowly said, "My father once told my brother and me that the maesters of the Citadel are most adept at using 'intelligence' as a facade to conceal their ambitions." He pointed to the West Tower in the distance, "That's the alchemy laboratory. My father said that green light often shines out at night, and no one knows what they're researching."

As dusk deepened and night fell, Daemon returned to the room arranged for him by the Citadel.

This is a stone house overlooking the river, with the Honeywine right outside the window. The river shimmers with golden-red light, and the lights of the Oldtown in the distance gradually come on, like stars scattered along the riverbank. The room is simply furnished: a wooden bed, a desk, and a fireplace. On the desk sits a glass lamp with the emblem of the Citadel engraved on its base. The flames in the fireplace flicker, casting shifting shadows on the walls.

Daemon sat by the window, gazing at the shimmering waters of the Honeywine in the distance. His thoughts drifted back to the Citadel's understanding of the Glutton during the day, down to the color of their Dragonfire and their growth cycle. They even knew the old stories about this former "King of the Wild Dragons"—something that ordinary academic research could not achieve.

"Could the rumors of the extinction of dragons in later generations really be related to the Citadel?" he muttered to himself. The black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder suddenly felt slightly warm, and the familiar warmth spread from his shoulder to his whole body.

He raised his hand to touch the brand, his fingertips able to feel the warmth beneath the lines. The special nature of this brand had long surpassed the scope of "resonating with the dragon": the Glutton's original pale green Dragonfire had transformed into pitch-black "Soul-Burning Deathfire" after binding with him;

Each time he piloted the Glutton in battle, the brand would heat up, and it would feel as if a continuous force was flowing into his body, supporting his stamina like magic.

The fact that her physique and strength far surpassed those of her peers in her previous life, and that she showed no signs of fatigue despite engaging in repeated battles during the Rose Field tournament, is the best proof of this.

Even more amazingly, his compatibility with the Glutton grew stronger and stronger. He commanded the dragon with ease, as if the two were one. He could even clearly sense the Glutton's emotional changes.

"What secret does this brand hold?" Daemon pondered, seemingly unaware that a new figure had appeared in the shadows of the room.

A splash came from the Honeywine outside the window. Daemon looked up and saw a silver fish leap out of the water and then quickly dive back in, creating a ripple.

His gaze swept across the corner of the room, where the shadows were darker than elsewhere, as if something was hidden there.

He slowly gripped the hilt of the Blackfyre, his knuckles turning white. From the moment he entered the room, he had felt a gaze fixed on him, not from outside the window, but from inside the room.

But when his thoughts returned, he turned around Vigilance and saw the fireplace firelight outlining a woman's curves. Her dark green dress clung to her body, and her black hair cascaded down like a waterfall. It was none other than Alys Rivers.

Alys Rivers emerged from the shadows, her green eyes reflecting the flames, a mysterious smile playing on her lips. She walked to the fireplace, gently poking at the firewood with her fingers, her voice as soft as the flowing waters of Honeywine: "My dear Black Dragon Prince, it seems you anticipated my arrival? Did you discover me beforehand?"

Then she gently stroked her chest and slowly said, "However, you seem confused? Do you want me to answer some questions for you?"

Daemon was about to nod in reply when Alys Rivers spoke up first, "From the Godswood of Harrenhal to the beaches of Arbor, and then to the stone arch bridge of the Citadel, I've seen every moment of your confusion and doubt."

However, her subsequent words carried a hint of regret. "Although I still really want to answer your question, I'm sorry, I didn't see the answer to your question in the fire this time."

She abruptly changed the subject, walking step by step toward Daemon, the scent of herbs mingling with the warmth of the fireplace wafting over him. "However," she said, "Please allow me to guide you myself to see the answer in the fire."

Before Daemon could react, Alys Rivers suddenly reached out and wrapped her arms around Daemon's neck, pulling him tightly into her embrace.

Daemon could feel the softness of her chest, smell the mingled scents of smoke and vanilla on her body, and feel the tickling sensation of her hair brushing against his cheek.

The fireplace flames suddenly blazed up, the firelight reflecting in Alys Rivers ' green eyes, as if drawing one in. "The answer won't appear on its own—let me guide you personally, and see in the fire everything you seek to know."

99

The fireplace flames suddenly blazed high, illuminating the strange light in Alys Rivers's eyes; outside the window, the Honeywine murmured, and the wind swept past, carrying the cawing of crows; in the distance, the Glutton and the Dreamfyre emitted low dragon roars, as if echoing the strange movements inside.

The night was deep, with the bright stars and moon hanging high above the Citadel dome, and the shadow of the stone arch bridge reflected in the Honeywine, swaying gently with the ripples.

Daemon was held tightly in Alys Rivers' arms, the three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder growing hotter and hotter, as if it were about to merge with the flames of the fireplace. Alys Rivers ' breath fell softly on his ear, carrying a faint magic that plunged the entire room into an eerie and ambiguous silence.

Alys Rivers tightened her grip, resting her chin on Daemon's head, her voice as soft as a whisper, "Don't be afraid, the fire won't hurt you, it will only tell you the truth—"

The fireplace flames burned ever brighter, illuminating the entire room in a fiery red glow. The shadows of the two figures intertwined on the wall, creating a stark contrast with the night outside the window.

The sounds of the Honeywine flowing, the wind blowing, the dragon roaring, and the crackling of the fireplace gradually intertwined to form an eerie melody—and tonight's story abruptly ended at this moment, leaving only the shadows cast by the firelight on the walls of the room.