The False Dream

The air in the pavilion froze. After Daemon Blackfyre's words fell, even Rhaenyra stopped sobbing, as though those few brief words had stunned her into silence.

Sunlight still filtered through the gaps in the vines, but it could no longer bring even the slightest warmth.

"A dream?" Jaehaerys's voice suddenly became razor-sharp. The old king's fingers tightened around the oak armrest, his knuckles turning white. His gaze pierced Daemon Blackfyre like a sword, his deep purple pupils narrowing slightly—this word carried far too much weight for the Targaryen Lineage.

Queen Alysanne abruptly raised her head, and Rhaenyra shifted uneasily in her arms. Gael and Alicent exchanged frightened looks, both girls unconsciously taking half a step back.

In the history of the Targaryen Lineage, their "dreams" had never been ordinary dreams. They were prophetic gifts flowing through their blood, blessings and curses bestowed upon true dragons by the gods.

Daemon Targaryen's expression froze. His silver hair gleamed beneath the sunlight, while shock churned in his violet eyes. "You... you have Dragon Dreams?" There was a certain relief in his voice, disguised as jealousy. "Like Daenerys the 'Dreamwalker'?"

Daemon Blackfyre did not answer immediately. He stood in the middle of the pavilion, his twelve-year-old body looking especially slight beneath his loose purple robes, yet carrying a composure far beyond his years. The black dragon-mark brand on his right shoulder flickered in and out of view under the sunlight, pulsing faintly as though alive.

"I'm not sure what it is." He chose his words carefully, his violet eyes meeting Jaehaerys's directly. "Ever since we came from Dragonstone to King's Landing, those visions have appeared in my dreams. Sometimes they're broken fragments, sometimes complete scenes. Fire, blood, wailing... and dragons." He paused. "Before the Duke of House Arryn departed, I dreamed of boulders rolling down in the Mountains of the Moon and a burning caravan."

Jaehaerys's face became exceptionally grave. He slowly rose to his feet, and though his body was aged, at that moment he radiated an unquestionable majesty. "Tell me about your dream in detail, child. Every detail."

Daemon Blackfyre drew a deep breath. He knew he was walking along a cliff's edge—too many details would expose his lie, while too few would fail to explain his warning. He had to weave a story real enough to convince them, but not one that would bring disaster upon himself.

"A gorge." He closed his eyes as if recalling it. "A narrow gorge, with steep cliffs on both sides. A caravan was moving through the valley floor when horns suddenly sounded from above... not horns of the Seven Kingdoms. More primitive, more piercing. Then boulders came rolling down, arrows rained from the sky... and flames devoured everything." He opened his eyes, his voice low. "I saw... a black crow standing atop the cliff."

Jaehaerys's brow furrowed tighter and tighter. Queen Alysanne silently traced the seven-pointed star. Daemon Targaryen's expression gradually shifted from shock into a complicated reverence.

"What else have you dreamed of?" the old king pressed, his voice carrying an irresistible command.

Daemon Blackfyre hesitated for a moment. This was a dangerous turning point—he could stop here, or throw out more "prophecies" to solidify his position. In the end, he chose to take the risk.

"Broken visions... difficult to piece together," he said cautiously. "I saw the walls of King's Landing burning, but not the city as it is now... something grander. And... a Wall where ice and fire intertwined, rising into the clouds. Sometimes I dream of unfamiliar faces. They call me by different names..." He deliberately let his voice drift, mixing truth and falsehood to create the chaotic feeling unique to dreams.

Jaehaerys's expression became unreadable. The old king slowly sat back down, lightly tapping the armrest with his fingers, producing a dull sound. "According to the records, Daenerys the 'Dreamwalker' often had dreams like this as well... fragmented prophecies that only became clear once events unfolded." He looked at Alysanne, and the two exchanged a meaningful glance.

Daemon Targaryen suddenly stepped forward, his silver hair shining under the sun. "Grandfather! If little Daemon truly has Dragon Dreams, then he is our most precious asset! Think of how Daenerys the 'Dreamwalker' helped the family escape the Doom." His voice rose with excitement. "He has already proven himself! We should take him to the Vale with us!"

Jaehaerys did not respond at once. His gaze lingered on Daemon Blackfyre for a long time, as if trying to see through the soul hidden within that young body. At last, he slowly nodded. "Prepare your dragon, Daemon," he told Daemon Blackfyre, addressing the boy in such a formal tone for the first time. "Glutton will travel with us."

Queen Alysanne frowned worriedly. "Your Grace, he is only twelve..."

"Dragon Dreams are gifts from the gods. Age has nothing to do with it." Jaehaerys interrupted her, his voice firm. "Even if he is a dreamer, as a son of Targaryen, his place can only be on the battlefield—upon dragonback. Targaryen blood has never retreated because of youth." He turned to Daemon Targaryen. "You as well, elder Daemon."

Daemon Targaryen's eyes lit up, an excited flush appearing on his face. He turned to Daemon Blackfyre and suddenly grinned, revealing sharp canine teeth. "Looks like we'll be going to war together again, brother!" He slapped Daemon Blackfyre hard on the shoulder. "I'll have Caraxes fly beside you—just make sure that big fellow Glutton doesn't fall asleep halfway there!"

Daemon Blackfyre forced out a smile. His plan had succeeded—he had used the lie of "Dragon Dreams" to explain his foresight, prove his innocence, and earn the right to join this campaign of vengeance. But the price was that he would now be subjected to even closer scrutiny. Every prophecy and every action of his would be examined beneath a magnifying glass.

Rhaenyra suddenly babbled in Queen Alysanne's arms, breaking the heavy atmosphere. The little princess stretched out her chubby hand, as though trying to grasp something that did not exist in the air. Alysanne lowered her head and kissed her forehead. "It seems even our future little queen can smell the scent of fire."

Gael shyly stepped forward, her pale violet eyes brimming with tears. "Daemon..." Her voice was so soft it was nearly inaudible. "Please... please be careful." She quickly pressed a small charm into his hand—a silver dragon scale rimmed with tiny amethysts. Then she retreated like a startled doe, her cheeks flushed bright red.

Alicent stood a little farther away, her lapis-lazuli eyes glimmering with complicated emotions. She said nothing, only looked deeply at Daemon. The concern and worry contained in that gaze spoke louder than a thousand words.

Jaehaerys rose and announced, "At sunrise tomorrow, gather at the Dragonpit. Vermithor, Vhagar, Caraxes, and Glutton will carry us to the Mountains of the Moon." His voice was hard as steel. "The Stone Crows will learn firsthand what it means for wrath to sweep across the land."

As the old king departed, the tense atmosphere in the pavilion eased slightly. Daemon Targaryen impatiently pulled Daemon Blackfyre into discussing flight routes and tactics, as excited as a child about to enter a tourney. Daemon Blackfyre went along with him on the surface, but his thoughts had already flown toward the coming bloody vengeance.

He knew this slaughter would ultimately come to nothing. The Stone Crows would hide within the Mountains of the Moon. Before dragonfire, they seemed to have made the same choice the Dornish had once made—they "did not fear" dragonfire, and in the end survived in some forgotten corner of history. At least, later histories contained no record of this massacre.

But at that moment, what concerned him more was how the seed of the lie he had just planted would grow. The identity of a "Dragon Dreamer" was a double-edged sword. It could explain his foresight, but it would also make him a target for every faction, whether they wished to claim or eliminate him. Tyland Lannister's meaningful warning still rang in his ears—"Blood may be warm, but it is also the coldest thing of all."

Night fell, and the lights of the Red Keep gradually came alive. Daemon Blackfyre stood by the window of his room, gazing toward the Dragonpit. Glutton's shadow flickered beneath the moonlight, its eyes like green fire gleaming in the darkness, as if sensing the turmoil in its master's heart.

Tomorrow, they would fly toward blood and fire. But today, he had to prepare for an even greater lie—because a "Dragon Dreamer" could not make only one prophecy. He needed to weave more dreams, more obscure fragments, to lay the path for interventions he might need in the future.

He stroked the charm Gael had given him, the edge of the silver dragon scale glinting coldly beneath the moonlight. Beyond the window, the lights of King's Landing resembled countless stars, while farther away, the shadow of the Mountains of the Moon had already been shrouded in a blood-red omen.