Flames in a dream, a dream of flames?
Alys Rivers ' embrace felt like a warm cage. The moment Daemon was about to speak, his mouth and nose were enveloped by those incredibly voluptuous breasts.
Warm, soft flesh pressed against his cheek, carrying the scent of rosemary and some unfamiliar herb, like an invisible net that instantly tightened around his breath.
The black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder suddenly erupted with a searing pain like a branding iron, as if a ball of fire was spreading along his blood vessels to his limbs.
"Hush..." Alys Rivers's voice came from above, trembling strangely, like a mother's murmur lulling a baby to sleep, "Sleep, Black Dragon. Behold the truth within the flames, behold your destiny..."
Her fingertips gently brushed his silver hair, her nails painted with dark red paint that gleamed like scabs in the moonlight.
Daemon tried to struggle, but found his limbs suddenly became heavy, and his eyelids were like paper covered in honey, impossible to open no matter how hard he tried.
The Glutton's dragon roar echoed outside the Godswood, carrying an anxious warning, but the sound grew farther and farther away, eventually fading into a buzzing ringing in the ears.
A second before darkness engulfed him, he saw Larys Strong hiding in the shadow of the Heart Tree, limping and drawing a semi-circle on the ground. Things seemed to be beyond his expectations, and his body was trembling.
The end of Harren.
The flames in the dream were initially bronze in color.
Daemon stood atop the unfinished walls of Harrenhal, the stone steps beneath his feet still damp with the scent of the quarry.
A roar from a dark-haired man shook the brickwork, sending dust flying from the cracks in the walls. Harren, the "Blackheart," King of the Iron Islands and Riverlands. Clad in triple armor, his battle axe dripping with the blood of slaves, he roared, "Tell that bastard Aegon that Harrenhal is impregnable!"
Suddenly, white mist rose from the distant Gods Eye, and from within the mist emerged a flying mountain—the colossal wings of Balerion blotted out the sky. The black scales of the Black Dread gleamed like lava in the sunlight, and the silver-haired man atop it, with Blackfyre hanging from his waist, exuded confidence; he was Aegon the the Conqueror.
Dragonfire arrived. It wasn't golden, but the color of obsidian, as black as night, like its scales, or lava poured out by a god. The first wave blew off the spire of the Kingspyre Tower, and molten stones rained down on Harren's Iron Guards, welding them to the cracks in the city wall.
Harren's roar turned into a shrill scream. He tried to hide in the highest tower, but was pinned to the top by Balerion's giant claws. Dragonfire poured in through the cracks in the window, boiling the tyrant and his pride together.
Daemon saw the House Hoare crest curl up in the fire—the crossed silver chains snapped, and the longship, pine, grape, and raven emblems turned to ashes one after another. The lands conquered by the Ironborn faded in the smoke, leaving only the outline of Old Wyk, like a forgotten tombstone.
"The black blood will eventually burn out." Alys Rivers ' voice rang in Daemon's ears, with a satisfied sigh. In his dream, Daemon looked down sharply and found his palm pressed against the scorching city bricks, the Hall crest branded on his skin. The smell of burning filled his nostrils, mingling with the bloody stench of the Red Grassland.
The Silver Dragon Under the Battle Beneath the Gods Eye.
The scene suddenly shifts, and the water of Gods Eye turns emerald green.
A young, silver-haired boy rode a giant silver dragon across the lake. The dragon's scales reflected the sunlight like scattered diamonds.
His army stood in formation on the shore, the three-headed dragon emblem on their banners fluttering in the wind, yet unable to conceal the panic in the young commander's eyes. "We're going straight for King's King's Landing!" he shouted to his knights, his voice trembling like a reed in the wind.
This time, Daemon stood beside a man wielding a sword he knew all too well—"Lady Forlorn"—watching the Reach army approach from the south, Tully's silver trout banners pressing in from the north like two moving walls. "Split up and break through!" the man roared, swallowed by the wind. The Lady Forlorn sword in his hand gleamed with an ominous blue light. "Your Highness, this is a trap!"
But the boy in the sky wouldn't listen. He urged the silver dragon to take flight, its roar filled with innocent rage. Just then, a giant wave suddenly erupted from the lake— Balerion burst forth from the depths, and the shadow of the Black Dread instantly engulfed the silver dragon.
Daemon heard the cracking sound of bones breaking, and saw the silver dragon's left wing torn off like a rag. The boy's crown rolled off the dragon's back, rippling through the lake in concentric circles of blood. It was Quicksilver and Aegon the Uncrowned, on the back of the Black Dread...
Maegor's laughter was more piercing than the Dragonfire. The cruel king stood on Balerion's neck, his black armor stained with the blood of the silver dragon. The Blackfyre in his hand shattered the head of the last rebel, the splattered brains landing on Daemon's face, warm and sticky.
The army of the "the Uncrowned" collapsed, and the soldiers fled over the corpses of their comrades, only to be surrounded and slaughtered by three armies. Their blood stained the south bank of Gods Eye, turning the emerald-colored lake water into the color of agate.
"The Targaryen Civil War began here." Alys Rivers ' fingers traced his cheek, her nails icy cold. "Blood debts must always be repaid in blood, mustn't they?"
Daemon wanted to retort, but then he saw himself standing next to the man holding Lady Forlorn, Lady Forlorn sword was stained with fresh blood.
"Davos Darklin's blood? This man?" Cole Corbray's roar echoed in Daemon's ears, "Fight your way out! For Aegon!"
A giant dragon dancing wildly.
When Gods Eye burned again, the night became the best backdrop.
Vhagar's shadow was larger than the castle, and countless arrows were embedded between the old dragon's scales, yet this did not affect its speed in tearing through the air.
A one-eyed, silver-haired man gleamed fiercely in the moonlight, his chains binding him to the dragon saddle like a madman—it was "One-Eyed" Aemond.
"Daemon! You old bastard!" His roar was filled with glee, "Today is your death day!"
Caraxes charged in from the side, his crimson Dragonfire lashing Vhagar's neck like a whip. Daemon Targaryen stood on the dragon's back, the hilt of the Dark Sister sword burning hot with sweat.
Immediately afterward, Daemon noticed the ugly scar on Aemond's blind spot, a mark he had made himself when he was young.
Daemon Targaryen roared, "For Rhaenyra!" and with a howl, he untied his saddle straps and leaped onto Vhagar's back.
The two dragons wrestled in the sky, their Dragonfire weaving into a golden-red net that illuminated Gods Eye as if it were daytime.
When Daemon Targaryen plunged the Dark Sister into Aemond's blind eye, all that could be heard was the dying wail of the old dragon Vhagar.
The two dragons plunged together, and the lake water was smashed up into a giant wave as high as the Kingspyre Tower, engulfing Daemon's consciousness in darkness.
When Daemon opened his eyes again in his dream, he was kneeling in the Flowstone Yard of Harrenhal, with Caraxes's corpse right in front of him, and crimson dragon blood flowing into streams on the stone slabs.
In the distant Godswood, the thirteen scratches on the Heart Tree are bleeding, like thirteen weeping eyes.
"This is his destiny, Daemon Blackfyre." Alys Rivers's voice appeared in the dream, sweetly seductive. "Look, how much you resemble him..."
The ashes of the Red Grassland.
The wind on the Red Grassland carries the smell of rust.
Daemon stood beside his own corpse, watching the rain of Bloodraven arrows fall like a dark cloud.
The Black Dragon banner of Aegon, the eldest son, snapped in the wind, and the silver-haired boy's body was pinned to the ground by a spear, his purple eyes wide open like two unextinguished stars.
Oswell House Bracken was pinned to the scorched earth by three spears, his broken sword still trembling between his twitching fingers;
Gawen House Peake's gilded breastplate was dented like scrap metal, and fragments of his internal organs spilling from his mouth were stained with pieces of the Blackfyre.
Brynden's single eye gleamed atop the mountain, his Bloodraven cloak billowing in the wind like outstretched wings. "Surrender," his voice echoed across the battlefield, tinged with feigned pity, "The Seven Kingdoms cannot contain two dragons."
Daemon tried to pick up the Blackfyre from the ground, only to find that his hand had passed right through the blade.
He watched as his own body was covered by a rain of arrows, watched as his second son Aemon, took the Blackfyre and was killed by the Raven's Teeth, watched as the blood of the Red Grassland was swept away by the west wind, revealing the barren yellow earth beneath.
There were no dragons, no glory, only a flock of crows landing on the eldest son's corpse, pecking at those once proud purple eyes.
"This is what you've been through, isn't it?" In the dream, Alys Rivers ' embrace suddenly tightened, her ample breasts pressing against his ribs. "But this isn't the end..."