Scattered rubies
The future of Trident. The scene in Daemon's dream revolves once more, finally stopping at the Green Fork crossing on the Trident. This time, the sky, like the Red Grassland, is devoid of dragons.
Countless corpses floated on the river at the ferry crossing, and the water of the Green Fork turned dark red.
The Crowned Stag banner of the Stormlands is planted diagonally on the riverbank, the Direwolf banner of the the North stands beside it, the Silver Moon Blue Eagle banner of the Vale flutters nearby, and the Silver Trout banner of the Riverlands hangs to the side, as if swimming in red and blue waves.
Opposite them, the royal black banner with a red dragon stood tall in the wind, and the soldiers under it wore various colored armors, the decorations on their helmets gleaming coldly.
Secondly, the most eye-catching is the Golden Rose Banner of the Reach, right next to the Royal Banner, with bloodstains on the petal emblem like fresh dew.
On the right, Dorne's sun-piercing spear banner fluttered proudly, the sun emblem on the spear tip gleaming cruelly in the sunlight.
Daemon's gaze was drawn to the fierce battle taking place in the center of the ferry crossing.
A burly man in silver armor and a helmet with antlers was wielding a warhammer, each strike carrying the force to split mountains and shatter rocks. His long black hair swung out from under his helmet, and droplets of blood fell to the ground, splashing up fine dust.
His opponent was dressed in royal black armor, the dragon wings on his helmet swaying slightly in the fierce battle, revealing a few strands of dazzling silver hair beneath.
"Robert!" the man in black armor called out, his voice tinged with helplessness.
"Rhaegar!" another voice roared, filled with rage.
The sound of the warhammer clashing with the longsword was deafening.
A deep, bone-revealing wound was slashed open on the chest of the silver-armored strongman, and blood gushed out, staining the stag emblem on his chest red.
But instead of retreating, he used all his strength to smash his warhammer into the opponent's breastplate—with a loud clang, the dragon-winged helmet of the man in royal black armor flew off, revealing a handsome face.
Silver hair and purple eyes.
Daemon's breathing suddenly stopped.
The face belonged to Targaryen he had never seen before; indigo eyes held a strange sorrow that froze into astonishment the moment the warhammer struck.
The black-armored knight fell on the riverbank, his dragon-patterned armor dented from the impact, and his ruby ornaments shattered and rolled into the river, causing both sides' soldiers to scramble for them, temporarily forgetting the battle.
The burly man in silver armor also half-squatted down, kneeling on one knee. His warhammer slipped from his hand, smashing into the ground and creating a small crater. He glanced at the sky one last time, a relieved smile playing on his lips, as if to say, "I won."
The burning awakening.
The burning sensation suddenly turned into excruciating pain.
Daemon felt his skin smoking, and the brand on his right shoulder felt like a red-hot iron, almost piercing through his flesh.
Alys Rivers's embrace was still burning hot, her ample breasts pressing tightly against his mouth and nose, reminding him of the suffocating feeling on the Red Grassland.
"What Black Dragon did you see?" Her voice held a satisfied smile. "Past? Present? Future? Or something even more distant..."
"Let me go!" Daemon suddenly broke free, the Blackfyre already in his hand, and dodged Alys Rivers ' embrace, lifting a strand of dark red hair.
He staggered backward, his back hitting the Heart Tree, Heart Tree sap dripping onto his neck, icy cold.
Alys Rivers stood there, her green dress stained with Daemon's sweat, her full breasts heaving violently, yet a strange smile graced her face.
"What exactly did you see?" She licked her lips, a golden powder clinging to her tongue. "A crueler ending?"
"Who is that?" Daemon's voice was hoarse, the brand on his right shoulder still burning, making him instinctively press it. "Who is the silver-armored giant? Who is that silver-haired knight? Why are there no dragons? Why is Dorne helping the royal family? Where are the Lannister lions?"
Alys Rivers straightened her dress and said, "That's your dream, your future. I just showed you what it was. How could I possibly know?"
The Glutton in the distance let out a deafening dragon roar, and the pitch-black Dragonfire illuminated the sky above the Godswood, distorting the shadow of the Heart Tree.
Daemon gripped the Blackfyre tightly, the reflection on the blade allowing him to see his face clearly—the brand on his right shoulder, where his clothes had slipped off, was as red as a branding iron, the veins beneath his skin throbbing as if something was about to burst out of his body.
"Is this my future?" He stared at Alys Rivers, his purple eyes burning with rage. "Or is it my altered future?"
Alys Rivers didn't answer, but just smiled and pointed to the Heart Tree. Daemon followed her gaze and saw more dark red sap seeping from the Heart Tree's "eyes," sliding down the twisted bark.
Larys's lame leg shuffled nervously across the ground again as he looked at Daemon with concern. He had no idea what the prince had seen of his wet nurse. "Your Highness, are you alright?"
Before he could finish speaking, he was interrupted by the Glutton dragon's roar. The Black Dragon's roar was filled with unprecedented anxiety, as if it sensed its master's danger.
Daemon took a step back, the tip of his Blackfyre pointing between Alys Rivers and Larys. The burning sensation in his right shoulder gradually subsided, leaving behind a numb, stinging pain.
"I will find the answer." His voice was as cold as the ice of Gods Eye. "Whoever's future it may be, I will rewrite it myself."
Alys Rivers laughed even harder, her full breasts heaving beneath her green dress like two dancing flames. "I will wait for you, Your Highness..." her voice held a magical quality, "You need me, take me with you..."
Daemon turned and rushed out of the Godswood, where the Glutton's shadow awaited him.
As he leaped onto the dragon's back, he glanced back at the moonlit forest— Alys Rivers's figure overlapped with the shadows of the trees, like two conspiring ghosts, while the dark red sap in the Heart Tree's eyes continued to drip, as if weeping for the bloodshed to come.
The silhouette of Harrenhal is reflected on the surface of Gods Eye; the shadows of the five towers twist in the center of the water, like five lurking giants.
Daemon patted the Glutton's neck, and the Black Dragon let out a long roar, soaring into the sky.
The image of the Trident lingered in my mind—a battlefield without dragons, nobles slaughtering each other, and the fallen silver-haired prince. Who was he? A descendant of the future Daeron? Or a product of my own alteration of history?
The brand on his right shoulder began to burn again, but this time, Daemon didn't press it down. He knew that Alys Rivers's flames were not lying; in the shadows of Harrenhal, lay a future more terrifying than the Dance of the Dragons.
He had to find a way to extinguish the flames before they reached him.
The Glutton's dragon roar pierced the night sky, carrying its master's resolve, and disappeared into the shadows of Harrenhal.
In the Godswood, Alys Rivers gazed in the direction the Black Dragon had vanished, then suddenly whispered to the Heart Tree, her voice as soft as a sigh, "You will come back for me..."
Larys's lame leg trembled on the ground. "What exactly did you show His Highness the Prince? What Black Dragon from the future?" His voice remained unsettled for a long time.
In the Heart Tree's eyes, the last drop of sap fell, spreading across the ground. Those drops of sap on the ground, just like in Daemon's dream, resembled burning rubies.