Dragon Dream

As for why the Iron Throne had never sent more elite killers, such as the Faceless Men of Braavos, Viserys only learned the truth after extensive inquiries.

It was not that the Iron Throne had never considered it, but the price quoted by the House of Black and White in Braavos was so staggeringly high that it could have bought half of Westeros.

Behind this, it was said, lay some form of "guidance" from the mysterious Many-Faced God, or an expression of his will. The Faceless Men were not mere hired killers; their actions followed a logic of their own. Perhaps, in the eyes of the Many-Faced God, the "value" or "significance" of Viserys Targaryen's life had been set extraordinarily high.

So, even setting aside whether the Iron Throne could afford that sum, the Small Council would never approve it, even if Robert agreed. It would shatter the peace Westeros had only just managed to secure. In the end, they could only keep sending these more cost-effective assassins.

Thus, although he had spent those seven years living under another's roof, they had passed in a strange balance. There was the fulfillment of growth, the comfort of family, the first stirrings of affection, and the occasional alarm and clash of blades.

Viserys was like a piece of refined iron under constant hammering. Outwardly, he grew ever more restrained and composed, while the strength within him became increasingly solid. He had almost grown accustomed to this rhythm and had thought it would continue, that he would remain in Braavos until the dragons came.

Recently, however, an inexplicable restlessness had begun to erode his inner calm. It was not intense, but it was relentless, like an invisible thread tethered to his mind, always drawing his thoughts eastward despite himself.

Tonight, that restlessness took tangible form in a dream.

At first, there was heat. Even with his gift as the Unburnt, he could feel it.

Unimaginable waves of heat swept in from every direction, warping the air. He stood on black, cracked earth, with scorching pumice beneath his feet. The sky was a sickly dark red, shrouded in thick clouds of volcanic ash. Only the occasional lightning bolt tearing through the clouds and the lava gushing from fissures in the ground illuminated this inferno.

Then he saw the mountains. They were no ordinary mountains, but fourteen immense pillars linking earth and sky, endlessly spewing fire and thick smoke. Magma surged from cracks in their slopes like the earth's blood, winding across the land and burning everything in its path. The entire world was collapsing, burning, roaring.

Amid this apocalyptic landscape, a shadow blotted out the sky.

It rose from the smoke of the most violently erupting volcano, its size surpassing everything Viserys had ever understood about dragons. It had not one neck, but three, each like a massive pillar supporting a palace, covered in scales with a dark golden sheen. Three heads rose proudly, each the size of a warship. As their jaws opened and closed, they breathed not fire, but golden rays of annihilation that seemed capable of devouring the human heart.

More suffocating still was the fact that it was not alone. More than a dozen dragons of varying sizes, majestic and terrifying, circled slightly below it, each with a figure seated on its back.

Those figures wore Valyrian armor shimmering with magical light, helmets of different designs marking their houses, and carried spears or Valyrian steel swords. They were dragonlords, the rulers of the Valyrian Freehold at the height of its power. Riding their own dragons, they were laying siege to the Three-Headed Beast.

Dragonfire intertwined, tearing through the sky. The dragons' roars mingled with the thunder of volcanic eruptions in a symphony of the world's end. Only then did he realize that this must be a vision of the Doom of Valyria.

The three-headed dragon fought them all without yielding an inch. Its central head unleashed a fan of golden annihilation rays, driving back a blue dragon attempting a surprise attack. Its left head lunged for a silver dragon's neck and bit its head clean off. The right head remained raised, watching its surroundings, its golden eyes surveying the assault with cold indifference.

In the midst of this utterly chaotic battle, the Three-Headed Beast's central head suddenly turned a fraction, without warning. Its enormous eyes, like molten gold, pierced the mists of the dream and "looked" straight at Viserys as he stood on the blackened earth.

That gaze was indescribably complex, filled with an ancient indifference and desolation, along with a trace of scrutiny. In that single instant, Viserys felt as though lightning had struck him, as though that gaze had pierced his soul completely.

Yet in the very next moment, the nearest fiery peak erupted in an earth-shattering explosion. Countless torrents of magma and ash shot into the sky, becoming a wave of destruction that swept toward the dragons and dragonlords above and engulfed Viserys's figure on the ground.

Viserys jolted upright in bed, cold sweat soaking his linen nightclothes, his heart still pounding wildly in his chest. Beyond the window, dawn was breaking. The damp morning air of Braavos drifted inside, a stark contrast to the scorching heat of the dream. Yet those molten-gold dragon eyes and that apocalyptic scene remained vividly branded in his mind.

This was the first dream he had ever had about dragons. He had never imagined that a dragon dream could feel so real, so oppressive. Only now could he truly empathize with Daenerys, who had also experienced dragon dreams in the original story.

He remained silent for a long time. Only once his heartbeat had settled did he summon an attendant and order them to fetch Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser William Darry, and Ser Jon Darry. He had decided to explore the Valyrian ruins. Dangerous though it was, he felt that something there must be deeply important to him. Since crossing into this world, he had never experienced such a powerful intuition.

When the three senior retainers hurried into his bedchamber, they found Viserys pale-faced, his eyes unusually bright with emotion.

"I had a dream," Viserys said without preamble. He described everything in detail: the apocalyptic eruption of the Fourteen Flames, the three-headed dragon that blotted out the sky, and the dragonlords and their dragons surrounding it. He left out only that final glance that had pierced the dream.

His account was steady, but the slight tension in his voice and the lingering tremor in his eyes told all three seasoned knights that this was no ordinary matter.

Ser Arthur pondered his words. "Valyria, the Fourteen Flames, dragonlords battling one another... This scene does sound like the descriptions in ancient books of Valyria before the Doom. Your Grace, this dream..."

"It was more than a dream," Viserys interrupted, his tone firm and absolute. "It was a prophecy, or rather, guidance.

"Just as something unseen guided me to find those dragon eggs on Dragonstone, it is now guiding me to Valyria." This time, however, he was not lying. He truly felt that way.