Five simple words struck the room like a thunderbolt.
Larys Strong jolted, his hand tightening slightly around his cane. An incredulous light flared in his gray eyes.
His father, Earl Lyonel Strong, the current Hand of the King, was one of the king's closest friends. Fond as Larys was of eavesdropping on secrets, he knew better than anyone that the royal House Targaryen possessed a bloodline gift rarer and more sacred than that of a Dragonrider or even the legendary Unburnt-the Dreamwalker.
According to ancient records, Daenys the Dreamwalker, daughter of Aenar Targaryen, had dreamed of the Doom of Valyria. It was that dream that convinced her father to move his family and their five dragons to Dragonstone twelve years before the Doom, escaping the catastrophe that laid waste to everything.
This was House Targaryen's most sacred gift, the most direct proof of the True Dragon Bloodline. It appeared perhaps once in a century, awakening only in the purest bloodlines of the dragonlords.
His Majesty Viserys had no shortage of "such" dreams and had always wanted to believe they came from that gift. Often troubled by them, he rarely discussed his dreams even with close friends such as Otto and Lyonel.
Yet as Lyonel's second son, Larys had never imagined that this gift would awaken in a four-year-old prince.
Beside him, Garwin Hightower froze outright. His mouth opened, but he even forgot to breathe.
Quite apart from his father, the former Hand Otto, being another close friend of His Majesty Viserys, Oldtown itself-the seat of the Citadel and the Faith-was Hightower territory.
And House Hightower bore the title of Voice of Oldtown, while also serving as guardian of the Citadel, Beacon of the South, and Protector of Oldtown.
They were one of the oldest noble houses in the Seven Kingdoms, once King of the Tower. They knew plenty of secrets like this.
Although he had never been particularly studious as a child, his father Otto Hightower had driven him to read many ancient Valyrian texts from the Citadel and the family library. He understood better than anyone what the word "dream" meant for his nephew, whose veins carried the true dragon blood of House Targaryen.
It was a dragonlord's prophecy, a revelation from Old Valyria, a future destined to come to pass.
His nephew, his sister's son, this little prince with the blood of both the King of the Tower and the True Dragon Bloodline flowing through his veins, was a Dreamwalker!
Overwhelming shock and elation swept through Garwin's heart. He looked at Aegon with incredulous reverence and pride, his body beginning to tremble.
Willem Fell was utterly bewildered.
He stood there, looking at the shock and fervor on everyone's faces, unable to make sense of it.
A dream? His Highness had summoned them in the dead of night and decided to kill because of a dream? He wanted to question it, to ask how a mere dream could concern the lives of the royal family and the future of the Seven Kingdoms.
But when he met Aegon's purple eyes, which seemed capable of seeing the future, and saw the solemn faces around him, every question caught in his throat. He could not utter a word.
Only Alyn Celtigar surprised Aegon. Still kneeling on the floor, he bowed his head even lower, trembling with intense excitement.
He was a son of House Celtigar. As a descendant of Valyrian blood, awkward though his status was, he had grown up hearing the legends of their liege lords, House Targaryen, and the tales of Aegon the Conqueror. He understood better than anyone what a Targaryen's "dream" meant.
Legend held that Aegon the Conqueror had conquered the Seven Kingdoms and founded the Targaryen Dynasty precisely because a prophetic dragon dream had inspired him.
And now the little prince he followed could also dream warnings of the future.
This was destiny!
Destiny had led him to follow this true dragon prince. Destiny would free him from a bastard's fate, let him win glory and honor for his name, and allow him, with the blood of his Celtigar father and forefathers in his veins, to reclaim everything that should have been his!
The chance to found his own house and forge a legendary legacy equal to that of any Celtigar ancestor lay before him!
Aegon took in everyone's reactions without the slightest surprise.
He had expected this. Under Targaryen rule, he knew how much sacred weight the word "dream" carried for the noble vassals and powerful figures who understood the history of the dragonlords.
It was the most legitimate reason he could devise, the excuse most likely to convince them all. He could eliminate future traitors without dirtying his own hands or earning a reputation for slaughtering innocents.
He would invoke dreams and put everything he still remembered of the future from the original books and show to use, wielding dreams as a blade to cut down every traitor.
He began slowly, his voice calm but painting a chillingly vivid picture. Under the guise of a dream, he broke that future of blood and fire into a fragmented, bloody vision and recounted it word by word.
"I dreamed that, a dozen or so years from now, the Seven Kingdoms plunged into a civil war unlike any before. Dragons danced through blood in the skies, the blood of the dragon was spilled, brothers killed brothers, lands changed hands, and base villains stole lofty positions. Greed and corruption replaced honor and nobility, loyalty and betrayal...
"The entire kingdom was engulfed in blood and fire. Even the Triarchy across the Narrow Sea seized the chance to reach toward us with the tentacles of their fleets."
"I dreamed that the two dragons who witnessed the glorious reign of our ancestor, His Majesty the Good King-Vermithor and Silverwing-were stolen by two lowborn bastards.
"One was a blacksmith's bastard from Dragonstone, known as Hugh Hammer. The other was a drunkard from King's Landing who loved wine more than life, known as White Ulf."
"I dreamed that they used the queen's trust to mount dragons and became heroes of the realm, only to turn their cloaks on the most crucial battlefield. They burned the queen's armies with dragonfire and slaughtered her loyal vassals, bringing her rule crashing down in an instant."
"I dreamed that they made dragons meant to protect the Iron Throne's subjects and bear the glory of House Targaryen slaughter the very people they should have guarded. With their ravenous ambition, these two even tried to usurp the sacred, inviolable lands of the Iron Throne's vassals, seeking to replace noble blood with their own base blood. They slaughtered innocents, tortured the faithful to death, and murdered those of the True Dragon's blood."
"I also dreamed that, in the end, they even sought to usurp the Iron Throne. Hugh Hammer forged himself a crown of black iron, proclaimed himself king, and raised his weapons against the True Dragon Bloodline of House Targaryen. He hurled brazen insults at a prince, humiliated him at every turn, and even threatened to beat him. They forged crowns for themselves, only to have them struck off by a faithful man, but they drove iron nails into that noble knight's skull. Their cruelty knew no humanity."
"I also dreamed that they reduced Vermithor and Silverwing, the two dragons who had witnessed nearly a century of peace in the realm, to tools for fighting their own kind on the battlefield. In the end, at least they too died horribly there, with nothing left of their remains.
"I also dreamed that these vile traitors stirred the True Dragon Bloodline of House Targaryen into killing one another. I dreamed that the Targaryen dragons were all but wiped out in this civil war, that the dragonlords' bloodline nearly ended, and that the Seven Kingdoms became a sea of flames, like a vision of the end of the world..."
His voice grew colder and colder. Even the fire in the hearth seemed to dim with his words.
The room was terrifyingly still. Only the wind over the Narrow Sea outside and the soft crackling of wood in the hearth could be heard. Everyone held their breath, their faces filled with incredulous horror and towering rage.
Garwin clenched his fists until they cracked, his knuckles white and his teeth locked together. His eyes were bloodshot.
At last, he understood why his usually merciful nephew had decided to kill.
This was no ordinary bastard. This was a future traitor who would betray the Iron Throne, seek to overthrow the Targaryen Dynasty, and murder the True Dragon Bloodline of the royal family! Such a man deserved to be cut into a thousand pieces, his bones ground to dust and scattered!
The Cargyll Brothers' expressions darkened completely.
They were noble knights of the Kingsguard, the king's sacred protectors. Guarding the king's life and throne was their lifelong oath and glory.
Now someone, even if only in the prince's dream, had dared to betray the future ruler of the Iron Throne and bring such an end upon the True Dragon Bloodline to which they had sworn allegiance. That crossed a line they could never tolerate.
A cold smile curved Larys Strong's lips. He finally understood that the prince, who was something of a pupil to him, was far more calculating than he had imagined.
With one dream, he had sentenced two future traitors to death, legitimately and without a flaw. Even if the two men had done nothing yet, they had to die. A Dreamwalker's prophecy was the will of House Targaryen.
Yet he was excited too. The prince who regarded him as a confidant and something of a teacher was a Dreamwalker. Then, in the future...
Master of Whisperers?
No, perhaps even Hand of the King was possible...
Earl of Harrenhal... or a better holding...
Still kneeling, Alyn suddenly raised his head, his purple eyes filled with fervent bloodlust and loyalty. He shuffled forward two steps on his knees and struck his forehead hard against the cold Dragonglass floor. His voice rang with the passionate fervor unique to youth:
"Your Highness! Heaven itself cannot tolerate such villains! Alyn Celtigar begs Your Highness to grant me the honor of slaying these fiends! I will bring back the heads of those two madmen with my own hands and lay them before you! Should I fail in the slightest, I will atone with my life!"
His plea to fight shattered the room's deathly silence.
Willem Fell stood there, already bewildered beyond all understanding. He had accompanied and guarded Aegon throughout their journey, teaching him exercises and basic swordsmanship every day.
Naturally, he knew how kind the little prince was. He certainly did not seem like someone who would kill over a vague, insubstantial dream. Even if those two were only bastards, whether they existed at all was another question...
But when he turned and noticed the others' expressions, he was completely lost. Larys and Garwin looking excited was one thing-a gloomy Clubfoot and the prince's own uncle-but Alyn, what was going on with this young lad?
Never mind that unexplained trembling, but why did you look just as excited as they did? You had even outdone them, positively brimming with eagerness!
Before Viry could continue his inward grumbling, Alyn had already declared his loyalty. The fervor of his request to fight had thoroughly frightened Viry. Larys and Garwin had not even spoken yet, so how had Alyn already...
Then he tried to speak again, turning toward the Cargyll Brothers, the masters who had instructed him in swordsmanship since he joined the party. He wanted to appeal to them for help, to have them say something...
They could not let their kindhearted prince earn a reputation for bloodlust!
But the Cargyll Brothers?
Besides their solemn expressions, there was even a hint of relief, as though they were calmly saying, So that was why His Highness did it.
As knights of the Kingsguard, the Cargyll Brothers knew something of the legends and rumors surrounding Dreamwalkers. After all, His Majesty Viserys had dreamed often enough himself.
But reportedly none of those dreams had come true yet. Though the twins knew less than the other three, they had joined the Kingsguard toward the end of Good King Jaehaerys's reign, and they still placed some faith in such things.
Better to kill in error than let them escape. If two such madmen truly existed, it was only right that they, the Kingsguard, should lead the way in rooting out treachery for the royal family. If they did not, there was no harm done.
Now, seeing the fury and murderous intent on everyone's faces, then looking again into Aegon's violet eyes that seemed to see through the future, Viry finally understood.
Putting that together with the vivid dream His Highness had just described, he finally grasped why the prince wanted to kill and why no one in the room questioned him.
This was not senseless slaughter. This was uprooting a threat to the future realm, protecting the princess's life and safeguarding the Targaryen Dynasty.
He was a knight. Protecting the royal family and rooting out villains were his duties.
He abruptly dropped to one knee, his right hand on his sword hilt, and bowed his head deeply to Aegon. Guilt and resolve filled his voice. "Your Highness, I was foolish and failed to understand your intent. I would gladly serve as your vanguard and hunt down these fiends, even at the cost of my life!"
A glint of satisfaction passed through Aegon's eyes as he watched the men kneeling before him.
He slowly raised his hand. In the candlelight, that small, childish palm seemed to hold the future of all Seven Kingdoms.
At last, the compassion of both his usual manner and his earlier words vanished entirely from his voice. All that remained was the cruelty and majesty etched into the bones of the Targaryen bloodline, on that one face of the coin. Like a young dragon finally baring his fangs, every word carried the unquestionable command of a king.
"Uncle Garwin, take men and seize control of every gate and harbor on Dragonstone immediately. Without my order, no one may enter or leave the island, and no ship may leave port. I want those two madmen trapped, even if they grow wings."
"Ser Larys, use every man at your disposal to investigate every household register, every smithy, and every garrison camp on Dragonstone. Before dawn, I want everything there is to know about Hugh Hammer-where they live, who is around them, and what they do each day. Not a single detail is to be missed."
"Ser Alek, take men and secure the castle and the princess. No one is to disturb her. At the same time, investigate every attendant, guard, and servant in the castle. Detain anyone connected to those two immediately. Not a whisper of this must get out."
"Ser Erryk, take half the guards and assist Ser Larys with his search. If you find any trace of Hugh Hammer, seize him immediately without asking permission and send word to me at once. I will slaughter that beast myself and give him his destined death for humiliating the blood of House Targaryen in my dream."
"Ser Viry, Alyn, take the remaining men and search every corner of Dragonstone-the fishing villages, the mines, the camps at the foot of the Dragonmont. Do not overlook so much as a rat hole. If you find anyone resembling White Ulf of King's Landing, or any accomplices connected to either man, kill them on the spot if they resist or try to flee."
He paused. Utterly cold killing intent flashed in his purple eyes as he added, word by word, a command whose savagery sent a chill through everyone present.
At that moment, within Aegon's small body, the cruel face of the Targaryen coin revealed itself in full.
Yet beyond the cruelty, there was an accompanying gravity and commanding presence... it even reminded the Cargyll Brothers, as well as Larys and Garwin, who had also been fortunate enough to see the Good King, of a side of the late Jaehaerys that shared a name with his dragon Vermithor-"Bronze Fury"...
"Remember, better to kill in error than let them escape. Anyone with a similar name or background, anyone who arouses the slightest suspicion, is to be seized. If they resist at all, kill them without mercy. I want those two madmen gone from this world before the sun rises."
"As you command, Your Highness!"
All six answered together, their voices clear but deliberately lowered so as not to disturb the person sleeping next door.
They knelt on one knee together, placed their right hands over their hearts, and offered their most solemn salute to the little prince who had revealed the majesty of a true dragon.
Even Viry Fell, the most devoted to the ideals of knighthood, did not question him in the slightest.
Better to kill in error than let them escape. To protect the princess and safeguard the Targaryen Dynasty, they would endure even an infamous reputation.
Aegon looked at them and slowly nodded.
"Go. Remember, keep quiet. Do not disturb the princess, and do not alert our prey."
They accepted their orders together, rose, and filed out with light, brisk steps, without the slightest hesitation.
Larys left last. Before stepping out, he glanced back at Aegon standing by the hearth. There was even a measure of reverence and submission in his gray eyes as he gently closed the door.
The room fell quiet again. Only Aegon and Sunfyre at his feet remained.
The candle flames still danced. Outside, the wind over the Narrow Sea moaned. From deep within the Dragonmont, a dragon's low call occasionally sounded, carrying far, far through the silent night.
Aegon walked to the window and pushed it open again. Cold sea wind rushed inside, snapping the hem of his clothes. He raised his eyes toward the depths of Dragonstone, toward the sleeping fishing villages and the smithies where scattered lights still burned. Not a ripple stirred in his purple eyes.
Hugh Hammer. White Ulf.
From tonight onward, your fates were already sealed.
The hunt had only just begun.
And the Dance of the Dragons, destined to come in the original story, would be utterly rewritten from this night onward.
Before you continue